Wednesday, May 31, 2006


Diana - Teacher Mom sent me the letter C. I came up with a list of 10 things beginning with the letter and then write about them. Execpt I wrote my list absolutely ages ago, and haven't had a chance (because I'm too lazy) to post them until now!

1. Comments – I adore it when people comment on my blog, I feel so loved! (I keep mentioning this, but a lot of people still don’t take the hint!) But really, thank you to everyone who has!

2. Clover/Cailet - These are two names I use on the Internet, for email or chatrooms. I should really put chatrooms or computer on my list – because they both are (sadly) a big part of my life, but I'm only limited to 10 items!

3. Cookies’n’cream ice cream/Cheesecake/Cake/Chocolate – And all things sweet! I adore desserts, of any kind really. I have a big sweet tooth!

4. Charlottes web/children’s books – I’m such a big child. I love kid’s books… especially my all time favourite, Charlotte’s Web.

5. Crusty bread – I don’t know what it is about crusty bread really: I just love it so much. You know when in a restaurant; sometimes they give out a basket of bread while you wait? That used to be my favourite part of the meal (dessert aside).

6. Catnaps – I love sleep more than I should. But with a six-month-old baby, all I can manage are little catnaps, usually cuddling with Boy.

7. Christmas – It’s my favourite holiday. After a certain age in our household, we stopped celebrating. We wouldn’t put up a tree or decorations as such. So, now that I can, we go a little too overboard for Christmas. We put up wreaths, and tinsel on the staircase, and have about a zillion tree ornaments. I have one of those tacky singing Santas, and pretty Christmas candles and well, anyway :)

8. Cute baby – And of course, I had to find some way to put Boy on this list. Especially now that he’s crawling, he’s a little more of a handful, but he couldn’t be more adorable, and I couldn’t love him any more.

9. Collections – I probably have too many of them. I collect Eeyores, postcards, magnets, Robert Sabuda pop-up books. There was also once a Monopoly collection, but that got to be too expensive (and no one in our house plays Monopoly!)

10. Clutter – I’m a packrat. Because I have a terrible memory, I keep things around me to remind me the past. I put too much emotional attachment to all my knickknacks and things. But I tell you, it was bloody difficult to pack all of that crap!

And the runners-up were Columbia River Gorge where my family had our best holiday, camping in a cabin. Also, car trips, of which there were millions growing up. Curious George, because he was such an iconic piece of my childhood, and cameras because I love taking pictures, even though I'm not very good.


So, these last few days has been a series of starting things, and then stopping. I tried reading My Life In Orange by Tim Guest (because part of the story was set in Eugene, Oregon) but I wasn't interested enough in the setting or the details of the Bhagwan movement. I also tried A Wedding In December by Anita Shreve, as I'd liked most of her other books - but it turns out not any of her latest. I just couldn't focus on this, All He Ever Wanted or Light On Snow, so I think I'm giving up on her as an author. But the absolute worst, was I had fed Boy, and knew he needed to sleep, so I quickly put in The Chronicles of Narnia to watch (I've been dying to see it for absolutely ages) and while Boy and I had a little cuddle, I thought this was the best time to watch it. I got through most of it, until Aslan turns to Peter and says 'It's finished' and then it cut off, like it was a prophecy. Something faulty with my copy :( I wish I knew how much more of it there was... Also, see the new links on the side. I've been lazy and haven't found the time to post my List. Will get on that, probably this afternoon.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

Drowned Alive

And to finish off my TV theme, the last thing I watched last night (mostly) before I passed out from exhaustion was David Blaine's Drowned Alive. I really like David Blaine, he does weird things like this and is such an odd character. What I really, really loved was that at the end, when he only made it to like 7 minutes and had to be fished out, everyone in that audience still applauded like crazy. Of course I didn't see the last half hour, but bring on more of his Street Magic! More David Blaine on our television screens :)

Soccer Aid (edited)

Loads of good stuff on the telly last night (taped ER episodes aside) and one of them was Soccer Aid. I have to admit I was completely oblivious to the buildup for this - I hadn't heard of it until someone switched on the TV and said 'oh, this is on.' I don't support a football team or anything, and only watch football in big events like the World Cup, but this was fun and for a good cause. The only crap thing, was everytime I went upstairs to change Boy or do whatever, I'd come back downstairs just in time to miss England score their goals. Oh well.

