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There are times when my need to write is almost unendurable – as, it seems I still have an unquenchable desire to understand myself, my actions and reactions, through the motivation that had led to them.



I abhor gamers, as I see those who have acted badly toward me in the past as gamers; those who manipulate people and situations, to suit their own advantage – generally, albeit not always, for purely selfish reasons.



It was the similarity in the two fiancée's that helped form who I became. Although ever-so different, the two had shared certain similarities that led to me eventually needing counselling, then finding the confidence course, I'd used to 'find myself.'



That phrase, 'find yourself' is applicable, because in trying to please the fiancée's, I'd lost who I'd been, before I had met them.



Although as stated, “I abhor gamers”, there are times when the indefensible can be utilised as a tool, to help one access what you need and, I emphasise need – as there is no way on this Earth, I would employ such tools, unless the ends truly did justify the means employd.



And, in this case they had.



All I wanted, was a blood test.



At least, that’s part of it.



I had wanted the ‘pancreas team’ to listen, as Hannah, the nutrionist does; and, as my doctor does. And, wanted they had wanted of me – was that I’d accept all they had written and told me of.



That said, I don’t accept things – not just like that, anyway. So, I had written my letter.

I’d written of my own experience and, not theirs. Then I finished my epistle by reminding the fellow I’d been writing to that my best friend had died of pancreatic cancer and, that he had spoken well of his MacMillan nurse.



Now, the fellow I’d been writing to was the pancreatic teams Macmillan Nurse. And now, I’ll concede, I had known as I’d finished the letter I’d get a response and, I had.



Days passed and I got a phonecall from the fellow, inviting me for a chat, to reassure me. Well, I’d listened to him, tell me of his colleague and, finally asked, “And, the bloodtest?”



And, yes… he’d conceded to what I wanted, reminding me it wouldn’t necessarily show what I’d wanted. But, I could have it.



They had already acknowledged their deficiencies in treatment, so what I had obtained was really done to ensure that I did not take action… and, in this litigious age, it’s understandable.



After all, how were they to know that if I were such a sort, I’d have sued Arrowe Park Hospital over my late-mother’s death, citing nurse negligence: but, that’s a story in itself.



An appointment had been made, at a time and date to suit me and, I’d attended needless to say. And, truth be told, everything had gone very much as expected: it had been apparent the fellow had been humouring me, though he had seemed to listen at times and answered the questions I had asked.



What’s more, I accepted the offer of a follow-up appointment in October. Now, as far as I follow it so far, as long as I’m connected to the clinic, I can continue with my nutritionist and, while I see her, I get the cancer drinks’, the Ensure drinks.



And, talking of gamers and gaming, Amada has knocked at the front door twice now; both times at about 13:00-1:00 when dark and raining [and she’s probably been drinking] and, I’d been sitting crosslegged on the edge of my bed, stool and laptop before me, tying away.



And, after my last encounter, there was noway I’d be going to answer the door to say anything to here [that is, assuming it was her].



“After all,” I’d mused, “I can’t think of anyone else who would use a brass knocker, at that time.”



Then it was Bank Holiday Monday that my theory was conformed, more or less.



I’d been off to the shops, to get paper towels and toilet rolls when a car passed by and a dark haired young woman waved. I’d chosen not to wave back, having recognized who it was, Amanda…



And truth be told, I'd been waiting, on the mail... for the results of the test before continuing to write. But, when I saw a letter on the door map, recognizing the senders address on the back – the DWP --- my heart nearly stopped. Then I'd opened it up, read it and, genuinely began to freak.



The DWP want me to attend another medical interview: this is after them putting me through two years of hell and, me feeling real bad about it all. This is after I thought it was over – for awhile.



My consolation through all this --- I've put on a few pounds and, am nearly nine and a half stone.

Now, that's good news... as for the DWP, I phoned Simon: recalling well how he helped me last time. Yet, I can't help but wonder at the truism, that bad letters for me from the DWP always arrive on a Friday, or on a Saturday morning, when I can't do anything about them... so, I worry...



And with that thought, I'll now go and try to find pleasant distraction, by making a dvd, or... something...