Turbulence and Snacks

“I just want to feel like I’m not crazy”, I told the doctor.

I am clinically insane. Pretty sure. But it wasn’t the insanity I wanted to highlight, and even if a holiday to a padded cell, with all the drugs and three square meals a day sounded delightful right now, I need to learn to exist in this world, sadly.

This doctor, unlike all the ones I had seen in the 22 years of my adult life, seemed to be listening. Professional. His name is Dr Klim. Where is that name from? He sounds younger. White. Unusual for round here, the doctors are usually Asian. Slight accent? It’s been such a long time since I’ve gone to the doctor about my brain. Have doctors undergone ‘woke’ training so they know how to speak with all these different people with labels. He could just be nice.

Oh, for fucks sake. I missed what I need to do next. Thanks brain. Thankfully he rounds off by saying they’ll text me, and I can pick up the forms from the receptionist later. Also, I’m overdue a cervical smear. I can’t help but laugh and nervously make a joke as I had just told him how rubbish I am at managing my life. He didn’t laugh. No time for laughing. NHS doctors are too busy to laugh. Oooooh it’s probably part of that woke training where they can’t laugh at or with patients, especially the crazies. It couldn’t possibly be that I’m not funny. I’m a hoot.

“How are you feeling?”

My boyfriend slid into the room. He had been listening to everything.

"Yeah, I think so," I reply, not actually answering his question but it makes sense to me. "How did I sound?"

"Crazy".

I cocked my head at him and shot him a look that telepathically bitch-slapped that motherfucker, which prompted him to say at once, "In a good way!".

I slowly lowered my forehead to the breakfast bar with my mobile phone still in hand, exhaled, and felt tension drain from my body.

"Are you ok."

"Yeah. Just glad that's over."

I sat up and moved my book of notes and prompts - should I forget what I'm saying mid-sentence or start rambling as I invariably do - over to the side and closed it. It felt symbolic. I sipped the strong, sweet coffee that my boyfriend just made me and stared straight ahead. Ladies and Gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts, and ensure your mental baggage is safely stored in the above cranial compartment as we take off on our way to the land of pure dissociation.

We talked for a few minutes.

"That wasn't as bad as you thought it was going to be, was it?"

"Yes," I replied, grumpily.

My boyfriend responded with logic and reality, and reminded me that I was getting a referral, which was the desired outcome, but also going private was still an option, albeit less desirable.

"So, Miss Glassy Eyes, what have you got planned for the rest of the day?"

Shock, I was starting to form tears. I'll tell you what is going to happen. I am about to burst into tears and once I have finally finished, I am going to indulge in mindless scrolling through my phone whilst pretending to do stuff. I will likely need a nap.

Instead, I reply, 'Not much."

I burst into tears. Ladies and Gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts, and assume the brace position as we attempt a crash landing into destination meltdown.

Nevertheless, I instantly feel better, although you wouldn't have thought it to look at the mess that was me right at that moment.

As long as I have a neck pillow and in-flight snacks, I'll be ok.