Chemotherapy makes one absented minded. It makes one forgetful. It’s makes my mind a muddle. A big puddle of a muddle in fact.
Never has there been a better example of the giant dirty puddle that is my mind, than my very recent attempt to fill out a blood form for my weekly full blood count. I’m trusted with that sort of power you see, because I am intelligent. I don’t need nurses to use their precocious minutes doing that. Well, today my nurse and I might have been proven wrong on that front. A mere 30 minutes ago, I discovered down in the blood bank that instead of providing my name, hospital number and date of birth, I gave the phlebotomists my name, bank account number and sort code. I repeat, my name, bank account number and sort code.
In my defence, the form filling did come immediately after I been enquiring about a Macmillan Grant. The chat had to cover my dire financial situation, so I did have money, or my lack there of on my mind when I gave a complete stranger my bank account details. So much for security.
It now makes me wonder who else I am giving protected details to without realising. Many a thing does seem to go above my head at the moment. Fortunately for me, I have no funds for any likely thieves to steal. Maybe that is why I have no funds. My main possessions these days currently live in my freezer and that is not a pun. It is food.