Well, Christmas is over. For those of you that know me in any way, no matter how little, you'll know that the end of the festive season brings me nothing but joy, intense pleasure that the hideous event has passed.
This year, however, the joy is muted. Last weekend of November I broke my toe. Two weeks before Christmas I developed bronchitis. I've had throat problems for a decade now and as referred to in a previous post, I keep getting told it's side effects of the epilepsy medication. So, you'd think I'd be used to it. Sadly, this bout has been a killer. The bronchitis has gone but the sore throat remains, as it has for twenty one long days now, burning like a coal fire in the desert. Ironically, drier than that though.
Tickly cough you say? Damn right. To the point where I feel like throwing up. Sleeping is a bind, just what I need. I've had a week's dose of Amoxicillin that didn't help and I've now been referred to Ear, Nose And Throat to have a camera thrust down my throat. And that appointment will be in,
'Four weeks, minimum'.
I'm just tired, so bleeding tired of having to fight to get any help all the sodding time. Myself and the Baroness worked out last night that in the last four years I have been to the GP regarding tonsilitis, bronchitis, laryngitis or just a painful throat eleven times (that we could recall) and I've got nowhere. Now I've got to wait another month just to get the ball rolling, again. Sick to death of being ill, Christmas was wiped out, the Baroness was off work for nine days and I felt like poo for all of it.
Happy new year