Oh my god. Of course, the most important thing is that all the money is going to UNICEF. How did I not mentioned this before? Donate by going to (thanks eeyore220376)

Sharif Atkins

So, we finally got around to watching the two week's worth of ER last night, and oh how much did I cry? We loved Michael Gallant's character so much, that when we brought back an FAO Schwarz bear from New York last year, we named the bear 'Sharif Atkins' and so the episode was just too sad for me. Thinking about it, it does make sense and I should have seen it coming, but I really didn't. Here's a picture (even though I don't like it much because of the sheer amount of hair).
The rest of the episode was so sad as well. I'm sure loads of people thought the Clemente scenes were funny (my husband included) , but I just couldn't see it like that - I thought it was heartbreaking watching a man completely break down like that :(

Tuesday, May 23, 2006


So, ages ago I joined but now they just plague me with emails every week telling me how many new members have joined and how many people have pictures (which I can't view) and all kinds of crap. The thing is, every time I look, I don't recognise any of the names. Not even from the people just in my year. When I looked at my old yearbook a month or so ago, I couldn't even recognise people's faces, and the people who wrote in my yearbook seem like strangers. It's a little sad, but oh well - I didn't much like high school, but who did?


I've had a headache that's lasted most of the day for two days in a row now. I shouldn't complain though, because I'm too lazy to take any painkillers. I just want it to go away on its own. Has anyone ever tried that visualisation thing? I heard about it once - you give your headache all these characteristics, like it's pink and thin, like a piece of bubble gum being blown, you can almost see through it - and then you just visualise it going away, like maybe it pops. Or it can be hard and glasslike, like a piece of obsidian and then watch as it smashed into a million small chunks. I don't know, it's never worked for me.


I just read this. I'm horrified.


Ooh, how much do I want one of these wacky treehouses? There's also Pirate ships available, and .. even Tiki Huts COMBINED with pirate ships! Different colours, with different interiors and slides and swings and .. oh, it's too much for me. Even carvings of what looks like Smokey the Bear.

Cutest Baby

I'm sure that every mother out there believes that her child is the cutest baby ever.. and really, I think Boy definately is. Just look at him. He's brilliant.. not only the cutest, but also the happiest and less fussy. He'll sit happily and play with his toys without anyone's attention, he's got a quick smiles and laughs easily. He sleeps (mostly) through the night and has for awhile now. He has a real mischievious look about him, and now that he's started getting the hang of crawling, we've really got to keep an eye on him, but he's the best thing that's ever happened in my life. Even from pregnancy, he hasn't been any problem. No morning sickness, no problems at all. Labour was nice and quick. He's just as active now than he was in the womb. He loves having his arms and legs pulled and having his stomach tickled. He makes the funniest little faces. Staring is his favourite game. He hardly ever cries, and loves banging on the keyboard whilst Mommy's typing. He's really inquisitive and loves lights. He's learned how to climb up people. He's so full of energy he never stops wriggling and it's hard to change his clothes or his nappy. He has lovely long eyelashes that I'm envious of, and the most expressive eyes. He has more clothes than I do. He loves going outside for walks and going shopping because it means he can stare at more stuff. He never cries when we go out, and usually sleeps peacefully in church. Because he loves people singing to him, especially his Daddy. He's loved very much.

