This week has been a complete nightmare. It all started on Sunday. I suddenly felt extremely nauseous while at work and I had to sit outside because I was shaking so much. Luckily I made it back home okay, but the following day I was really ill with flu-like symptoms. I was supposed to be going to London for my appointment at St George's but I couldn't even walk across the room! Without going into too much detail, I was so ill I actually thought I was dying. I know that is kind of silly but it was so bad actually thought I would!
Luckily on day one, the team leader 'M' was supposed to be taking me to London. He sat with me for five minutes and chatted to me while I was lying in my death bed. He didn't even run off when I threw up in the bathroom! No one has ever really cared for me like that since I lived with Mum (who I had a teary conversation with earlier). He did seem rather confused when I kept apologising for being ill, but as with most things with me, there was a logical explanation which came in the form of PTSD. Back when I was 11 (my memory is stuck around then) I became sick with a throat infection. I felt a bit bad the day before which was odd for me because I was normally quite energetic. I refused to climb up some castle stairs in Wales (we were on holiday) because I was so tired and my throat was aching. One lollipop soon shut the moaning up, but the following day when I woke up I was drooling and physically couldn't swallow. Mum, although slightly grossed out by the drool, could see I was ill. She said I had a 'look' when I wasn't well. Flushed and my eyes weren't right (I don't know what she meant by that!). Mum wrapped the blanket round me and told me to get some rest then went to break the news to Dad. Dad had planned to take us to a forest Centre near Caernarfon that day and was not happy that I was [quote]ruining it for my brother AGAIN[/quote]. Although Mum was trying to tell him I was really ill, he ran into my room, pulled my cover off me then dragged me into the main room. He kicked me then started to shout at me. Mum was begging him to stop. I still had to go to the sodding forest centre even though I had to have a tissue in my mouth to catch all the drool. I have been scared of getting ill ever since. Mum is the only person who really ever cared for me when I was sick. I suppose that was why I was so shocked about the way M reacted. Calmly!? Wasn't I ruining the trip to London or anything!? No, I really wasn't. It was with that knowledge that I was able to shut my eyes and sleep away the bug.
Although it is ME who has been ill all week, my emetephobia has been really bad. That's a fear of all things to do with vomit and vomiting. Needless to say this phobia doesn't really go well with stomach bugs. My OCD (Or TS, who knows...) will not let me just 'rest', I worry about contaminating other people, other people seeing me throw up, not being able to get to a toilet in time yada yada yada... Basically it is like a living hell. The counting to four (I can never get past four :S) over and over again was constant, like a horrible noise in the back of my head. I kept patting my legs four times. I had no tics during this illness (always seems to be the way with me) but the OCD sure made up for that. Worst of all (don't laugh) a crane fly landed just a meter away from me when I was unable to move. I swatted the little beggar with a pillow eventually! Phobias suck. Luckily since I was first diagnosed with OCD aged 17, I have gone from having 124 to having... well I don't really have to count any more! There has been some progress! Just vomiting, germs, crane flies, moths, slugs, odd numbers, fear of going outdoors (improving a lot), claustrophobia, sticky floor buds and bodily emissions to go...
But lastly, just in case you are reading this, I apologise for missing my appointment with you Dr. Stern. At least you know why now!