For the first time in my living memory, today I could not help but feel my isolation. I built this castle and moat with my bare hands, but when there is a bit of a health scare unfolding, people tend to need family and friends around them. All of a sudden, it feels as though I am very much alone.
When I wrote the other day about my scheduled colonoscopy this week and the possible health concern(s), it’s fair to say I was fairly upbeat and unconcerned, but this week things are taking on a slightly different shape.
When I realised the weight was dropping, I immediately put it down to a reduction of Quetiapine. In retrospect, that theory is rather ridiculous because the reduction of medication was a miniscule amount. I stopped the reduction four weeks ago, but it had no impact on the weight loss.
If you’ve ever been overweight, which I was by just over 50lbs, you will understand how great it is to watch the numbers on your digital scales reduce by 2lbs every week, with absolutely no effort on your part. Perhaps you would be worried, but for some odd reason, I didn’t seem to grasp the extent of the calculations.
The Doc explained yesterday that 1-2lbs is actually a healthy weight loss, but only if you’re working hard to achieve it with an exercise regime and diet plan. I’m afraid my slow strolls through the park with a walking stick, nightly ice cream, large chocolate egg, or that box of chocolates over Easter, is not their idea of rigorous exercise or a strict diet.
I suddenly realised yesterday that, of course, there is something not quite right. It’s impossible not to allow the scenarios to play out in my mind. I’m not so much worried about myself, only about my little Jack Russell… go figure! I don’t mean I’m expecting to kick the bucket (die), but any hospital stay would be disastrous for him.
The one good thing about Thursday’s colonoscopy is that they tell me the results afterwards. Nevertheless, no matter what way I look at this, there are a number of hospital visits ahead, as we try to discover the reasons behind the mysterious weight loss.
I’m only beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel in relation to my mental health, but it seems I have something physical to contend with during the next few weeks or months. I am not too good at dealing with the unknown.
Tomorrow is the day that fills me with dread. I cannot eat or drink anything other than water after breakfast. Between 4.30 and 6pm, I need to take the first rocket powered laxative sachet and apparently I’ll erupt out my rear end like there is no tomorrow. That should be fun.
Please accept my apologies for not being on top of my usual blogs. I hope I’ll get the chance tomorrow to catch up, in between therapy and trotting back and forth to the loo. Fingers and toes crossed