I've kind of lost track with where I am with the blog just now and well with life in general to be honest. The last thing I wrote about was not wanting to see any doctors again. My wife phoned the shrink's office to cancel my appointment and told them I didn't want to be seen again. Despite this another appointment arrived and at my insistence she again cancelled and let them know I was refusing further contact. But they don't give up that easy as you'll see.
She has also been to see Portillo (about her own health as he is her GP too) who said he had tried to phone the house after I walked out of the surgery but got no reply and unfortunately we "don't have an answering machine" so he couldn't leave a message. He was lying on both counts, my wife was waiting at home and we do have an answering machine which cuts in after 6 rings. I have found this pretty consistent behaviour for medical staff. Throughout my time as a madman I have found them incapable of accepting any sort of responsibility for their inactions and errors or able to ever offer any sort of apology. It's always the fault of technology or someone else. Anyway, he said he would have to check my blood for valproate levels since my Depakote had recently been increased so between them they arranged a home visit. So one morning he came to the house, I was pacing in circles around the garden (as I am prone to do when uptight) when suddenly there was a voice behind me and there he was. I shrieked and just about jumped out of my skin. Mrs Mo had warned me he was coming but I still got a shock. Anyway, I couldn't bear to speak to him or answer any of his questions so sat mute while he stuck needles in me, trying to draw blood from my invisible, spasming and non-compliant veins. Eventually he struck gold and filled the tube for valproate level then got another tube which he said was for a fasting blood sugar. Again he was lying, I caught a glimpse of the forms the last time the nurse did my bloods and saw a secret request for blood alcohol and gamma-GT which was never revealed to me. I presume he did the same as all the tests turned out to be fine despite me (unknown to him) having had tea with milk and sugar prior to my "fasting blood sugar".
As well as pacing around the garden I have been trying frantically to finalize my latest CD. I have all the tracks completed mixed and mastered but just need to get them all set to similar volumes so they sit together nicely on the CD. It's such a simple bloody task but I can't handle it all, I can't seem to juggle 12 songs at a time in my head. I used to do this with ease but it just seems impossible. I will get 2 or 3 done perfectly then number 4 will be out of kilter with number 1 etc, etc. Shit! It's all looking impossible.
Moonstone was back in touch with my wife last week, apparently Portillo had contacted her after the venepuncture episode. Could she come and see me, NO! Did my wife think I would benefit from going into hospital for a while? Fortunately Mrs Mo said that would be the worst thing possible for me. After interrogating her and finding out that I had thought Portillo may have bugged the house when he was here, Moonstone said she would need to contact Portillo to discuss prescribing me an alternative tranquiliser to chlorpromazine, one that wouldn't give me palpitations. Isn't that a fucking turn up for the books. For ages I submitted myself to her one sided interrogations in the hope of getting some sort of fucking medication to calm me down, all to no avail. Now that I refuse to see her she wants to give me medication. Now you can tell Alanis Morissette that is ironic, unlike "rain on your wedding day" which is just a pisser.
Anyway, it was last Wednesday Moonstone said she would contact Portillo and arrange an appropriate tranquiliser and fuck all has happened since. My wife has tried to find out if anything has happened by contacting the doctors and the pharmacy where my scripts go but nobody knows anything. I guess it's the usual "it's not my job" scenario with the fuckin NHS. I've seen this before. Psychiatrist wants GP to prescribe suitable anti-psychotic for cardiac problems. GP thinks it's psychiatrist's role to prescribe suitable anti-psychotic for bipolar. Result, stalemate... patient's condition... "it's not my responsibility, not in my specific remit. I have passed it on to the appropriate person. I have followed the protocol. My conscience is clear.". Although you might think it might be easier if I just went to see the doctor, it's only my refusal to attend that has actually provoked some action.
In the meantime I've been quite agitated and uptight. I was up all night on Friday night so took some chlorpromazine yesterday. Can't decide which sedative has the least side effects, chlorpromazine or alcohol?