It's six weeks today since my last hospital visit, so I'm half way towards the next one and I suppose that I'll begin a subconscious countdown now. Despite feeling really, really well, as I've said before, there's always a little niggle at the back of your mind about whether you're going to be told that further tests are necessary, and the regular hospital visits rather exacerbate that niggle.
Many people in my situation find the hospital visits reassuring. I don't. Quite the opposite, in fact. I feel the same way about doctors - I know people who rush off to see them if they have so much as a tiny sniffle. My view is that if I can avoid medical personnel, I will. I never feel that they exist in order to help me be well - rather, it seems to me that they're there to find things wrong with me! This, I assume, stems from a childhood of watching parents and grandparents being rushed into hospital which, as far as I could tell, was somewhere you went to die rather than to recover.
At least my dreams are positive - the latest one being that I was given the news that I could stay away for sixteen weeks instead of twelve because I was so well!
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