The nurse tending to the bandaging of the wounds on my legs & feet was dismayed when she found that they had gotten worse since she last treated them on August 30. She left the room I was in & awhile later, another nurse came to examine & bandage my wounds. I’ve seen her before & I’m fairly certain she’s in charge of the outpatient unit. Although she doesn’t have the demeanour of a nurse Rachet, I’m pretty sure she was sent in to put the fear of God in me. I didn’t say much as she looked over my legs, saying how she understands the desire people have to scratch at their wounds when they get itchy. I also didn’t tell her it was because of my persistent depressed state that makes me pick at them while mindlessly scrolling social media during night after night of my fucking insomnia. It’s weird that I can write that here but I can’t find the words to describe it to the people who can help. As she examines my toe, the word amputation comes up, a word that had come up before with the wounds I’ve had on my other toes… which thankfully all healed to one degree or another. But she really thinks removing it might be the best course of action. Thankfully, that hasn’t been the course of action the doctors have mentioned yet with this latest wound, but to get me out of their hair maybe they’ll do it. Teach the stupid man a lesson for eating all that junk & rarely looking after himself.

Earlier today I arrived a bit late for my appointment with @lifelabslp for my weekly blood work, but didn’t have to wait long at all before they extracted some blood from my veins into two small vials. I can never watch as they do it, even the thought of the needle piercing my skin to collect a sample leaves me feeling nauseous. I then had a cup of tea before heading back to Mum’s, where I slept until it was time to go to the hospital.

Another day wasted. Another day gone.

This was originally posted on Flickr and Instagram.

(247/366).