Wednesday, 14 September 2011

I finally get some relief from the pain and now I can't stop hysterically crying over these 'functional rehab' tests they now say I have to do for the insurance.

They woke me up yesterday morning phoning to make the appointment. I'm supposed to have had a letter about it, but I haven't.

I have to go to London or Reading - too far for me to drive alone, so I'll need someone to take me. And it's all 'push this' and 'sit here' to find out what I can and can't do.

Except for it to be a day I can even get there means it's a better day than most, so it's completely unrepresentative. They said it's all designed not to make my symptoms worse, but just going will make them worse. And I'm so scared. I don't want to go. They'll poke and prod me, make it all kick off for the next day, then tell me I'm not really sick.

I'm in so much fucking pain I want to die and I have to be dragged out like a faulty stereo to prove there's anything wrong.

Please just let me die now. Please. You can have anything you want, just let me go.

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