183 - A God, Hospitalised

Lin

I'm technically in world's (rickmansworth's) territory.

Yet I know, somehow, that I am safe.

Sunday morning was the last time I expected or wanted to face my fears, but there we go.

And there's a certain irony to sitting in a swerving ambulance listening to Lovely Day by Bob Sinclair whilst having the hypo of your life, but that's another story.

Right now, I'm in a separate room (by the Gods' mercy), so whilst it's fairly noisy, I have my own small pocket of peace in the madness that is today.

A kind lady just checked most of my vitals, and I'm apparently meant to be getting a blood test soon, which will hopefully check for the disease that my Maman and Granny kept on for safekeeping.

Hừa Đại Nương is with me, black sand safeguarding us all, flowers sprouting from her hands. She sits at the end of my hospital bed, making daisy chains out of darkness, and for that, I am grateful.

Do you want them to find it now?

I nod.

Alright. But be prepared for the consequences. You can't go back.

I smile.

As if I'd want to.

Golden light swamps our system, and the hereditary condition flies high, the centre of it all - the proof of my birthright. Once its light show is done, it lands quietly with my health department into what looks like a panel made just for it.

You'll feel it now.

I nod.

I do feel it now.

The iron boils in my blood. Oddly for me though, it is far from intimidating - it feels like an old friend, removed from the bitter enemy that my hot flushes often are.

He'll never have me.

She nods.

Nor will we ever let him.

When the lady helping me tries to take my blood, it initially doesn't come up.

Let it work.

I nod.

The other man will be able to get it out.

Ah, alright.

Last time I had my blood taken, starry pants was there, and my vitals showed up as being fine, despite me feeling otherwise. Now I know they won't, but not for the reason the doctors suspect.

In truth, my appetite has always been quite fickle, and the voldys often drugged my food as well as torturing me with it in general, so it's little wonder that eating has become a sore spot for me.

All of this has compounded as a result of a load of snowballing shit, and if it wasn't for the fact that bin boy triggered me in the first place, I probably wouldn't be here. (I get credit for getting treatment earlier, as opposed to him getting credit for retraumatising me.)

Do you think I'll survive?

She nods.

You will. You always do. 

Even when you die.

I grin.

Old faithful, back from the dead again.

She smirks.

But you will not die again. Not unless you are ready to, and want to.

I'll never be ready.

Then, you'll never die.

I nod.

But that, indeed, is what being a God is.

Undying.

Yes. We do not ever truly live or die. We just pretend to.

Don't let the article of simulation deceive you, Linh - you are not human. That is what makes you strong.

And your quality, your resilience, your intellect, beyond what could be considered humanity - that is what makes you a God.

My heart swells with pride I never knew existed.

It means a lot to me to hear you say that.

Hừa Đại nods.

And I mean it.

The dizziness fogs my mind for a minute, and I feel my back get warm.

Another hot flush.

She winces.

This was why you wanted your throw.

I nod.

Tactile comfort.

The ambulance crew did give me another blanket, but I didn't take it into hospital with me, as I doubted I'd need it. I do have my seal plushie with me, though. Snowdrop brings me much comfort in these turbulent times.

Aforementioned other man just took my blood, and it was kinda scary, though definitely needed.

I got impaled!

She cackles, holding my arm.

I told you he'd do it.

I nod.

He'll see it - and he'll find it.

Diagnosis!

It's funny what a combination of anxiety, malnutrition and blood loss does to you. Everything around you seems funnier than it would be if you were well, scarier than if you were well, more exciting, anxiety inducing than if you were well. 

Holding this thought with a child like wonder, I smile.

It's like holding molten amber. That's what this is.

She smiles.

That is what holding onto joy in the most adverse times is - pure amber.

Trees have blood, too - and you're very connected to them. Hence the thalassaemia that is a part of your birthright.

Usually, in more healthy circumstances, this ailment would be treatable. But given the situation surrounding your eating disorder, this was needed.

And you will recover. I and all of the rest of us - midwives, Gods and otherwise - will all ensure that happens.

Is that why my amber broke?

She pauses.

Yes. But that is not your fault. It speaks of an illness and is a placemarker for where your healing needs to begin:

The blood.

I nod.

And resin?

She shuts my eyes, smiling good-naturedly.

She is alright. If anything, the breakage gave her more power to do exactly what she does best - heal and speak through you.

Great.

Of all people in our system, she needs to be safe, hence my refusal to mention her directly by name. If anyone already knows, then you know. If not, when safety comes, she'll reveal her own name. 

I owe her that much for saving me.

What's going to happen next, then?

Hừa Đại gently pats my thigh, petals brushing against my trousers.

Relax. They'll give you the thalassaemia diagnosis, then wheel you off to both get meds and then to get to the ED department. Sound good?

I nod.

For definite.

It sounds like I'm going to have to push further for a thalassaemia diagnosis, or at least, blood test.

We'll speak to your GP.

I nod. Last time I tried to push for a diagnosis, I thought I had Addison's. Yet all of the blood tests came back apparently 'normal'. It sounds like something similar may have happened here, too.

*****************

We returned home at about 2pm. The mental health nurse there, despite basically kicking us out, was helpful, and led me straight to the crisis team.

She didn't arrange transport, nor did I receive my meds whilst at the hospital, so you can imagine how that went.

Luckily I managed to ask for the crisis team's help in going home, which meant that I got back safely.

Usually I wouldn't admit to feeling suicidal, but this was serious.

The only thing I seem to be able to eat right now, ironically, are Marylands, so I'm doing my best to savour them.

I get my UC on the 20th, so it's not like I have much choice.

Whilst not everything went to plan, I know things will be alright from here on out.

Part of me has been a bit of a control freak for a while, which, given my past, isn't all that surprising, I need to take better care of myself and my emotions than I have been.

Get as much rest as you can.

Hừa Đại indicates to the bed in my room in my nemeton. Whilst I've been on sertraline, I've not really slept that much, but that's part of the side effects. Spiritually sleeping, however, is another thing.

I rarely sleep spiritually.

She looks at me with the utmost gentleness.

Which is why you absolutely should.

I pull the covers over myself and swaddle myself like I usually do.

If you need anything, please let me know.

Hugging my seal plushie, I smile.

Cảm ơn.