The Return

 

In the 1 ++ month since I last wrote a blog entry,  a lot has happened. Not much has changed, but a lot of exciting things have taken place in my life.

The main one is that I returned to Norway for a quick visit. That’s the first time I’ve seen my family and friends in a year and a half, so that was quite exhilarating.

I was hoping for three weeks of sun, barbecues, swimming in the ocean and hanging out with friends all day long but, alas, I must have forgotten that I was going back to a Norwegian summer. That means max. 15 degrees Celsius and rain. Bucketloads of rain. Overall I got to experience roughly 3 whole days of sunny weather and temperatures above 20 degrees Celsius. But at least I got to see my friends and family.

Oh, and the day before I returned to Norway was the date of my boyfriend and mine’s 6-month anniversary, and we celebrated it with a romantic dinner at night. It was really sad having to leave the next day, but at least I got to spend that important milestone with him, which I’m thankful for.

I returned to NZ on July 12, two days after the uni holidays had ended, so it was straight back to uni for me – I even missed out on a few lectures. But now, a week and a day later, I’ve gotten back into the normal routine of going to uni, studying, hanging out with people whenever I can and, best of all – today I’m seeing my boyfriend again, for the first time in over a month! Ever since I woke up this morning I’ve had butterflies in my stomach at the thought of seeing him again tonight (at 8pm), and they are not getting quieter as the hour approaches; on the contrary!

I’m actually in a literature lecture atm, but I can’t concentrate, so I figured I might as well update my blog.

It’s good to return, no matter where to. The very word implies roots, which, whether I like it or not, I have. In different places. Family, friends and my childhood roots me to Norway. More friends, education, and the love of my life roots me to New Zealand. So travelling between the two places is not like travelling to ‘another’ place, it is always a return, to a place I call home.

Race Against the Clock

Yesterday I had my final tutorial for trimester 1. All that remains to do now are my final assignments, and then I’m officially halfway through my BA.

So today I’m spending roughly 6 hours working on one of my essays, which is due on the 13th of June. The essay draft is over 2,500 words long, and the essay is supposed to be between 2,000 and 2,500 words, so I feel like I’ve got the hang of this.

At some point this afternoon/evening I’m catching the train to Upper Hutt to spend the weekend with Nathan at his mum’s place. Of course I’ll be bringing my notebook and stuff with me, but I suspect that might be more just so that I can feel good about myself…

Anyway, I’ve still got two more essays to write, and one of them has to be between 2,000 and 2,500 words, and the other has to be between 2,500 and 2,800 words. I haven’t started writing those two yet, and they’re due on the 14th and 16th of June. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’m sure it’ll involve copious amounts of coffee, wine, and tears. And swearing.

I do, however, have the best motivation possible. Nathan. He’s got a week off work after his course finishes next Friday, and he’ll be in the Wellington/Upper Hutt area for that week, catching up with his mates, seeing his mum, and spending time with me. Of course I want to be able to spend as much time with him as possible, and that motivates me to work my butt off before his course finishes, so that I won’t have to do (too many) all-nighters when he’s free. Also, that’s the week before I go back to Norway for three weeks, so it better be good.

I hope everyone understands that this blog entry is just me procrastinating. I want the time to fly by – the sooner I get to go and see Nathan, the better – but at the same time I die a little bit every time I cast a glance at the clock and realise that another hour has gone by, and I’ve only written 300 words on the proper version of my essay. Better get back to it, eh.

I Hate Doctors

Well, actually, I do acknowledge that most doctors do a great job, my hatred is directed more at the need for doctors at all.

Every time I see a doctor about something (which, up until this year, happened very rarely – why? See the title) I leave the doctor’s office scared sh*tless. If I wasn’t worried when I walked in, I sure as hell will be when I walk away.

Take today, for example. You all know I use my legs to get around. And for the past 3-4 months a pain in my left foot has caused me great discomfort and made me cut back on my walking, so it’s having a negative impact on my life, which I won’t allow any longer. I’ve tried letting my feet rest for days and weeks, I’ve taken painkillers, anti-inflammatory “drugs”, put deep heat on three times a day, all to no avail. So to the doctor I went.

Actually, it was a nurse.

Anyway, she had a look at my feet, and found that they look normal, and asked me lots of questions about the pain, how long it’s been like that, etc., etc., and then I started mentioning other things that have bothered me for a while. So she ran the usual tests, and I swear every other time I’ve had those tests taken they’ve been normal, but today this nurse discovered that I was running a fever, and that my blood pressure was low. Cue surprised face on my part.

So she sent me to see an actual doctor. Mainly about my foot, because she didn’t know anything about feet, apparently. So half an hour later I saw the doctor, and he didn’t have much time for me. He didn’t have time to look at my foot, but was very interested in my fever.

After lots and lots and lots of questions from him he told me that I should make another appointment with the doctor I normally see, and that I should have some more blood tests taken (I had some taken about a month ago), this time to check my red and white blood cell count. That’s when my brain just went WAIT! REWIND THAT PLEASE! WHAT?!? And then he sent me on my way.

Now, if I walked into the doctor’s office wondering about my sore foot, that was NOT what I came out thinking. For the rest of the day I’ve been convinced that there is something really terrible going on with me, and what annoys me is that the doctor didn’t take the time to explain why he wanted me to have my blood cell count checked. The first thought that came to my mind was “isn’t that what they do when they suspect that someone has cancer?”

I’m seeing my regular doctor next Monday. Because doctors make me paranoid with their vague diagnoses and cryptic answers, I am now wondering if I will even live that long. I don’t feel too great…