Monday, May 22, 2006


So, Happy Birthday to my brother David who will be 26 today. We're not close - I haven't seen him in years, we don't really talk to each other, and lead very different lives - but he's my brother and I do love him. I don't have any recent photos of us together, so here's a selection from when we were younger... When I was really young, it'd just be me following him around while he played with his friends, but because we spent a lot of our time together (on road trips, when our family lived in the middle of nowhere) we'd be forced together to amuse each other. So when we'd take really long road trips all the time, to combat the boredom we'd pretend we were dinosaurs breaking out of our (blankets) eggs or aliens or something. When we got older, and we were given sweets, David would always tell me his doctors told him he was dying and he needed medication (my sweets) to cure him - I always fell for it. I helped him write poetry to the girl he fancied, and he used to fight the boys who picked on me. We sang our answering machine message together (embarrassingly), and race each other on our bikes (he always won). He always some crackpot idea to make money (a lemonade/juice stand, washing cars, garage sales) and I'd always go along with it even though we managed things terribly. But when we got older, we both changed - me more so than him. I pulled away and pushed him out of my life. I hated that all the girls would rush up to me and say 'is David your brother, can I have your phone number' and actually, being known as 'David's little sister' followed me around until I changed schools. I thought of him differently and thought we didn't share any of the same ideas, but I remember once, we were in the kitchen and I declared 'I'll never get married' (ha! I married at 18) and he said 'don't you want to have children?' and realised I was wrong. Years later, and he read Lord of the Rings and Clan of the Cave Bear because he knew I liked them, and when he heard I was in the hospital (when everyone still thought it was more serious than it was) he'd leave the room and ignore it, hoping if he didn't listen, it would all go away.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Wanted, In No Particular Order:

A puppy (like the one pictured). More email (it makes me feel special). Cheesecake (or fudge brownie, I'm not choosy). A perfect home within our budget.


I did read this book though. Everytime I go to the library these days, I stop by the biography section and think 'hmm, wouldn't mind reading that one.. or that one..' and end up leaving with a pile of children's books instead (latest which didn't capture my interest: Magician's Nephew, Back to the Divide and Inkspell). But in the end, this time, I came home with Call Me Elizabeth. It was a very interesting read, but I'm still not sure what to make of it. I'm sure she wanted to shed a different light on prostitution (escort, whatever), but it seemed to condone it a little too much. Sure, she mentioned the health risks, and safety issues, the sleaziness of it, but more as a sidenote I felt, and I wonder if this is me judging her? It was a sad story though, and you could tell she loved her children very much, but my thoughts are still jumbled on this one.


No updates recently for three reasons - 1) not much happening in my small world, just packing, which isn't interesting, but does take up a lot of time. 2) can't be bothered. 3) I feel a little worn out doing 5 or so blogs a day sometimes. I think people get sick to death reading about me and my life.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Yes, It is me

So I've worn glasses since before I was three years old. I'll be 24 in July. That is a long time. I was (am, AM!) so incredibly clumsy when I was younger. My dad tells me stories of me running into walls, and tables and bookshelves, and OK - basically everything. My parents couldn't take me anywhere, I'd trip over my own feet and anything uneven on the ground. I had no eye-hand coordination, so what did my dad do? Enrol me on the soccer team, the softball team and the basketball team. It was embarassing, but you know I never really cared. Sure, I got loads of comments about the glasses (what little kids with glasses wasn't called Four-Eyes) and I remember the time this little kid stomped up to me and asked if I was 'long-sighted, near-sighted or just cross-eyed?' And it got annoying when the teachers scolded me for not paying attention (WHEN I WAS LOOKING RIGHT AT THEM) But oh well. When I first started with the glasses, they were massive and magnified my whole face (see the picture - on the back of the photo I have, my grandmother's written 'I can't believe I'm related to this bunch' or something similar. That's my cousins Julie, Angela and Joseph with my Aunt JoAnne plus me and my brother David in the front) but do you want to know a secret? I don't need glasses anymore. Seriously, my optometrist has said I only need them for extended periods of TV, using the computer or for reading. I don't need them for a physical reason, I JUST HIDE BEHIND THEM.


