Spies like us (PG 13)

Forgive me for my lengthy absence, honestly I'm fine. I've just been a little spooked by the discovery that someone has attached something to my blog that tracks my every Internet move. I keep seeing this dgz.specificclick.et net address keep showing in the bottom left as my blog is loading. Allegedly its source is Sitemeter who allegedly have sold out to some spyware collective bastardy people so that's about to be given the royal order of the boot.

Bastards have kept me off the net for a couple of weeks because I thought I had a virus attached to my blog, which was compounded by the fact that I've had spam from every bank in the land except the one I actually bank with asking me to verify my account. Paranoia ain't the word for it.

I shouldn't be typing this while 3 sheets to the wind but what the heck, I'll look back on this in a couple of days and groan. We'll see if all the links work in the morning.

I went to the doctors, I've got pills for depression. Nothing too strong. He cracked me up, I haven't met this guy before and I gave him my potted medical history and he was a sweetie, tutting in all the right places. Eventually he said, "I suppose you're really fucked off with life then aren't you?" I said "that's an accurate assessment". I think he knew a thing or two about being fucked off, he looked like he'd had a stroke or Bell's Palsy or something. Bless him, he even wanted to sign me off work for a bit longer (I wish I'd taken him up on that now).

So, pills, I'm actually feeling a tad better, a little bit more cheerful, a bit more human, part from today after a run in with my cnut of a boss. God I hope my Dad doesn't figure out how to get back here.

My lump is supposedly nothing to be concerned about, it's a fatty lump called a lipoma from an injury or something. Thinking about it I do bump that bit into the oven door an awful lot.

The cough is getting a bit better. Flares up now and then. It's worse when I'm on dialysis so I think my throat gets dry, that's all. No asthma, but thanks for suggesting that I should add it to my armoury of ailments guys :-)

Don't worry. I'm fine. I see someone called the Independent Assessor tomorrow. He's the final hurdle to jump before the transplant. He decides if we're well enough informed of what we're getting into, decides that I'm not coercing Capt Scarlet. I'll just tell him that I'll withold sex and home cooking forever more if I don't get the bloody kidney. We'll see how that affects the decision. Hey ho. Seriously this is just a formality apparently, we're looking at June or July for the operation. Can't happen soon enough. When I'm fixed I'm quitting my job and opening a fancy dress hire shop. Seriously.

Amy can you move closer? I might have some work for you.

I'm really fucked off with my new boss. Fucked off. Twat. After 5 years of being the continuity in this squadron I'm no longer able to decide how I manage my work space. What I thought was my office is really only part of his 3 dimensional chess set. Wanker.

Lawks a mussy I'm going to regret this in the morning. Love y'all.

Eeny meeny miney mo

Anyone reading this blog could be forgiven for thinking that I'm a hypochondriac but the fact is I'm not. I hate being ill, I hate that I could be thought of as weak.

I was rarely ill as a child, I didn't get the normal childhood illnesses and I was 26 before I even had chickenpox (let me tell ya, chickenpox as an adult is nasty). The only time I was ill as child was when I was 11 and got the flu. Not just the rotten cold kind of flu, it was the all out disabling kind of flu.

A month or so after that bout of flu I started showing signs of diabetes - weeing a lot, ultra thirsty, losing weight. But Type 1 diabetes is insidious and no-one really noticed anything was wrong until the day I felt too ill to go to school. That day was a dramatic one, I started the day lying on the sofa feeling poorly but looking reasonably normal but by the end of the day I was a virtual skeleton, in a coma and hammering on death's door. Eventually after a botched diagnosis by a drunk doctor I ended up being rushed into hospital by ambulance complete with blues and twos and when I got there diabetes was swiftly diagnosed. I believe that flu virus weakened my pancreas.

So here I am enduring a lengthy sick leave following my hysterectomy. One of my goals on this sick leave was to spend a little time at my local GP's surgery getting a few niggling little things taken care of - yes in addition to my major problems I also suffer the things that normal people suffer with. Nothing earth shattering just a few things that I haven't had time to go to the doctors about because the big things take up too much time. It's a logistical challenge finding time to go to the doctor when you spend 15 hours a week attending the hospital for dialysis whilst trying to hold down a full time job and the doctors surgery is only open in the hours that I'm either at the hospital or at work.

I made an appointment over a week ago for next Friday, the rottweiler* on reception said that was the soonest they could fit me in unless I needed an emergency apointment. Well nothing I want to discuss could be considered an emergency so I meekly thanked her and now I'm cooling my heels waiting for Friday to roll around.

Now here's my problem, I have several things that I would like to sort out but I'm only allowed to discuss one problem per appointment.

1. I've had a dry, irritating cough for several months now. It's only a little tickle but when it flares up I end up coughing so much I'm almost sick. It usually strikes me at night and I wake up coughing several times during the course of the night. I'm also being woken every hour or so with night sweats caused by losing my ovaries which oh by the way has also affected my blood sugar levels causing me to wake sometimes with very low blood sugar. It all adds up to very little sleep. I'm so blooming tired all the time, I have huge bags under my eyes and the skin round my eyes is so dark sometimes it looks as if some deranged makeup artist has been attacking me with plum coloured eyeshadow. I think I'm almost through the hormonal rapids now so the cough is the last thing to be fixed.

2. A few weeks ago I discovered a lump on my arm. It's about the size of a halved gobstopper, slightly irregular but quite firm, not painful at all. I thought initially I must have bumped myself but no bruise has come out. Obviously as I had pre-cancerous cells in my womb requiring the hysterectomy I'm thinking the worst about this lump, it's human nature isn't it - to think the worst? I can't afford to wait and see because of the impending kidney transplant, any cancer treatment will kill the new kidney.

