Let me tell you a bit about last Thursday.
The day became a bit of a battleground, I must admit. At the start of the week, over a hundred different problems stood in the way of me getting the following Friday off work. You'll never make it, the little negative voice in my head said. I was suitably defiant.
By the time Thursday arrived, the barriers to getting my own way were down to a mere handful. The day was still far from easy, and definitely 'shots were fired'. Nevertheless, I stood my ground, determined to see it through, ticking off one by one the urgent jobs that I had to get done; swerving the distractions and people who sought to derail my precious to-do list for the day.
Why did I need Friday off? Because it was the funeral of a very dear friend. I had feared that I was going to have to cry off, but I knuckled down. I went the extra mile and worked past my normal clocking-off time during the week so I could make it happen, as it was becoming increasingly clear to me that I should be there. I was so chuffed to leave my desk clear as I went home.
I raced home, and quickly changed so I could go out again and give blood. The donation session was booked at least 4 months before. No problem, no great concern, the day had been planned around it.
But the donation didn't happen. There wasn't enough iron in my blood. I mean, not anything to cause me medical issues, just not enough for the nurse to approve me to donate.
They measured it precisely. For anyone whose medically trained, apparently my Haemoglobin level needed to be 135g/l or over to donate.
It was 134. Argh!
No big deal, you might think. And you'd be right.
But it was so annoying. One point. One!
And I swear I could hear a cackling laugh in the background as I left the venue to drive home...