So, fear drives (no pun, I swear) a large portion of my life. When I was little, I had this kind of traumatic go-karting experience (I was asked to leave after entirely wrecking this poor woman's course - FIRST thing in the morning), so when it came to learning how to drive, I kind of struggled anyway. It took a lot longer than it should have for me to get my driver's license (but only two attempts at the test) and that was last April. Or was it the year before? It must have been the year before. Oh my god, I hadn't even realised - it's been nearly two years since I've got my license, and do you know how many times I've driven on my own? Yep, never. I've never driven unaccompanied, and really never driven that much with someone else in the car either. It's the fear. I couldn't bear the idea of a bad accident or the guilt if something ever happened, the responibility really is too much for me. But I have to grow up sometime.

Theme tunes

So, last night my husband downloaded a whole bunch of really old TV theme songs. Most I have never heard before, but it was fun playing 'name that tune' with him (he's got a bizarrely good memory) and some of them were really catchy. They were a lot nicer than theme songs now, sounded like actual music some of them (others not so much, but they were different at least) and now, I have the Button Moon theme stuck in my head. 'We're off to Button Moon... to follow Mr Spoon.. Button Moon, Button Moon..' We recently bought the DVD of it, I love it so much!

Northern Lights

Apparently, I've seen the Northern Lights about a zillion times. Until I was about 7, my family lived in Alaska.. sometimes so far away from civilisation my dad would have to drive for hours to the nearest town to get groceries once a month. Anyway, when the Northern Lights came about, he'd take my brother and me farther up north to see them.. for some reason, this is a good time to go rabbit hunting. My brother loved it, he'd run around picking up rabbit corpses screaming 'I got one, I got one' and run and lay them in a big heap. And there'd I'd be crying like the big baby I was. My dad says everytime I saw the Northern Lights, I'd associate them with dead bunnies and burst into tears straight away. Funny how something so beautiful can be so traumatic.


When I was younger, I used to write little stories all the time. It didn't take much, I'd overhear a stranger's conversation and write a story around it, or take something small from my own talk-show childhood and write away. In 8th grade, I used to carry around a floppy disk with me(remember those?) and at one point it had 30+ stories on it. Somehow it got wet, and everything was ruined - but I wasn't too bothered, I always kept writing. I loved my daydream about being a writer when I grew up... with one small problem. I was never ready to show people what I'd written, because I'd never finished a story. Especially with the stories taken from my own little world, there was too much of my own emotions involved and inevitably there was some issue I was trying to work out, for someone else to read before I was finished. But I had no privacy in my house. If I'd written it down, even if I hid it, my father or my brother would come into my room and read it. If it was on the computer, my dad would find it and read it. When I tried to password protect my Word documents, I'd be shouted at until it was opened (my password then was always 'knock' because no one in my house did). There was so much pressure as well. My dad would go on about how much he enjoyed all the stories and that I could be published - all I wanted to do was write for fun. I couldn't stand it, I stopped writing. I always felt like something was taken away from me. So when I started this blog, it was fun again. I'm writing for me, without any pressure and privacy isn't an issue. I love writing completely unconnected paragraphs day after day..

Watch out

It's my brother's birthday soon, so I keep remembering old memories of us growing up. I'll post more on his actual birthday, but for now just this one: One of my earliest memories is of the two of us playing in the living room in Alaska. I guess I didn't like to share, because next thing you know, I've bashed David over the head with this massive big yellow Tonka truck.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

American citizen

So, yesterday the three of us went into the US embassy in London to get Boy registered as an American citizen, his first passport (I can't wait! Two weeks for it to be delivered) and his social security number. It was a lot less hassle than I thought it would be (at the embassy at least, don't get me started about the lifts in the tube all being out of service and that we had a sleeping baby and a pushchair to drag up and down all those stairs) I just wish I had organised all of our documents a little earlier than I did. But we managed to find this cute little waffle place afterwards, and had that for lunch. I love waffles. It completely made up for all the waiting we had to do.


