I slept most of yesterday afternoon, woke up in time to do the most urgent accounts (in order to pay the mortgage today) and rewarded myself in the evening with a trip to the pub. We taxied there and walked back, partly me testing my limits, partly laziness. It was nice to see people and natter, though I hope I didn't go on too much about Me Me Me things.

Today I've split time between the desk and the sofa, and dozed sometimes but not slept. Caught up on LJ, finished the accounts for this month, and managed a first-pass through my email, deleting or filing as much as is instantly possible. I may have a minor crisis about taking over Treasurer of CUMC, as the current incumbent graduates today and is going home to South Africa. However, there's not much I can practically do except mail her all my contact details and tell her to find me if she can before she goes.

Also managed to coax people into being ushers and readers next Saturday, having insisted Tony and I sit down yesterday to pick people from those coming. This means no barriers in the way of typesetting the Order of Service, which is the last really essential thing for the wedding, and in Tony's capable hands. From my email-skimming, my immensely talented bridesmaids have the reception-planning under control too. Hurrah for delegation.

I'm struggling with the Grisham I've been reading. Superromances seem to be more what my tired brain can manage when I need a break from the computer, and I'm half-way through the second today.

Amy and Lee completed their house purchase today - Amy got her keys around lunchtime and moved her bags out some hours ago. I'm assuming she'll be back at some point, but not sure. With Kate off for the summer, the house is going to seem a bit empty over the next month until Andrew moves in.

Tomorrow is our pre-wedding/birthday/birthday/birthday party. I'm really glad I roped extra people into the party in the first place, because I am all out of organise at the moment. Off to doze/read a bit more now I think.

Got a phone appointment with the GP who saw me last week, in order to get a sick note for at least the rest of the week. She suggested a whole week, but as I'm off for two weeks from next Friday for wedding+honeymoon, we settled on until next Wednesday, so I get Thursday to answer any really important questions. She's leaving the paperwork with the receptionists for Tony to collect.

It occurs to me (10 minutes later) that actually today until next Wednesday is a whole week. This stunning mental capability is one of the reasons I don't trust myself with work at the moment. I haven't started reading my email yet, for similar reasons. LJ is generally easier going, and I don't have to reply to anything.

When I want to work again, I'll know I'm nearly well again.

I got let out this afternoon. Actually, I got told I could come out this morning, but it took ages for the hospital pharmacy to prepare my drugs. I dozed quite a lot of the time though, so it wasn't exactly wasted. I am now almost without pain, but easily tired and frequently sleepy. I'm going to talk to my GP tomorrow as I think I probably shouldn't go back to work until at least after the weekend, and I've now been away from work for nearly a week so need a note to do that. Tony's mother suggests even longer off, but I'll see what the GP thinks.

My ultrasound scan showed nothing wrong at all - no cysts on the ovaries, Mirena in the right place. However, pumping me full of antibiotics at regular intervals has steadily reduced the pain since I was admitted on Monday evening, to the point where I'm no longer needing any pain relief. The consultant this morning concluded that my pain was being caused by an infection not among those commonly swabbed for, and as many-antibiotics were getting me well, they should send me home with a course of many-antibiotics. At the moment they are leaving my Mirena in, and if this clears up with no further problems they will probably leave it there. The Daphne Ward should make a follow-up call in four to six weeks, so I need to keep an eye on things between now and then.

I have doxycycline to take twice a day, metronidazole to take three times a day and cefalexin to take four times a day. I can neither drink alcohol, nor spend long in the sun as a result. I am drawing little charts in my diary to tick off so as to keep track. The nurses were doing this for me through the IV while I was inside, but I definitely prefer not having a canula in my hand, despite the extra tracking effort on my part. The antibiotics were cold going in ...

So, my diagnosis is "?subacute pelvic inflammatory disease", with advice to go back if it starts hurting again. We found a leaflet on pelvic inflammatory disease, which turns out to mean "infection that causes inflammation in the pelvic area". Among other things it does advise that sexual partners get checked out too - which I guess is obvious once you think about it. Due to a cancellation Tony was able to get an appointment at Clinic 1A today and as a precaution, they've given him a course of antibiotics too (if not as many as me), so we can rattle together.

fanf writing:

Earlier today Rachel phoned to find out when her scan would be and was rather upset to hear that it wouldn't be until Friday. She was in too much pain to wait that long (she said similar in level to Friday, before it really flared up), so tried to get it expedited. When she phoned the Daphne ward again they said she should come in.

