BLOOD FOR BREAKFAST...

When you think of all the lovely ways to be woken up, needles getting jabbed into the back of your hand for a blood test probably isn't one of them. Sadly this is the norm when in hospital, but imagine my surprise when this particular morning they were giving me the blood, rather than me giving it to them.  

I needed a blood transfusion. What the actual F!!! I thought all the dramatic, scary stuff was over! Apparently my haemoglobin was low and I'd suffered a lot of internal bleeding. Using one of the many ‘adapters’ as I called them, dangling out of my arms, they hooked me up to a whole bag of blood, hanging above my head on a blood-bag hat stand. Jan would be fuming!

They said it would take about three hours and I just had to lay there, watching it all trickle into my arm. Lovely! The breakfast lady popped her head round my curtain then quickly reversed when she noticed I was receiving breakfast via my arm today. I kept looking up with this bag of blood above me- largely hoping it didn't fall down and explode on my head, like a water balloon filled with beetroot juice.  

I was then filled with a great sense of gratitude that some kind person had donated their blood for me! So I could heal and hopefully not die. No one made them do it, they did it entirely of their own free will, purely to help someone and potentially save a life. Truly admirable!  

But then my worry ‘woo woo’ brain kicked in: Whose blood were they giving me exactly? What were they like as a person? Because the very essence of them is currently being pumped into me. Any vitamins, adrenaline, nutrients, feelings, emotions, fears… the residue of their last McDonald's- all currently corsing through my veins!! Were they happy when they donated this blood? Do they have a good heart? What if they were forced to do it and I'm now being pumped with resentment? What if they’re a boxer or a smoker and I'm going to come out of this aggressively swinging at everyone with a Marlboro Gold hanging out of my mouth? Or maybe they have an obsession with heavy metal and I’ll suddenly be able to listen to nothing else. I sincerely hope not! Or what if they have a fear of spinach and I'll never be able to make my famous green smoothie again? A truly terrifying thought.  

After I drove myself slowly insane with all these questions, I looked up and my breakfast blood bag had all finished! I shall now await the results- which I'm told are amazing… “You'll feel tonnes better!” - You'll feel ‘brand new’. Bring it on!! I also learned for the first time what my blood type is. I never knew this before this episode! I'm O-positive. Which is very fitting, because if it was anything ‘negative’ it wouldn't be very ‘Sophie’ would it? Unless it's the Sophie who goes down a massive worry rabbit hole while having a blood transfusion.  

On the subject of worry- I couldn't help but do exactly that, as sheer tidal waves of fear hit me as I began to realise I won't be able to work or earn hardly anything over the coming months. All the cool gigs I had lined up, presenting/ filming/ DJing for some of my favourite car brands. Interviewing sporting or racing legends. I was going to have to cancel them all. And if it's one thing self-employed-Sophie never does, it’s cancel. Even the day my mum died I drove down to Silverstone, as I was working at the Silverstone Grand Prix the following day. I’ll admit now that was probably a coping mechanism, as well as the determination not to let anyone down or show myself crumbling. I worked on the radio for eight years and would never miss a show. Even when I threw up live on air due to a bad pizza! (I cut to an ad break in case you're wondering.)  

I was racking my brains thinking how I could make this work and do everything on one leg… Could they not keep my leg out of shot when filming? Could they not just sit me in the car and I'll talk about the tech, rather than me walk around it? I begged with the universe in my head but no- it wasn't going to work. Enter Hero Paul and Superstar fundraiser Clare- who, without me knowing, set up a JustGiving page to help with my recovery costs. The response was incredible. People I didn't even know that well or hadn't even had a proper chat with, donated and wrote such wonderful messages of love and support. I still to this day can't believe it. Having lost my mum and broke my femur in the space of three months, I just wanted to be hugged. The biggest hug that’d last a lifetime! After these huge random acts of kindness towards me, I felt like I was being hugged by every single one of you. (Apart from maybe Jan.)  

On that note: they were discharging her! Hallelujah! I could hear the commotion on the other side of my curtain as she gathered her things and threatened to make a formal complaint about how neglected she was and how much more attention I’d received. Surely she was all talk? But to my horror, while I was trying to have a quiet wee on the commode in my cubicle, her goodbye/complaint speech took place just one metre away from me, on the other side of the papery blue curtain. Her elbows were poking into the fabric as she got more animated, laying into head nurse Richard (who was incredible by the way). He SO didn't deserve this! I wanted to step in but I was stuck on the commode trying to squeeze out a wee! 

“The lack of care I've received has been shocking…” she began. “And I used to be a nurse so I know how things should be done!! It's the worst treatment I received in all my stints in hospital…” she continued. 

 “DON’T LISTEN TO HER RICHARD!” I yelled over the curtain. 

“And that young girl has seen more people in two days…” blah blah blah- (here we go again!) “She's only got a bad leg the same as me. I've got a smashed shin from falling down the stairs!”  

“It's NOT THE SAME Jan!! I've got a broken femur!” I fumed.  

Look at it this way- I suffered a freak accident and required constant monitoring, checks, morphine, a blood transfusion, have to learn to walk again etc. Whereas she fell down the stairs and smashed her shin. Still horrible for anyone to go through, I’ll admit. But maybe she was pushed? I don't flippin know. 

“Richard- that is mis-information! Don’t listen!” I yelled. Knowing most of what she was saying was hugely exaggerated.  

She was really boiling my piss right now! I desperately wanted to stick up for him and his whole team. Yes, we might have to wait a while when we press our call button, but these guys are doing an incredible job despite being so overstretched. By the time she finished her complaining and low blows in a crescendo of negativity, Richard must’ve been ready to quit his job. I wasn't having him being spoken to like that.  

“Richard come in here!” I called.  

“No- wait! He can't!” said the female nurse helping me.  

“Yes, yes he can! I'm past caring!” I shouted, fully pumped with someone else’s blood, and my hospital gown just about covering my modesty. 

“Richard, do me a favour and just bin everything she’s just said to you..” I began. I said what I could to erase the bad taste and atmosphere she'd created, and I admired how calm and level he was, saying she was ‘entitled to her opinion’. What a gent! And I’d totally forgotten I was having this conversation with him on what was essentially a toilet on wheels. There was something about being in hospital and having gone through such traumatic life events that made me not care about petty shit anymore! People complaining about first world problems, not feeling as popular as they’d like, forgetting the world doesn’t revolve round them- I had no time for it.  

The sad reality is, none of us realise quite how lucky we are- day to day, and there is ALWAYS someone worse off than you, worse off than me. There’s ALWAYS something to be grateful for in any scenario if you look for it. Even if it’s the fact I seemed to have lost my filter a bit in all this. I’ll stick up for myself and others without fear now, and I clearly don’t care who sees me on the loo anymore! 

Anyway, Jan’s replacement was soon to be arriving so let's hope she's nice. And let's hope the positive effects of the blood transfusion start to kick in and I don't lose my filter too much, and turn into an utter psycho…