So, the other day, I was reading a magazine and just happened to count 8 different times these dreadful oversized glasses were mentioned or there was a photo of someone wearing them. Why, why, why? Is it just me that thinks this is a terrible look?


So, enough with the personal crap. I've read two books over the last couple of days. The first book in Meg Cabot's Missing series (why, why, why was there only the first one in my local library?!) which I loved. And the second was The Gospel According To Larry as told to Janet Tashjian. Absolutely ages ago, a mad rep told me about this book, about a 17 year old boy who starts up a website about his alter-ego, Larry who spouts anti-consumerism ideas and anti-celebrity worship, who only owns 75 possessions. I loved the idea of it, and so when I saw it in the library, I got quite excited and read it bits and pieces over two days. I quite enjoyed it. It had a nice message of changing the world in small steps - or 'person to person' like in one of the quotes in there from Mother Teresa, and of telling people how you really feel, opening up. The one thing that bothered me about this book is the cover - what does it mean? It confuses me.

Mothers Day

So, for everyone else in the world apart from us here in the UK, it was Mother's Day last weekend. I only realised when my husband's aunt and uncle in Australia called to wish me. It felt kind of like a punch to the gut. I'd already struggled with my feelings about Mother's Day when it when happened months ago in March (it was March?), and here's me forced to think about it again. To make it worse, I knew I had to finish up some Skype credit, and usually this just means calling my dad in America, but I thought about calling my mom instead. The last time I spoke to her it was just after Christmas, maybe early January, and that had been our first conversation in years. The one where I told her she was a grandmother. She sent some presents for Boy, but I couldn't bring myself to call her again and instead hid behind email (as I always do). I use the time difference as an excuse not to call her, or that I'm too busy with Boy to do it. The truth is, I'm just scared. Talking to my mother makes me feel like a little kid again, trying to win her affection and attention, but I know it'll never work. I get my hopes up with every nice thing she says about me, but then everything gets crushed when she seems (as always, I never learn) to ask more and more questions about my brother or when she stops listening to my answers to her questions. I don't know what to do.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006


So, I have these issues about cooking which I'm trying to get over. When my mom moved out when I was 11, I took over the cooking and cleaning in our house. Which sounds all responsible and adult sometimes, but really it was a nightmare for me, and it was entirely forced. My dad would shout at me if I forgot to defrost dinner after I got home from school, even if it was because I was doing my homework instead. More shouting if the vegetables got cold while I was waiting for the porkchops or whatever to finish, again if it was some half-assed attempt to throw something together (which it usually was). I'd be under a lot of pressure to maintain good grades, which I always had up until high school (even good girls have to rebel at some stage), cook acceptable dinners and keep the house tidy, but I really couldn't cope. Most weeks we'd end up with the same thing (whatever was easiest) 2 or 3 times a week (always ended in more shouting). Anyway, so for me, the thought of cooking always seemed like bringing back the destruction of my childhood (I know, melodrama to the extreme), so when my husband said he likes (ENJOYS!) cooking, I thought how perfect! Until now, when I'm home all day long and he comes home past 7 from work sometimes, even I can see how unfair it is on him. I don't know how to make happy cooking memories, I never had any. But, I'll still give it a go.. I suppose.

Cowgirl Me

Here's my favourite photo of me as a child. Those boots were my brother's which meant I worshipped them (as I worshipped my brother). I actually cried when that picture accidentally got ripped. No idea how old I was or where we were living at the time.

