Well, I had a NIGHTMARE on Friday.

All I had to do was collect my medication. Instead, I ended up walking in 34°C weather, drinking 2.1 litres of water, getting sunburnt, feeling sick from the heat, taking an emergency taxi to the doctors, and then having a cluster headache while being harassed by grasshoppers. Peanut butter ended up being the unexpected hero of the day, though.

I DIDN’T EVEN GET the MEDS.

WHAT EVEN was Friday?

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The Failed Text Message

I get my mental health medication from Boots. It’s on repeat, so I don’t have to request it every month. They send me a text when it’s ready for collection, I reorder it, and then the same thing happens the following month until it’s time for a medication review.

Sometimes they don’t send the text, but when I’ve turned up anyway, my prescription has still been there waiting for me. So I assumed that’s what had happened today. Their system must have failed to generate the message, but everything else would be fine.

I was hopeful. Even though I had a bad feeling.

I also had a bad feeling because the weather was forecast to reach 30°C, and I really struggle with heat intolerance. It makes me ill. In fact, I’d already been ill the night before after taking my medication.

But the hot weather was forecast to continue for another week, so I was going to have to brave it sooner or later. Despite my anxiety, I kept reassuring myself that it would be okay. It wasn’t that far. I’d walk slowly, stick to the shade as much as possible, and I’d manage.

I keep saying my HOPE is a problem. Because I always convince myself things will probably work out.

But like today, I’m often completely WRONG.

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The Perilous Walk In the Smelly Desert

I walked into the heat only to realise it felt much hotter than 30C, which isn’t unusual for British heat. British heat can best be described as what it feels like standing behind the exhaust of a bus. I checked my weather app and it said it was 33C.

I was trying to get my phone to play some music to take my mind off everything, but it was having none of it. I held it up to the sky, tried operating it through my bag, and eventually managed to get it working, albeit very laggy. I felt like Saul in Bagman, the Better Call Saul episode where he’s stranded in the desert.

I walked past a bunch of people and wondered how they all seemed completely fine. I was already absolutely drenched in sweat and felt like I hadn’t drunk any water for about three days, despite the fact I’d had plenty of water and electrolytes before even stepping foot outside.

I was visibly moist.

All I could think was, “Why can’t I cope like them?”

I even walked past people wearing coats. There is nothing more suspicious than someone wearing a winter coat in 33C weather. Except it wasn’t one person. It was multiple people.

I genuinely started wondering if coats somehow help with the heat because I couldn’t think of a single logical explanation for voluntarily doing that to yourself.

I started feeling incredibly woozy and dizzy, so much so that I didn’t realise I was wobbling on my feet. As I swung my arms while walking, I punched a wheelie bin full force.

Oh yes, apparently it was bin day EVERYWHERE, so everything in the heat smelled like I was taking a walk through a landfill.

However, with a very sore wrist from having a fight with a wheelie bin, I finally made it to Boots.

“It gets easier from here,” I thought. “Just queue up, collect my medication, and then go to the Winchester and wait for all of this to blow over”.

UGH.

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The Monster AC Unit, and the Double Queue

The first thing I did in Boots was buy a 750ml bottle of Evian. I saw the 1.5 litre bottle and thought, I don’t want to be carrying 1.5kg of water around. Holding heavy things makes the heat worse, and given I’d already swung my arms so enthusiastically I’d punched a wheelie bin, I didn’t think it was a good idea.

I then queued up at the pharmacy, chugging water and feeling very thankful I didn’t have to drink my own pee like Saul in the desert, despite feeling just as desperate. I was seen almost immediately, which also gave me a bad feeling because that hardly ever happens.

The pharmacist calmly explained that not only was my prescription not there to collect, but Boots had sent the request to my GP surgery and my GP had refused to authorise it.

WHAT?

“Do you need a medication review or something?” she asked.

Exasperated, and now thoroughly anxious, I replied,

“No. It’s due after this month. I’ve already got an appointment booked in August”.

