Can I go home yet?
Erika slept late this morning and so I did too, because she was actually sleeping instead of fussing and nursing. Which was not the best morning to pull that stunt because I needed to get showered and fed and out for my diabetes consultant appointment in Horsens.
Waiting in the sunshine, gazing at our house hiding in the summer trees. Sensible houses.
First bus. To Horsens. Think it’s only the second time I’ve taken the bus in that direction, although I’m not sure about that any more. I know I’ve come home from Horsens on the bus before. Anyway I considered trying to get one of the local town route buses up to the hospital but it was too risky so I walked which was okay. I know the walking route well.
Hospital appointment – I dunno. Sugars are fine, cholesterol is fine, we looked at the readings that the monitor took back in February and she was impressed enough with them, I certainly did a lot more blood sugar checks with a monitor than I do with the finger pricker. But the hospital can’t fund the libra for me, it’s too expensive. I have to present my case to the Kommune to see if they will fund it. I understand, but it’s still a frustrating setback.
I also went all excited to try to talk about being aspergers and how I feel that is affecting the way I manage the diabetes, and the way I’m trying to balance the diabetes and the disordered eating. I could have talked for ages about it but it turns out she’s not the person to talk to.
I’m a bit frustrated if I’m honest. If the diabetes consultant isn’t the person to talk to about how disordered eating is affecting the diabetes and the way I manage it, if an aspergers brain means I approach the diabetes management in a different way, surely the diabetes team – because of all the things I need to manage, the diabetes is the most critical all the time – are the people I need to be figuring this all out with?!
But no, I was encouraged to go to my own doctor, because disordered eating is a separate thing. And so is aspergers. And there’s another irritation. I actually like my brain. Now I’ve started seeing it in a different light, I can see that it’s bruised but it’s not broken. It has its quirks, it has its difficulties functioning in this particular era, but actually it’s a pretty awesome brain and does things its own way and does not need fixing in that respect, so to be encouraged to see my own doctor to access psychiatric services even if it’s purely for help with coping mechanisms etc feels like it’s a problem rather than who I am. I don’t know. Maybe I’m feeling a bit prickly about it. But it definitely doesn’t encourage me to see a doctor about “it”. I need to be broken and forced to actually get round to asking doctors for help. Otherwise it can wait, there’s other stuff needs doing.
And then instead of talking about the diabetes and the other stuff that affects or is affected by it, she asked how the kids are and if I’ve put them in school yet and how they must miss being with other kids and have I considered putting them in school and they’re still not learning danish are they and —- how was it any of her business?! I’m definitely prickly about that one. I fielded the questions confidently enough but it is still annoying when it’s just not even close to the reason why you’re there in the first place.
Second bus – local route bus back to the station. Thought it was a circular so I didn’t even think to cross the road to see if it also went the other way. Turns out it’s a there and back again route so I went away from the hospital, to the end of the route, back past the hospital, and eventually suddenly it was at the station.
Third bus. Station to home. Twenty minutes to get to the house for a quick toilet break and to grab some more brioche and get back to the bus stop for the following bus in to Skanderborg. Forgot my book bag so had to run in flappy sandals to grab it from Steve bringing it out for me and only just made it for the next bus.
Fourth bus. To Skanderborg. Quick dash into one of the shops for marmalade, and I saw some shoes in Erika’s size at last, so I got them too. Back to the bus stop.
Fifth bus. Town centre to language school. I could have walked but, tired.
New topic, new level, hard. Past tense. Remembered I have some homework to do.
Walked back to town with Chaine instead of getting a lift or the bus. It’s nice to process and unwind after school, and walking is good.
Walked to the grocery store, walked back to the station.
Sixth bus. Station to home. At last. It’s a beautiful route, I’ll give it that; and it’s started filling me with calm simply because I know it’s taking me home.
Too many buses, too many people, too much talking. Can I stop now?