Sunday, May 14, 2006


So, the sale of our house has mostly gone through. But one of the conditions is that we're moved out by the end of the month. That's this month, May - which is almost halfway gone already. We hadn't really started packing before I went into hospital, so that leaves a lot of our things (books and books and donkeys and books) to be boxed and stored. All I can think is 'my poor husband' because with my wounds (yes, wounds!) I can't really lift things or do much heavy work. But, yesterday I went around to go through some clothes and other things to see what can be given to charity, and I managed to find a cute red bracelet and a pair of orange and black striped tights I'd bought last October in a bag, never been worn. It's like my birthday come early :) Or maybe I just need to be less of a slob in future.


I had some mighty odd dreams while I was in hospital. That first night (the night with the MOST morphine in my system) I swore I woke up with a bad case of multiple personality disorder. I was seriously worried that I had spoken to a nurse or someone while I had these other two voices in my head. In fact, I think my brain was altered in some way whilst there, permanently. Everytime I think of my operation, I think of surgeons pitching a tent under my skin and zooming their remote controlled cars into my stomach to remove my gall bladder. It's more interesting, I'm sure, to what actually happened - and the memory makes me happy.

Saturday, May 13, 2006


New links again - Constant Winter and Just the Blog of A Local Lass. Both very interesting reads. Thank you for your comments! I'm still finding it odd that people read what I write, and possibly want more.


I did read a third book during my stay in the hospital (and then felt a bit readed out). I'd picked up The Wind Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami a few times before, but in the end I'd always put it down thinking I didn't have enough time to devote myself to it (it is just over 600 pages long). I'd always found his books to be slightly strange and surreal, so I was really looking forward to Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. I'm not saying it wasn't good.. I finished it and was oddly captivated throughout, but I think all the subtleties and layers to this book went straight over my head. I finished it thinking that he's a great storyteller, but I wasn't sure what to make out of the end of reading it - I couldn't make out the connection between all of the characters. Anyway, I'd still definately read anything else of his, I quite like his quality of strangeness.


So, before I knew I was expecting Boy, I thought I'd do something good for everyone, and give blood. I signed up to have letters sent to me reminding me of the next blood donation spot or whatever it's called, and never went. I felt bad. They ended up sending me a video and reminders almost every week - it seemed a desperate attempt to get more blood donors. Anyway, I had to call them up and tell them 'I'm so sorry, but I'm pregnant now' and thus, couldn't give blood. Hadn't thought anymore of it. Until I went into hospital and every other person who entered my room wanted to poke me with a needle to monitor my blood sugar levels or for blood samples, or even worse - to change my IV (again and again and again). It turns out I have small, crap veins which are no good for any of these things. Every day they needed a blood sample (to monitor pancreatic enzymes apparently, unless I'm wrong which is a possibility) and everyday, the nurse or doctor or whoever had to try at least two, sometimes three times to get a decent amount of blood. My arms are all bruised now from their attempts. As of now, I'm now declaring myself allergic to needles.

Girls Guide

I thought I'd hate this book, but it turned out to be the complete opposite. Her writing style seems a little dry at first, but I'm glad I stuck with it, because everytime the main character Janie opened her mouth to say anything, there'd I'd be giggling away. There were moments where I completely and utterly related to her in such a way that it was scary. One section of the book just seemed out of place and I was left wondering why it was there at all, but it was only one small chapter thankfully. Couldn't get enough it.. I've got another Melissa Bank book out from the library, The Wonder Spot, I hope it's every bit as good. Ooh, and the other thing was, strangely there was a character in this book who also suffered from acute pancreatitis, isn't that odd? Of course his was from alcoholish, not boring old gall stones like me, but still.. the coincidences!


