What ever happened to context?

It takes an awful lot to get me into ranty mode but here we are…

These last two weeks have been challenging health wise. Platelets are rising, white blood cell count is too. The tone from the medical profession has shifted—no longer neutral, now concerned, slightly sympathetic. Apparently chronic myeloid leukaemia in my body is not ‘behaving’ in a way that is palatable.

I’ve been here before. Sixth TKI, seven options in total. “Failed response” has been part of my vocabulary since 2012. In 2022 a bone marrow transplant was mentioned, then quietly parked when the odds didn’t stack up.

This isn’t why I’m ranty.

This has been my life for 14 years. Most of the time I run my business and get on with life.

The rant began with blood test results landing in a new electronic patient system. We now have access—apparently we ‘knowbest’ (their words, in shouty capitals). Open it up and there are lists upon lists, with red boxes screaming ‘OUT OF RANGE’.

No explanation. No context. Just red.

I have no idea what it means—but the fear is immediate.

You would think that if you’re going to hand over this level of information, you might include some kind of guide. A sentence. A scale. Anything that helps me understand whether I’m about to keel over or whether I can put the washing on, have a cuppa and think about a future that still exists.

But no.

So I ask. Because I’m that kind of person.

What I discover is no one has the time to explain it. Fair enough—they’re busy. But there’s no signposting either.

So you get results, but no context.

An email arrives: “your white blood cell count has risen to 40 and your platelets to 632.”

And I’m left thinking—what does that actually mean?

Now every “results updated” email makes my stomach roll. Hands sweaty. Immediate dread. Ignore it? Another email follows anyway, helpfully telling me the numbers have gone up again.

This is how you create anxiety. Slowly, incrementally, with no anchor.

Because without context, information doesn’t inform—it destabilises.

The tipping point came on a call with a nurse. I asked how serious 632 platelets actually is. She said normal range is 150–400… but back in January mine were over 900.

Wait. What?

No one said anything then beyond mild concern and a tweak in meds.

So why the heightened alarm now, when the number is actually lower?

That’s the bit that tipped me from ranty to rage.

Not the condition. Not the treatment.

The lack of context.

Because context would have meant:

•less anxiety

•more understanding

and the ability to stay present in my life, my work, my conversations. Instead of this low-grade, drip-fed fear that pulls your attention away from everything that actually matters.

So I did what I’ve discovered I do best… sent a ranty, sweary voice note to my friend and accountability buddy.

She sent one back—crying laughing, telling me how much she loves me in full rant mode.

I laughed too. And just like that, I regained my peace…and it made me realise something.

We’ve stopped holding context.

And when context disappears, everything starts to look like a problem.

Which is exactly what I see in business too.

Nothing has gone wrong, but without context, it feels like it is.

(Turns out anger is one of my early warning signs that something’s out of alignment.)😉