So, trek to Addies, more recitals of the medical history (to nurse and doctor), and another unpleasant examination (fortunately not so bad as Saturday's) with the conclusion that she needed even stronger antibiotics delivered intravenously. She will stay in hospital overnight, and they should be able to do the scan tomorrow - much better than Friday! After they stuck a cannula in her hand and pumped her full of drugs, she was put on a saline drip and rolled in a chair to ward D6.

I then went home to pick up an overnight bag for her. When I got back she was sitting up fiddling with the entertainment console, complaining of boredom and feeling better already. With any luck the infection will be dealt with properly this time, and we hope they won't have to remove the Mirena (which, being a foreign body in the uterus, can make this kind of infection worse).

Tomorrow is Rachel's birthday, so I will be taking a cake with me when I go to see her.

NHS Direct told me to ring my GP and/or their emergency cover service. My GP's number got picked up by CamDoc, where a nice nurse took my story and got a doctor to ring back. The doctor rang back some time later, and told me to come in to the Chesterton Medical Centre, and was deeply unsympathetic to the suggestion that this might be difficult as I could barely walk. As it seemed I'd get seen by a medical professional sooner if I got myself there, I sighed and asked Amy to drive Tony and I there. Not fun. The Medical Centre has a huge waiting room full of people staring at me as I failed to manage sitting on a chair and settled for sprawling across the floor. Which was hard.

Eventually I was called. The doctor had a student doctor in tow, who led the consultation with him hovering. She was pretty good and I was beyond caring very much at that point. I ran through the medical history for them, including how much I didn't want another examination, and they checked my temperature to discover I had a fever. Which was interesting as I hadn't had one on Thursday. They suspected salpingitis (inflammation of the fallopian tubes) caused by an infection, which was also causing the fever. The senior doctor said that the swabs taken on Thursday might not show up some infections for a couple of days, i.e. right about then. He then rather apologetically said that they really did need to examine me to be sure.

So I let them. It was awful. They had to move my cervix to confirm that it was my reproductive system that was hurting. I gave them confirmation. Thankfully Tony was very nearby and came to hold me the moment they had finished.

This done, they prescribed me extra-strong antibiotics, at three pills per day, and I was instructed to take three pills over the remainder of the day, to hit whatever the infection was as hard as possible. This should reduce the pain, but if there was no improvement in 18 hours, I was to call the emergency line again. Tony called Amy who fetched us home, settled me in bed and went off to fill the prescription and generally looked after me all evening, during which time I did start to improve a bit. This morning I was very definitely much better, in that the painkillers are keeping the pain bearable and I can move around and sit upright relatively easy.

I can definitely manage until tomorrow like this, and tomorrow is when I was told to call the Daphne Ward back about the ultrasound. I still want that, because I want to be absolutely sure what is going on, and fix it, before I go back to work.

Last night it all got a bit much and with Tony's help I rang NHS Direct to ask about the safety of taking my paracetamol+codeine pills rather than just paracetamol, on top of the diclofenac. I also rang home, but mum was out, so I rang his mum instead, who calmed me down - hurrah for second mothers. She also urged me to get more pushy with the doctors if I didn't improve. My own mother said the same thing this morning, so I'm currently waiting for an NHS Direct nurse to ring me back (calling the Daphne ward directly didn't get an answer).

I hate hate hate the recorded message that says they are facing exceptional demand and to hold the line if my call is urgent, or call back later. It takes both my mothers' voices in my head to keep me telliing myself that taking three different painkillers and still hurting too much to sit upright counts as "urgent".

Both mothers have told me to consider going private. I don't want to be someone who uses money to jump the queue, but it's amazing how that objection starts melting away in the face of everything hurting.

Yes, I'm whining. When I have something good to talk about, I will.

Well, I am reading some good books: Jenny Crusie writes very good romantic comedy, which is helping to keep me sane, and a whole stack of Diane Duane books arrived yesterday for me from Canada when I finish those. Hurrah for Abebooks.

