Stressful Wednesday

Well, I have just come back from having my blood test.  It seemed an endless wait this morning and my stomach was churning.  The journey in the car was not too bad but when I got into the surgery, it was like a blast furnace, so unhealthy an environment and I could imagine all the germs having a grand old time multiplying in there.  When I was called in it was not the usual sister and she promptly announced that she had not taken blood for years!  You can imagine the effect this had on me.  She fiddled around trying to find a vein (nobody else has ever had any problems) and eventually managed to extract a couple of phials.  I pointed out they usually take three but she said it would have to do because that was all the bottles they had!  They rarely take blood at my surgery now. Everyone is sent off to a clinic elsewhere but I always panic when I get there because it is so crowded and you have to wait in a long queue.  My own doctor suggested that I had it done at the surgery instead.  Pity he did not know about their shortage of bottles.  I was pretty stressed out by it all and although I achieved it, when I got home, I promptly burst into tears.

I have to wait until next week for the results and if the sugars do show as being too high over a long period, will then have to see the doctor again about increased medication.  I have also been booked in for a full diabetic check in the first week of May so I have all that hanging over my head because I know they will go on about my weight.  There is not much I can do, I stick to my diabetic diet, try and do as much as I can around the house but being agoraphobic I cannot get out and do the walking exercise that everyone else can.  The trouble is they have never truly accepted this down at my surgery.  One of my doctors does not believe there is such a thing as agoraphobia and the other feels that I could do things if I really wanted to.  They should walk a mile in my shoes (no pun intended) that would soon change their minds.

Anyway, enough of that there is absolutely no use whining about something I can do little to change. I can only hope the blood tests results are not too bad and I can get through the half hour diabetic check.

At least going out gave me the opportunity to wear my lovely jacket that I bought over a year ago. This is only the second time I have worn it.

                    

I made a momentous decision (for me) a few weeks back.  No more peroxide on the hair, no more platinum blond! Two reasons really , the first being that they had stopped making the brand I used and secondly I always hated the smell of peroxide and the fumes getting in my eyes and nose.  Now, this is a big decision for me because I have been colouring my hair since I was sixteen years old!  I have never been my natural colour since then.  Name a colour  - I have been that colour, all shades of blond, all shades of red and all shades of brown including almost black.

I was a punk long before the word was ever invented.  At one time I worked near a lot of theatrical places in London and I used to go into the theatrical make-up establishments where I could buy silver, pink, green or blue sprays to go on my hair.  I used to regularly spray streaks at the front.  Hard to believe, as I am now, that I was once something of a rebel and a trendsetter.

I only ever had one real disaster with my hair.  Did I ever tell you about that?  I have done so many entries on here that it is hard to remember whether I have or have not.  It was something I will never forget!   Perhaps some of my long time readers will know whether I ever wrote that story.  If not, perhaps you would like to hear?

Becky clips my hair and I do mean clip.  For around five years no scissors have never been used on my barnet fair. No, for me it is clippers like they use on men.  My hair is really really short, much shorter now than in the picture up in All About Me. Half an inch all over except for the front. So, at the moment, I am sort of two-tone as my hair is white at the front (but still a little bleach left) and salt and pepper at the back. The only thing is that I feel that having very short hair draws more attention to my size  - we always wonder how others view us but I am getting to old to care what other people think.

Does it make me feel older?  Not really.  There is nothing to be ashamed of in age and experience.  Less glamorous maybe but who knows, I can always use a hair colourant again if I feel like it, maybe a semi-permanent.  At the moment I am just happy with it as it is.  I cannot turn back the years so I thought it was time for the real me (hair) to emerge.

This morning, before, we left home, Mike took a couple of snaps of me. I am not a great lover of having my picture taken but at least you can see my short hair and judge for yourselves.

Do not forget to remind me about my hair disaster story.

Now, dear readers,  I am off for a well deserved cup of tea!

Hope you all have a good day