Everyday, morning and early afternoon, I'd get a visit from my committee of doctors. I thought at first that it was one doctor and lots of student doctors, but it wasn't - they were all doctors or consultants of some sort. (can anyone tell me why consultants go back to being called Mr?) Anyway, it was pretty much the same thing everyday.. they'd prod at my stomach and say things like 'still tender in the upper abdomen' and tell me I'll have to wait a bit longer (they were forever telling me I'd have to stay in the hospital for a week. No matter how long into my stay I already was, I'd be in there for a week - what's the doctor definition of a week? It certainly isn't 7 days) but one morning, the doctors came in and one of them was wearing this really colourful tie. I couldn't quite make out what it was, so I was glad it was him that came up to poke my tummy. I squinted to see what they were, and blurted out 'they're hippos!' Do you ever get those times when you don't really think before you say something? It happens to me all the time. Poor man got so embarassed and tried to throw his tie over his shoulder (so I couldn't see them maybe?) and the other doctors started laughing. I felt bad. But I was right, there were cute little hippos, sitting in little rows, I loved it. The tie looked nothing like the picture I'm posting either, but aren't they cute as well?

Good book

So, enough with the horrid hospital stuff for now. A few people emailed me while I was in there to say at least you've got plenty of time for some reading.. and not so much at the start, but it did get to that point eventually. My husband was kind enough to bring me stacks of books, and this was one of them. Around the World in 80 Dates by Jennifer Cox. I'd read an article about it before it was released and it sounded so funny, and it definately was! I hope the rumours of it being made into a movie are true, I couldn't put it down. I love all the details she inserts from her travels. Honestly, I went into hysterics (seriously, hysterics) whilst reading about her date at the foot massage place in Beijing! I won't spoil it, but I laughed so hard I ended up in a coughing fit and one of the nurses had to come check up on me. I am so one of those people who laugh out loud reading a book in a public place, and sure hospitals probably aren't considered public places (are they?) but it's somewhat embarassing when a nurse or someone walks by room with a look that says 'what is wrong with her?' but I didn't care, I needed cheering up, and this book seriously did the job. Loved it.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Wee Wee Dance

I didn't want any visitors except my husband, my son and my mother-in-law. People offered, but in those first few days, when I had the catheter in, it was just too much for me to think about - people coming in and seeing my bag of urine hanging off the side of my bed. And I was still in pain during those days. I don't think I know anyone well enough (husband aside) to start crying in front of them. So I said no to them all. They took the catheter out once they thought I was able enough to hobble to the toilet, but even then they told me they had to monitor the amounts I passed. Everytime I went to the toilet, I had to ring the nurse's bell, and say 'I've just peed, go have a look' That was hard. It seemed like all my dignity was being stripped slowly away from me. But there were funny times as well, and I had to hold on to those while I was in there. Once, I remember I had to go to the loo desperately, but there weren't any of those bedpan thingys in my toilet, that I had to wee in, so one of the nurses ran off to get me some more. I was just standing there, with my IV next to me, wriggling a bit, swaying sort of trying not to think of just how badly I needed to pee, and another nurse walks past my room, smiles and says 'It's always nice to have a little dance'


So, I had pancreatitis (which means inflammation of the pancreas). Yes, it was serious, but in no way was I near my death at all. I was in a lot of pain and it could have been a lot more serious than it was - but it wasn't. And you know what the treatment is for pancreatitis? Wait it out. Just wait until it's finished being all agonising and painful, and then the doctors can do something. So I was doped out on morphine for those first few days, but really, it wasn't helping that much. Just gave me some strange, strange dreams. Being in hospital can be incredibly humiliating and degrading. I had gone from having a nice weekend visiting the garden centre, playing with my son, to being hooked up to an IV drip, with a catheter, waiting desperately for someone to give me my next morphine injection. But it could have been worse. Apparently, pancreatitis is brought on by two different things, gall stones or alcoholism. If it had been alcoholism, things could have been so much worse and my story might have ended differently.. the pain and the risk would have been far greater. For me, they had to wait until the inflammation was less so that they could operate and remove my gall bladder, which they did successfully. 10 days in hospital, but at least I won't have to go through it all again (no gall bladder means no gall stones which means no more pancreatitis). I didn't have to worry that my son wasn't being cared for (he had his daddy and his grandma, bless them both) though I did miss him terribly. But he's OK. And so am I.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Could be Fatal

