A happy Erastes

Is a sold Erastes.

Or rather, almost sold. Had an offer from CARINA yesterday for “Muffled Drum” *jumps around in joy* and my agent is now handling the negotiation.

In other news.

There is SUN!  First time for days. *clings to it*

And

 Lesbians writing about straights? HOW VERY DARE THEY!!!! (this, for the benefit of those who didn’t spot it, is a joke.)

Went to the doctor’s Which was usual in its usual incompetence. First of all he sat me down and said “What can I do for you?”  I’d just about had enough of him, and said “I have NO idea, you are the one who phoned me and told me to come in today.” which sent him scurrying to the computer to find out why I was there. Why OH WHY can’t he just spend one minute before I come in finding this crap out—it would at least give the lie that he gives a fuck. Anyway, I prod him about the Echo results that I hadn’t had from over a month ago and he eventually finds them. Not great news I have a dilated ventricles or something which means I have to go onto Warfarin (scuse spelling). I pretended I hadn’t heard of this and he just said it was an anti-coagulant and that it was “tricky” to get the dosage right. Don’t bother to explain it was a rat poison then, will you, arsehole?

So he’s making noises to get rid of me and I say “what about the glucose tolerance test I had two weeks ago?”  He looks. No, he hasn’t had the results, and he starts writing up my script for aspirin and Lisinopril (i need to see the cardiologist before i can have the rat poison) – I say “well, that’s odd, because they said the results would be along in two days and it’s two weeks.  He looks again, and LO AND BEHOLD the results had magically appeared.

Seems I’m not (yet) diabetic. “impaired glucose tolerance” so that’s something.

He finished off the session with reminding me I had to lose weight, or I would be diabetic “in a couple of years” – well der. He hasn’t given me ANY help in this regard, despite me asking for it. No diet sheet, no referrals to a dietician, nothing. What annoys me is that I’ve never been a strain on the NHS, I go to the doctors about once every ten years in general, and the one time I NEED help, they won’t give it.  If I was a smoker, there would be a multitude of options to help me lose weight, free patches, free counselling, free sessions, free support groups, but because I’m fat – NOTHING.  Or at least, nothing he’s prepared to offer.  I’m going to write to the NHS direct and voice my concerns, because he’s quite the worst doctor I’ve ever encountered. And I can’t be the only one of his patients who feels like this.

Adopt one today!

n

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