Boots can issue emergency medication to tide you over situations like this, but because my GP had actively refused the prescription, she said that wasn’t an option. I’d have to contact the surgery and find out why.

It was Friday. At 3pm. I only had enough medication until the beginning of next week. This was going to need sorting today. So I stood in Boots and phoned the surgery. The automated system proudly informed me I was number three in the queue.

“That’s great”, I thought. “I can stay in the cool, drink my water and sort this whole thing out from Boots”.

While I was on hold, I realised I’d finished my water, so I wandered over to the fridge and grabbed another 750ml bottle because I immediately had the “1.5 litres is too heavy” debate with myself all over again.

I tucked the empty bottle under one arm, held the new bottle in one hand and my phone in the queue in the other. I was double queuing. Honestly, it felt like the most British thing I’ve ever done.

The cashier smiled at me. I apologised for the absolute logistical nightmare of trying to pay with no free hands and explained that I was on hold to the doctors trying to sort my medication out.

She smiled, said it was okay, and I wandered off around the shop.

I headed upstairs because I thought it might look less suspicious than standing around loitering on the phone downstairs. That’s when I found it. A MONSTER air conditioning unit. I stood directly in front of it. It was bliss. I wanted to take it home with me.

A few minutes later, a member of staff walked purposefully towards me. I immediately wondered if I’d somehow broken an unwritten law of air conditioner usage. I’m too British – and far too hot – to know the etiquette surrounding AC units.

He looked at me. Switched it off. Smiled. Then walked away.

WHAT?! I WAS ENJOYING THAT.

Upstairs was practically empty, so I assumed they were trying to save electricity rather than personally attacking me. It still felt personal.

I went back downstairs and sat in the pharmacy waiting area.

By this point I’d finished the second bottle of water, so I bought a third. Despite having now purchased 2.25 litres of water, I was still convinced the 1.5 litre bottle would have been too heavy to carry around with me.

Approaching the same cashier again now with two empty bottles tucked under my arm, she smiled and said,

“Bit thirsty, are you?”

“Just a bit, aye”.

She laughed, and I told her I was still on hold to the doctors. I don’t think she wanted a running commentary but she had one nonetheless.

I sat back down and glanced at my phone. I’d been number three in the queue for twenty minutes. I started wondering whether the queue had broken, so I hung up – risking losing my place – and phoned again.

This time I was greeted with a recorded message explaining that the prescription line now closes at 3pm. They’d changed it from 2:30pm–5pm to 10am–3pm.

I had absolutely no idea.

Even better, I’d called at about 3:05pm. Instead of telling me the line was closed, it had quietly placed me into an INVISIBLE DEAD-END QUEUE. There were also two other people in it. I often wonder what happened to them. Are they still on hold NOW?

I’d spent TWENTY MINUTES on hold for a phone line that was already closed.

For goodness’ sake.

Cue panic. Cue my OCD immediately imagining every worst-case scenario involving running out of medication.

So I left Boots with no plan, no medication, two and a half empty Evian bottles, and somehow, I was still unbelievably thirsty.

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The Legend of Dragon Taxis

Outside, I tried to pull myself together while having a conversation with my own brain.

Brain: “Walk to the doctors.”
Me: “It’s too far and far too hot. From here it’s definitely over a mile. Close to 2”
Brain: “Get a taxi.”
Me: “OH YEAH. I FORGOT THOSE EXISTED. Wait… how do I pay? I don’t have cash or the app.”
Brain: “Get cash from the bank.”
Me: “OH YEAH. My cashless lifestyle had completely made me forget banks were a thing. I haven’t used an ATM in over 10 years. I still can’t order one from here though, there’s no road.”
Brain: “Go to the taxi rank.”
Me: “OH YEAH. It’s by the train station.”

I walked to the taxi rank. There were no taxis. What? Why is it empty?

I looked up the taxi company on my phone and rang them. The dispatcher seemed thoroughly confused as to why anyone would want to be picked up from this random empty spot in town. I was equally confused. This was a taxi rank. This was where taxis used to pick people up from the train station.