Painkillers seem to be doing a reasonable job. I had no difficulty walking the length of Richmond Road to catch the bus into town for the migraine follow-up appointment, but was glad that was as far as I had to go. The appointment was very simple and routine - my doc made the necessary prescription, ran through the COLMC recommendations with me and suggested the quickest way for me to see a physio was to go to a self-help group based at the Buchan St Neighbourhood Centre, somewhere off King's Hedges Road. I caught the bus back to Richmond Road and was home again soon after 9am. The walk back from the bus stop became gradually less comfortable, so I'm not likely to go far today unless I have to.

I rang into work to let them know I'd work at home and I might be called back into the hospital for a scan. About twenty minutes after that, Dr Li, the nice ob/gyn from yesterday, rang me. All my swabs and blood samples have come back clear and there is no need for antibiotics. She's sent a request form to the radiology department and how long it takes me to get a scan depends on their prioritisation and other requests coming in. She suspects probably not today, but she'll ring me if so. I should probably ring the ward on Monday if I haven't heard anything, but it's likely to be sometime Monday-Wednesday next week.

I've worked out that the Citi 7 bus goes from opposite the Iceland/Aldi, all of three minutes walk away, to the stop opposite the main entrance to the Rosie. This is probably about as easy a journey as I can manage on public transport, and runs from before 7am to after 10pm. If I don't get a scan until next week and I'm feeling well enough to get to work, there's always the free bus from near-work to Addenbrookes' main entrance. If I'm well enough to reach work, I'll be well enough to walk through the site to the Rosie.

Because the mild recurring symptoms I'd been having on and off decided to get nasty, and I ended up back at the Daphne Ward (emergency gynaecology), being poked in tender places. They've sent me home with painkillers and a promised ultrasound scan tomorrow or Monday. I may also need to get an antibiotic prescription tomorrow, depending on what the results are from the many swabs and samples they took. I should really investigate the buses to and from, I can't afford taxis each way this often. I'm also supposed to be seeing my doctor tomorrow morning about coming off beta blockers.
( gory details )
Anyway, to bed now, as I need to be walking to catch a bus at 8am tomorrow.

Felt less ill this morning, but tired enough to take another day's sick leave and get properly better this time. Alternately reading, listening to the radio, and faffing online passed the day quite pleasantly. By mid-afternoon I was feeling well enough to tackle some of the paperwork pile lurking around my desk. God knows what crack the gas suppliers use to come up with their formula for 'estimated use', but they'd overestimated us by 300 units - and that's after it's taken me over a month to get round to checking the reading. Still, their automated meter-reading line works well. I also had a pleasant customer service experience with Nationwide, requesting a replacement credit card as my signature has nearly rubbed off the existing one.

Given I was feeling better, fanf booked us tickets to see The Bourne Supremacy at Coneworld[1] for an early evening showing. My first visit there and the seats are agreeably comfy with sufficient leg room. The film itself was really very good, nicely following up the first one, with extra car-chase goodness. The visual style was even more edgy: short, fast, close-up, often moving too fast to see clearly but conveying a feeling very well, and the plot nicely executed. I would happily watch The Bourne Identity again, despite seeing it very recently, and I think Supremacy will make it onto my (very limited) DVD buy list when it's released.

The fly in the ointment for me was the botoxed forehead of Joan Allen (Pamela Landy), which kept distracting me every time she was on screen - a great expressionless expanse of forehead that made me want to scream in annoyance at the stupid things women do for 'beauty'.

[1] Not a typo, or rather based on a friend's typo the other week that we decided to keep.

On Saturday night my aunt Lucinda was celebrating her 50th birthday in Langley, a little village near Macclesfield, on the edge of the Peak District. It wasn't going to be possible to get to and from the party without a car, and it was also difficult to find anywhere to stay very nearby. So I decided to rent a car, and then to make a virtue out of the necessity and find interesting, non-motorway, routes there and back.
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Despite an easy evening, I woke up shattered, stuffed-up and sore-eyed. It only took about an hour of wrestling guilt to decide to call in sick. I am really trying to work on my less helpful macho reactions to bodily weakness, especially after the mess I made last week of what should have been a minor 1-afternoon migraine.