Too ill to stand, throwing up if I walked, passing out on two occasions - once in front of my six year old and feeling increasingly dizzy even when lying flat, drastic action had to be taken.
More unusual than the two home visits by a Doctor, was being in bed reading a magazine in the SAME MONTH it had been issued. That's simply not normal around here. Articles and features I collect to read from newsapers and numerous other publications build up until their dates become too embarrrassing to have hanging around any longer. The fashions and stories will have come, gone and been re-cycled and upcycled, so, eventually, every now and then, more often than not, I will summon up the courage to throw them all out.
However, this was no Normal Day. Having waxed lyrical about a truly farcical visit to a gynaecologist on a previous post, suffice to say, we are talking problems in that department - my haemoglobin iron count was dangerously low.
I have been brave for so long - being a single parent, daring to love again, taking in foreign language students, plus facing (and not always really able to cope with) one technical hurdle after another in the blogosphere ... I could go on ... but on this occasion, my usually insurmountable joie de vivre deserted me.
I was scared and detested the thought of someone else's blood or 'Energy.'
What if I didn't like the feel of them? What if it didn't take or there was a negative reaction? What about all those stories of people who develop previously never felt before cravings and and characteristics of someone who has donated an organ to them?
Pure nerves initially prevented me from proceeding.
Then the kindly, but fresh out of nappies, G.P. mentioned the dreaded word: Menopause. You can dress it up how you like - Pre, Peri or bleedin' (Ha Ha!) Merry, but I ain't ready for that. I have one child just started nursery - these two things are not natural allies, surely?
|Er, No, ta very much.|
Yet missing my little one's first day - being totally incapacitated and unable to drive him there -bringing only faint feelings of relief rather than remorse / heartbreak, friends rallying round, seeming shocked and a bit upset while kidding me about how awful I looked and parts of my life flashing before me as I eventually became incapable of reading, writing or even entertaining Twitter, it simply made sense to relent. There was no option.
It turns out my misgivings were totally misplaced. Apart from a terrible rash around my throat area, my well being is now a whole lot better. I am still weak, but my neverending knackeredness, previously attributed to having young children at my age, is undoubtedly not always unrelated to chronic anaemia. Some kindly souls have literally, breathed life into my bones and I thought of them as their special sacrifice, bearing uncanny resemblance to my regular red wine tipple, was pumped directly into a vein. What is there not to be thankful for?
While I nod silently in agreement with the eloquent middle age musings made by Sara Bran and Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron or glorious Countrywives, they are altogether much more comforting and funny happening to someone else. Even though I must concede to having jokingly written my own post called You know you're a grumpy old woman when ... - it was supposed to be just that - joshing.
This month's June Issue of Easy Living magazine contains a piece about four women who have bounced back from adversity, and yours truly is featured. I am, therefore, AHEAD of any self-imposed reading schedule for a change and now able to function better - not up to par, but actually managing to read and write and get this far, with the occasional short burst on Twitter. But if you ever discover I am watching daytime TV again, please don't wait for me to keel over - get me to the nearest hospital. Pronto.