The Final Countdown

Last Thursday I finally got my shit together after confirming via email that my stuff had arrived with the clinic, and I went to the local lab to have some bloods taken. Now, I'm not squeamish, but I really dislike watching needles being put into my skin. Maybe it's that I remember being off my face on nitrous and morphine and yet still screaming when a nurse tried to put a shunt in the back of my hand. They ended up putting it in the elbow of my right arm. My dominant arm. That's some real freaky shit, being able to bend your arm and feel something poking around in the veins. Mmm, delicious. Mind you, as soon as the needle was in? I swivelled my head right round and watched the vial filling with my blood with all the restraint of a starving sparkly vampire. Go figure.

Still, it was interesting in that this is the only lab in town that can take payment and therefore is the only one who can forward results to the clinic in Queenstown, meaning the woman knew exactly what I was up to even though I didn't explain any of it beyond the "Yeah, it's a private request test, not on a GP's order." She asked me if I'd already begun, and I said no, it was the initial; she replied that they've seen a few through the lab and that they've had "amazing results." It's heartening, I think. Makes me feel a little less isolated, too.

Still, I wasn't really expecting anything much until the end of the week. However, at around four-thirty while I was taking my break, my phone beeped with a message from about a quarter hour earlier; apparently my diet plan is in, and will be in the post. I suppose I might get it Wednesday? I'm to read up, write down my questions, and call my "coach" back. I guess this really is the downward spiral now. I'd planned to start this weekend if possible, but we have family guests and because my father is off to Australia I suspect there may be dinner involved. Maybe I'll go for that, and then...away we go?

In "celebration" I swung past Briscoes on the way home and picked up a hundred dollar Breville electronic food scale for fifty percent off. Oh, Briscoes, NEVER CHANGE. I also ended up discussing looting after the Christchurch earthquake and Hurricane Katrina with one of the staff, and we decided shooting the bastards is a good idea. I miss you, New Orleans...though that's really neither here nor there. Hopefully by the next time I get to the US to see the RoseCon crew, I can dress as Nanami and crawl over tables to glomp my oniisama. Nice to dream, innit? ^_~