Holy Sh...

 ...itballs. I wasn't expecting today to pan out the way it did, let me tell you. Mr G woke up, and we made a quick, very basic meal plan and shopping list. Decided where we were going shopping, and that we would go off for a foggy, rainy walk after. And then I heard the letterbox rattle. 

I saw the white envelope, addressed to me, and I just knew. Don't ask me how I knew, but I just knew. It could have been from my optician. It could have been the letter telling me that my smear test is due soon. But no. I knew that it was going to be the letter inviting me for my Covid jab. Andholyshitballsitwastoo

If you are a friend or you've followed me for a while, you will know that I have been diagnosed with a pretty rare psychological condition called Blood Injury Injection Disorder. It is a debilitating condition, made all the worse because people don't really understand it. 

They try to empathise with you. Oh, I hate needles too. To the extent that you too would refuse medical treatment and vaccinations and die? No? Not the same, then. 

It doesn't hurt! Listen, I gave birth three times on gas and air. If you think that I don't know pain, when I have pushed something with a head the size of a Galia melon out of my foof on Entonox alone. Thrice. Jesus wept. Yes, I know it doesn't bloody hurt! It has nothing, and I repeat, absolutely nothing to do with the 'pain' of a needle. It is not a pain issue.

Or they try to use the stiff upper lip approach (yes, I'm talking to you Mum... eyeroll) Well, nobody hates needles more than me (er, I think you'll probably find that I do) but you have to just do it, what happens if you get a serious illness? Yeah, the answer to that would be probably die. And I really wish that I was joking, but I'm not. It is an absolutely debilitating condition to have to live with. If you can't treat it with a tablet or a lotion, up to Covid, I ain't having it. 

Mr G asked if I was phoning, it was a little after nine and I didn't want to bother them so close to opening, so I decided we would go shopping first. And then I thought nope. Shit or bust. No delaying tactics. I went into the bedroom and closed the door. 

My heart was pounding and my hands were shaking as I phoned the surgery. I had to attempt to explain myself, and this condition, as concisely as possible. I am at the point now, that I am willing to have the vaccination. However, the surgery is absolutely flying through the vaccinations. They are excelling. As I posted last week, Mr G went into the surgery at 9.08 am and he was back in the car at 9.10 am.

I told the receptionist that I had been diagnosed with this condition, properly diagnosed by a psychologist, not Google diagnosed, and that I'd had well over a year of CBT. And to say that it was 'just' needle phobia would be an understatement. And that anything from having my blood pressure taken, having blood taken, having an injection, even having eye drops, and I am likely to pass out. I explained that I had seen how quickly Mr G had been vaccinated, and I'd seen on Facebook how amazing a job they had been doing at the surgery, and my concern was not so much the jab - I was at the point of acceptance that I will have to have the jab one way or another. My concern was, that it only takes one person (me) to have a blip (me), a freak out (er... me) or pass out (again, me...) and that is going to have a knock on effect on so many other appointments. It could have a knock on effect for the whole day, depending on when my appointment was. And so, if it was at all possible, could I be booked in for the last appointment of the day. And I knew that Mr G couldn't come in with me, but for their sake, it might be an idea if he was allowed to wait outside in the car park, just in case. 

The receptionist agreed with me, she said that everyone had such a strict appointment time, and - her words - it was like a conveyor belt. She asked me some questions, was I guaranteed to pass out, and I told her no, after my therapy sessions had finished, it ended with a just because blood test. But although I didn't pass out, I came very, very close. Dizzy, and I had to lie down on the bed for half an hour. But back then I had the luxury of doing that. This was part of my therapy, the nurse was only there specifically to do my blood test, as a favour to the psychologist and myself. Nobody else was waiting to see her. She didn't mind sitting there and chatting with us for thirty minutes while I came to and felt able to walk again. I won't have the luxury of time there, if there's people stood outside waiting and missing their appointment times. She made a note to say that my husband would be stood outside waiting for me, so they knew if they saw him loitering. I joked that he can run in and carry me back to the car if I pass out, and she laughed but I was about 96.8% serious. 

I was still shaking after I ended the call and I had a huge hug from Mr G and he told me how proud he was of me for just doing it there and then. The kindness of the receptionist made such a difference. She didn't make me feel like an idiot. Was so accommodating during such a tough, tough time for the NHS. Didn't display a oh, for God's sake just woman up and shut up. People are dying attitude. That's all it takes, a little understanding, especially of things that you don't understand. 

This is it. This time next week I will be done. 

So, today, I snapped to attention. What happens if I'm ill, like Mr G was? Worse? Who will feed my children? Yes, I know, disregarding the fact that there will be another, totally capable adult and parent in the house. But still. It's my forte. And as much as the kids love his pie, they won't want it every night. This meant one thing. Batch cooking. It kept my mind off it, anyway. So, with the help of my able assistant and chief stirrer, I managed to churn out two Bolognese pasta bakes, one for tonight and one for the freezer. A chilli con carne, Garlic and Lime Balti, and Chicken's Vindaloo. He's a bloody good stirrer. The best. 

Tomorrow I will make a couple more dishes. I've found a nice bake with gnocchi as opposed to pasta, I quite fancy trying that. Hopefully get a walk in tomorrow, it's promising nice and warm. 

So, a very unexpected pleasure was found in today. One that terrifies me and gives me hope for the future in equal measure. I'm actually a little bit proud of myself, too.