Of all the places one would expect to find oneself after proclaiming to the world the self-isolation is inevitable, here I am waiting in a snot-infested pharmacy at the good ol’ Royal Free Hospital.

Never mind that I woke up at 5am to be here when the place opened. Never mind that I was told just days ago by the very same hospital to stay away unless absolutely necessary, that I am at high-risk and should put measures in place to social distance myself.

The transplant team forgot to phone in my prescription and I been instructed to take a seat, and wait.

Surprisingly, none of the staff here seem at all bothered by my frustration. It is a vast reminder that as precious as we all feel we are, at the end of the day we are but a mere pool of cells and it is down to Darwin’s Survival of the Fittest. In this moment and uncertain of my own survival despite feeling perfectly well, I don’t feel very fit.

I have been told that the medications I am on will both save my life, and put me in the highest risk category. I am here today at the Rogal Free Hospital not only to pick up my anti-rejection pills, but also to have a third infusion of a medication my doctors feel is crucial for me to stave off the inflammation associated with my underlying digestive disease. Ironically, they called me in to embark on this slow-dripping solution at a time when I feel particularly okay.

Next to me a man complains of feeling unwell, he is sweating and is concerned for his and others’ safety. He strongly requests to speak with a manager as those around him in line teeter anxiously and back away.

As my own anxiety increases, I beg the ill-equipped pharmacist to post my medication in the mail. After 20 minutes of self soothing behaviour (namely chanting softly to myself), the mask-clad woman concedes and asks me to write my address on her notepaper. She assured me that though it may take some time, the parcel will arrive.

Job done.

Now as I wait for my infusion, the fantastical mind of Lizzie dances between storylines of a revolution breaking out in the line of the pharmacy due to my fever-ridden friend who wreaks havoc and infests the WHOLE WORLD, and the pool of everlasting peace that awaits me if I could just get the hell out of this cesspool of germs.

Maybe I should just surrender and start social distancing tomorrow?