coldutewarmheart

On the 8th of September, I was admitted to a neurorehabilitation ward. I had no idea how well I'd cope- physically or mentally. In the month or so prior to admission, I went downhill a lot. And I mean A LOT. To the point where I was questioning the need to accept a hoist or go into a nursing home short-term. It was that bad. I was having non-epileptic seizures almost daily, that were lasting hours, and was feeling deathly. I even ended up in an ambulance to A&E at one point due to spending all day barely conscious. When I got the call to say my admission was imminent rather than several months away, I was shocked, but actually relieved more than anything. I knew I desperately needed the help, and the situation had become so difficult with me at home that something had to change urgently, so it felt like it had come at just the right time. I felt ready and keen, while also fully aware that it was going to be physically and mentally challenging.. The first day, I arrived and the ...

I found out on Wednesday that I'm going to be admitted into hospital again. Shocked is an understatement. I wasn't expecting it at all. Not one bit. Even now it doesn't feel real. I'd gone to hospital for an outpatient appointment in a spasticity clinic with a rehabilitation medicine consultant. I thought it was a case of assessing whether I had spasticity and if so deciding whether to go down the route of Botox injections or muscle relaxants. I thought that was as drastic as it was going to get.. I arrived at my appointment to be greeted by the consultant, another doctor, and a neuro-physio. As some of you know, I have medical/post-hospitalisation PTSD, following some traumatic experiences and an incident where I was treated  abusively by 2 members of staff. Hospitals and I don't mix well, so I was pretty anxious. She started taking a bit of history about how I ended up how I am. It's always hard to know where to start given that I've had chronic conditions...