How I hate chronicling ailments: it’s so boring. No one wants to know how well or how ill you feel. It’s as boring as relating a dream, explaining the entire plot of a movie the other person didn’t see (for a reason), or telling someone you’re going to be doing a charity fun-run. Even when they ask, “How are you?”, they don’t want a true answer to the question. Just a cursory “fine” to reciprocate the polite interest.
But I have to report my current state. Better that than write nothing.
I’ve had this dull, sporadic headache that’s been coming and going over the past ten days. It’s accompanied with nausea, feverishness and general wooziness, plus a lack of concentration, low energy and an inability to do, well, anything much at all, really. No actual blackouts or throwing up, though. Thing is, I can’t tell how much of this is just me being my normal unfit Dickon Edwards self.
I type the symptoms into the Internet, and of course it tells me I’m dying. Brain tumour is the first worry, so I’ve just had a new eye test (and passed fine), plus have seen my GP and voiced my fears. He thought it wasn’t anything serious. But I still feel rotten. And worrying about what could be making me feel rotten doesn’t help.
Something that could be connected is a nasty bang on the head I received at the Windmill gig ten days ago, lifting my head up too quickly under a low shelf when I was plugging something into the mains. It hurt pretty badly at the time, but I was drinking all night and didn’t really notice any pain for the rest of the evening. I was pretty anaesthetized.
From the day after, though, I got these new kind of dull and throbbing headaches, and they don’t seem to be going away. They feel more like the kind of pain you get after banging your head, so the GP thinks it’s a combination of delayed concussion, coupled with post-viral goings-on from the flu that I’ve had off and on for the last month. He took a look in my eyes with a pen torch, asked me to do a few hand-to-eye co-ordination tests, and told me he thought it was nothing to worry about: the headaches would go soon. He prescribed paracetemol till then.
I do hope he’s right. I’m sitting here feeling headachey and sick. And sick with worry over feeling sick. It’s driving me mad. Put down the voodoo doll, please, Unkind Reader.
