seltenekrankheiten

Nobody at the AOK checked anything. I sent off the application on Wednesday afternoon at four, presumably just before closing time. The next morning at 8.41am I had the rejection in the post.

Because what still somehow ended well with a mask, more or less, is now a gamble with life with a cannula. Which is totally my thing. If I can play with it myself.

And before anyone says I don't have COPD... I know that myself. But I'm not a doctor. What do I know? I only know what helps. And that's this at least three times a day.

I am not an expert. I'm not a doctor either. But I can read. In this case, a 179-page document from the German Society for Pneumology and Respiratory Medicine.

My carer on night duty today is busy with me non-stop while my visitors are celebrating. I'm in the middle of it all and yet not there.

Pretending that all is right with the world. And celebrate the biggest pseudo-religious, commercialised festival of joy the world has ever seen. Merry Christmas.

I'd just like to avoid being in the ambulance three days later with Tavor and Dipi after my next discharge. That would be an approach, don't you think?

My liver looks like something out of a textbook. No trace of the excessive consumption of everything I could get my hands on. Even the doctor was amazed.

I was about to call the 24-hour pipe-cleaning emergency service. Emergency pipe-cleaning service, what a word. Something like that only exists in the German language.

I don't need to see the mirror image on my computer of three people chipping away at my neck and stuffing one bloody swab after another on it.