So, in the end, I made it in to see a doctor. A few of them, I think, and a surgeon. There was more vomiting (they tried to give me something for the pain, my stomach wasn't having any of it) and waiting. For the most part I think a lot of that time was spent with me whimpering in pain and making little noises. I know I'm kind of a baby about pain, but this was different. I didn't think I was going to get through it. They admitted me into the hospital (and I was thinking this was a bad case of heartburn!) and when the doctor (surgeon? who knows) came to see me, he said 'so, you have pancreatitis' (the suspense is over!) 'pancreatitis is very serious, it could be fatal as it could cause organ failure...' how should I know what he said after that he said it COULD BE FATAL. I start to think all sort of things. I'm 23, and I could be on my deathbed. I didn't kiss Boy goodbye before I left. How did my life get to this point? Could be fatal, could be fatal, could be fatal.

Date of Birth?

I barely got a chance to say goodbye to my little boy. It just hurt too much for me to think of anything else. I regret not taking the time then to give him a little hug or something. I had to sit in the car for a minute before my husband was ready, and I was so hot and feverish at that time that this seemed to be the most unbearable thing ever (ha! and this was only the start) Luckily the hospital isn't too far away from where we live.. but every little bump in the road or turning jostled my stomach and made me want to heave some more. I got out of the car (as delicately as I could) and hobbled my way into A & E. I'd never been in there before, I didn't know what to expect. Thinking about it afterwards I guess I was expecting a scene from ER, and no wonder I was disappointed. Anyway, maybe for once in my life I wasn't being melodramatic at all, I limped up to the lady at the counter, and managed to wheeze out 'I'm .... in ... pain' expecting what? for her to jump up and put me in a wheelchair maybe? For her to call a doctor possibly? At least for her to have some compassion and feeling, maybe ask how long I've had the pain? No, she looked me at me, bored as could be, and said in a voice I'll never forget 'date of birth?' This was followed by 'Name?' 'Address?' and 'Place of birth?' before she told me to take a seat. I had a look around and it was like 30 feet between me and the nearest seat. I really didn't think I'd make it.


Before, I start let me apologise for the details. I know sometimes I might cross that thanks-for-sharing-line, but I need to get it all out, bare with me. It started off as heartburn, like I wrote in my previous blog. At 2 o'clock in the morning, and I just couldn't get back to sleep after that, and I stayed up and read my book, like I already wrote. That's when things changed. It was morning my husband had gone out to do some errands later in the day, and I was still pretty tired but I was feeling better. The pain wasn't there as much (I could still feel something) but not painful. I thought it'd be all right to have a muffin for breakfast, and some settlers to get rid of that feeling in my stomach. But it didn't work. Everything just became more and more painful, and I found myself in the downstairs loo violently vomiting, not once or twice but three of four times, just more and more until they became dry painful heaves. Boy woke up (from the sound?) and I just couldn't pick him up. That was the worst feeling ever, that my son needed me and I couldn't do it. So I sat there sobbing, 'I just can't do it' and patting him until he calmed down. I like to think he knew I was in a bad way, but probably not. Luckily, my husband came home just then and said let's go to A & E...


Hello, hello, hello. I am back. I've been in the hospital for the last 10 days and now I'm ecstatic to be back! Will write more about it soon..

Monday, May 01, 2006

Up All Night

So, I was up since 2am this morning. Heartburn again. It's painful and I felt like crying.. but luckily I had 'Like Water For Chocolate' to read. It was a really easy read, easy to get into this time and kind of a bittersweet story. I'm not sure I agree with how everything ended, but it was worth a second chance. The cooking bits were interesting to begin with, but I ended up skipping over some of the passages later on in the book, maybe if I wasn't so much in pain I'd have had more patience, who knows?