It was impossible to settle down and sleep last night. My head felt as if it was exploding. The systolic lowering meds take time to act. The real problem was the excited chatter of medics and patients responding to the England v Norway World Cup match. Not just that noise but the careless banging shut of pedal bins and automatic doors banging open. No wonder my blood pressure doesn't drop and my nose still drips blood, but it's less painful now. Dealing with the echoes of trauma from the experience being violated by treatment which made things painfully worse last year has to be faced, like it or not.
I push back and complain if I'm disturbed from a snatch of relaxed sleep. I insist on retaining control of habitual self medication to impose structure on the day, otherwise it becomes a meaningless blur. I had a good chat with the nedicators, necessary for them to understand that I have not lost my grip on the process.
I still can't pray more than a few remembered words and phrases at a time. Concentration is often foggy, drug impaired. Eyes water making reading difficult on times.
Such a relief when the lights were dimmed after supper and some degree of peace and quiet descended.
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