Yesterday's post (was the last one done yesterday?) *cough* may be written off as a brain fart.
Nonetheless this is acknowledged to be outrageously good news. The depths of my brain are, apparently, moving, and producing, err, things. Said organ was generally considered to be either terminally constipated or dead, and we have broken an impasse. As I write, several dozen previously warring neurologists, pathologists and professional experts are enjoying a jovial cup of tea and comparing fees. The judge is in the cupboard taking Valium and Smarties washed down with un-peated Magilligan Single Malt.
My proctologist is mad at everybody. Yes folks, in the recent silence I have been off to see the man with the bendy camera and the bicycle pump; he of the latex gloves and scary index finger, with the lifetime supply of industrial grade KY.
He is mad because apparently my GP should have known about statins and their (allegedly well known) side effects.
I am happy because at the pre-op weigh in, one of the nurses casually remarked that a lot of people on the same meds as me also take a water tablet.
That was it. Go back to my GP and ask? You must be joking. I went to Boots and bought herbal ones.
In one day I could see blood vessels on my feet.
In two, I could see my knuckles.
In three my husband said my face looked thinner.
In four I'd lost half a stone and counting.
In five, my brain started to function once more.
So, please, turn around, touch the ground, touch wood, cross yourselves and wish hard on my account, because if I can regain cognitive speed on any reliable basis I may decide to change the world.
Starting with a change of doctors, I think.