My sleep therapist, P, just called. My long – long – awaited appointment, which was meant to be next week, has been cancelled. She apologetically told me that she has a hospital appointment. I tried to sound all, "Oh, OK, that's fine. Sorry you have to go to hospital."
I am shaky now.
My stomach feels like a washing machine.
She says I can have a chat to her on the phone for about 20 minutes today. I haven't seen her since the start of May. It's July next week.
I have four weeks of this sleep programme left; I was holding on to my appointment – a light at the end of the tunnel. It was my carrot. Now it is a stick. And I feel like I'm fucking crumbling.
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