He sent a car, and I turned my location on so they could find me. Five minutes later I spotted it in the distance.

OH NO. He’d gone the wrong way. My phone rang.

“Where are you?”

“At the taxi rank… you know… where your business operates from”.

“…What?”

I started walking towards him while waving my arms around like I was trying to land a plane.

“I’m here!”

“Oh! You mean over there. Okay… I’ll come to you”.

“Great”.

Once I got in, I explained I needed to get to the doctors. He then started asking why I’d wanted picking up from such a strange location and what I was doing there in the first place.

To me, it wasn’t strange at all. It was the taxi rank. Where the taxi company was. Naturally, I decided to explain the entire history of his own business. I informed him that they used to be called Dragon Taxis, that this was where the office used to be, and that people would simply turn up here to get a taxi. I also mentioned that Goldie Lookin’ Chain had even made a song about Dragon Taxis.

He looked at me and said,

“That hasn’t been the case for over ten years”.

I suddenly felt like I’d accidentally time travelled into the future. It also dawned on me that I’d reached the age where I could explain the history of a company to one of its own employees.

“Well, in my day…”

He let me sit in the front, and we both agreed it was unbearably hot. His dashboard proudly displayed: A/C OFF. I was confused again. The inside of the car felt like an oven. He pointed at the display.

“It’s saying 34.5C”.

Eventually, after discussing why I don’t sound Welsh despite having lived here my entire life – and trying to convince him that my knowledge of Dragon Taxis wasn’t made up – we finally arrived at the doctors.

Honestly, I was incredibly grateful. That taxi genuinely rescued me. The fare came to about £7, but I’d taken out £10 from the cash machine, so I handed him the whole lot.

“Hopefully that’s enough for an ice cream”.

Sadly, it wasn’t enough to fix whatever was wrong with his air conditioning.

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The Boots Lie

I walked into the doctors’ surgery, approached the receptionist and explained my Boots problem.

She looked up my records and immediately frowned. Boots definitely hadn’t sent a request for my repeat prescription. She explained that if my prescription really had been refused, there would have been notes on my medical record explaining why.

There wasn’t anything. Nothing.

She handed me a paper prescription request form, asked me to fill it in, and said she’d process it as an urgent request before sending it back to Boots. It should be done by Monday, if not sooner.

She was genuinely lovely. By this point I was anxious, overheated and completely exasperated, but she immediately reassured me that there was nothing catastrophically wrong with my medical records.

We were both confused. I even explained that Boots had told me they couldn’t issue an emergency supply because my prescription had supposedly been refused.

She looked surprised.

“That’s… really weird.”

She explained that it doesn’t really work like that. I also checked whether my medication review meant they couldn’t issue another prescription.

“No”, she said. “Your review isn’t due until the end of July, and you’ve already got an appointment booked. We continue issuing medication as long as that’s in place”.

Despite nothing actually being fixed immediately, I felt so much better. At least I finally knew what the problem wasn’t.

While trying to text my son the update – and repeatedly receiving the message ‘iPhone needs to cool down before you can use it’ – I started walking home. I couldn’t really justify another taxi, and fortunately I live much closer to the doctors than I do to the town centre.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single patch of shade. So I made an emergency stop in Asda to cool down.

I didn’t actually need anything, but I found my favourite SunPat peanut butter in the reduced section.

Suddenly, the day had one success. I bought two jars. I’ve recently developed a habit of eating chaotic spoonfuls of peanut butter as a snack, so this felt like a genuine victory. My trip hadn’t resulted in any medication but I did come home having drank 2.1 litres of Evian and bought two jars of reduced SunPat for £1.

Honestly, considering how the rest of the day had gone, I’ll take the win.

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The Cold Shower and the Cluster Headache

After I got home, my t-shirt now completely see-through from being soaked with sweat, I sat in front of the fan to cool down. My son and I talked about how RIDICULOUS it is that getting mental health medication is so stressful.

