I thought this might be a good time to describe the level of health care I’m conspicuously not getting, for a life-threatening condition. And that’s the important bit – sorry about all you people waiting months, but we know I’m dying, you’re probably not.
Average life span for my condition after diagnosis, is 2 years, or the 2-year survival rate is 50%, depending on which research paper you favour – either way, I’m into my second year and I’m screwed, as after the second year the odds against the further survival of the 50% must be getting pretty damn short . Always assuming I make it that far, which is by no means certain.
I’ve been writing this over several days (4 days to write just over 2,200 words is totally absurd – that’s an hour’s work on a good day, and two at most), and, because I’m peeing every 10 minutes – seriously, my Furosemide has gone into overdrive this week – it keeps getting left, and I get distracted by writing something else that’s more time-sensitive, then I’m tired cos of all the walking back and forth… So if the chronology is a bit off – and I’ve done my best to sort it out – that’s why.
It’s now one month and five days since I wrote this letter to my cardiologist (and January since I saw him last), since when I have heard not a word.
In it I pointed out that, among very much else, I was going downhill so fast I needed skis; indeed, I have had to radically scale back what minimal level of activity I have been able to indulge in.
Luxuries, like the wildly exciting Continue reading →