It really is. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened. It’s a COMMON experience.

The most annoying part is that I’m always the person in the middle while Boots and the GP surgery argue through me.

“Boots was wrong. It’s not our fault”.
“Your GP surgery is terrible. It’s absolutely their fault.”
I DONT CARE whose fault it is. I just want my meds, Sharon.

After discharging some of the stress by ranting and joking that they’d fail to organise a bank robbery in an open vault, I went for a shower. I wanted to cool down first so the cold water wouldn’t shock me, because this was definitely a cold tap only shower situation.

It felt like a religious experience. Well, except for the fact it revealed the sunburn on my face. I didn’t get out until I was actually shivering.

With soaking wet hair, I sat back in front of the fan and finally started to feel human again.

My son and I made dinner before retreating to my bedroom, which is the only room in the flat that isn’t approximately the surface temperature of the sun. We watched our laptops because the TV starts protesting during heatwaves, while I continued camping in front of the fan.

Eventually, I decided this entire ridiculous day deserved to become a blog post. So I started writing. As I was writing, I was SUDDENLY hit by a cluster headache. I REALLY hate that about cluster headaches outside of an active episode. There is absolutely NO warning.

One second I’m completely absorbed in writing the next it feels like I’ve been hit in the head with a red hot cricket bat and my eye has exploded. It makes me jump every single time, which only makes the pain worse, because for a split second you have to remember you’re not dying.

You just have cluster headaches.

It made perfect sense afterwards. I’d spent the day walking miles in 34°C heat, getting dehydrated, overheating and stressing myself out. Overexertion and heat are both known triggers for me outside of my usual cluster seasons.

The problem is I completely forget I even have cluster headaches until one actually happens. Unless it’s September or March, when my episodes are usually at their worst, I don’t spend my life thinking about them.

Outside an episode, triggers are unpredictable. Sometimes they do absolutely nothing. Sometimes, they ABSOLUTELY do.

While dealing with the painful aftershock zaps for the rest of the evening, I tried to carry on writing. Then my room was suddenly invaded by what I thought were grasshoppers.

One of them landed directly on my laptop screen. I screamed. My son thought I was having another cluster attack. NO.. There was just a giant insect staring back at me.

I took a photo of one later and my iPhone informed me they were actually bush crickets. I still have absolutely no idea why we were suddenly overrun by them. I chased them away, which mostly resulted in them bouncing around the room like I did that time I was eighteen and washed down Pro Plus with a Red Bull.

My son and I looked at each other in complete exasperation. There would have been less wildlife in this room if we’d played Jumanji. The heat had officially tipped the flat into jungle mode.

As if spending the day dehydrated, sunburnt from the walk back from the doctors, arguing via proxy with Boots and the GP surgery, getting a cluster headache, and drinking 2.25 litres of Evian wasn’t enough, now I apparently had to co-exist with Wales’ entire bush cricket population.

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The Weather Outside is Frightful

It’s now the next day.
I still don’t have my medication.
It’s still ridiculously hot.
I’m still getting cluster headache zaps.
The bush crickets seem to have relocated, but the moths have now signed a tenancy agreement.

I really hope that by the time you read this, the medication situation has been sorted. That Boots and the GP surgery have finally stopped arguing with each other by using me as a proxy.

If not, I’m probably about to have another day as RIDICULOUS as this one.

Honestly, whoever’s fault it was owes me:

£7 for the taxi,
£3 towards the taxi driver’s ice cream,
£5.40 for the Evian,
£2 for the peanut butter…
and double damages for emotional distress.

I’m considering going to my local paper and putting on my best Compo face.

Oh, the weather outside is frightful,
but the fan is so delightful.
And since we’ve no place to go…
let it blow,
let it blow,
let it blow.

(Update: It is now Monday and I’m still without my meds waiting for it to be sorted. Already chased Boots and the doctor. They said it should be sorted by the end of the day, but I do not have any hope whatsoever)

I just want my meds. I wanna be sedated :-