3. I have struggled for years with depression. I had treatment for post-natal depression but once I felt better I stopped taking the pills. It's been a downward trend ever since then. A few years ago I was prescribed antidepressants but as I read the blurb that comes with all medications these days I learned that the pills might bring on suicidal thoughts. WTF? They're supposed to make me feel better! I didn't take them and I've struggled gamely on since then. I seem to function on 2 different levels. When I'm at work I'm OK, my pride won't let me do a shitty job. But when I'm home alone on say a day off I drift around the house or watch telly, I can't bring myself to go out and do something interesting or useful.

Six weeks of sick leave has brought home to me just how depressed I am. Most people would be revelling in the time off work giving them freedom to do the things they enjoy. Well despite the fact that I healed fantastically after my surgery and was able to move around freely much sooner than expected, I have done virtually nothing other than sit and watch the blasted telly. I desperately want to do other things but I can't motivate myself to get off my lardy arse and do them. It's as though I'm paralysed, trapped in my own head. I love my garden and it's in dire need of work but I can't seem to drag myself out there to do it. I'm sick to death of being fat and unfit but I can't make myself get up and exercise. Even blogging has seemed too difficult for me to get my finger out and write about all the things on my mind. I need help and if that help has got to come in the form of another tablet then I'm finally prepared to give it a go.

There are other things that needed sorting too (my achy-breaky-grindy knees, the lumps in my hands - I also have this thing called Dupuytrens Contracture; the many spider nevus on my legs (but now I've done some internet research to find a link I'm a little worried about them), the early signs of varicose veins) but they all get bumped down in the order of importance.

See I'm not a hypochondriac at all, all this stuff is ginuwine. So anyway I need y'all to help me decide which problem I should get sorted first - please vote on thingy to the right of the page (I've been just dying to try one of these out for ages).

*I know it isn't fair to refer to the doctor's receptionst as a rottweiler, I happen to have met some perfectly lovely rottweilers in my time and they can't be compared to doctor's receptionists at all.

Sanity

I should really rename my blog Procrastination Time because I seem to spend most of my waking hours thinking about writing and updating my blog but I don't often get around to doing it. It's the story of my life really, too much time spent thinking, not enough time spent doing.

Some time ago, the lovely San, she of the wonderful writing and beautiful art, bestowed upon me a Gratitude with Attitude Award. I'm not sure I truly deserve it but I truly appreciate it.

I decided to do a little research and duly Yahood (like Googled just not spelled the same) Greatful Livin' as it appears on the award and and came up with the parent blog which is lovely and I shall be dropping in there from time to time in the future.

I think I'm supposed to pass it on to 12 other bloggers so I hereby present it to the next 12 people who comment. One at a time please ...

Update on the immigration issue

Further to my earlier post here's an article that appeared in one of the local newspapers yesterday. Click here

Assault with a deadly spoon

Calamity Jane. Never was a nickname more richly deserved. She could have chosen The Tasmanian Devil of course, apparently she closely resembles him when she's in a temper, but Calamity Jane suits her even when she's not in a strop.

Calamity Jane is the girl who fell off a dustbin at the age of 12 (trying to climb on a mate's shed roof). She struck her leg on edge of the dustbin with such on the fall downwards that she gave herself a bruise that wrapped around the entire top half of her leg and dislodged a chunk of fat that left a permanent bratwurst-sized lump on her outer thigh. It is the only part of her that she has considered having liposucked away.

Calamity Jane is the girl who skewered her palm, surprisingly enough with a skewer, while trying to pierce a conker. Calamity Jane is the girl who broke her foot on her husband's briefcase whilst racing down the stairs to answer the phone. Calamity Jane blew up her hob and fused an entire electrical circuit whilst cooking a Christmas ham.

Are we seeing a pattern here?

Calamity Jane is also the girl who yesterday broke her treasured, not to mention very expensive, laptop (Philips X52 12.1" widescreen which weighs a mere 1.8kg don'tcha know) with a dessertspoon. Indeed, as she was attempting to tidy up her not inconsiderable mess from the living room, to include discarded socks, books, mugs and ice cream bowls, a spoon from said ice cream bowl flew with great force and ricocheted into her beloved laptop thus smashing the LCD screen and leaving a jagged raspberry-ripple flavoured split. Captain S believes he can replace it but a brief survey of t'internet reveals that a new screen will cost in the region of 150 nicker.

She should be labeled with a health warning.

Healthy debate

It's not often that I stick my head above the parapet and write about something even vaguely political. There doesn't seem to be a lot of point when there are bloggers out there who are far more competent at it than I, usually I don't know what I'm talking about and I'm so empathetic that I see both sides of the argument. Plus a lot of my RAM is devoted to merely staying alive never mind taking on everyone else's troubles.

So here's something that involves politics and staying alive and I'm having trouble making up my mind where I stand on it as usual, not that my opinion will change anything which is another reason why I don't normally get involved. I'm rambling, sorry.

There is a patient at the dialysis unit who is an illegal immigrant. He came over here because he couldn't afford the healthcare in his own country. He's been here a few years and now he's going to be deported fairly soon. He can't afford dialysis in his own country but if he stops dialysing he will be dead within about 2 weeks.

Now I get royally pissed off when people come over here to freeload off the state. The NHS provides free quality healthcare, although it's not truly free of course because it is funded by taxes. I work bloody hard to stay at work and pay taxes whilst coping with a chronic illness. However, I cannot believe that my country would be so callous as to send someone off to what is a certain death. He shouldn't be here in the first place but we shouldn't be killing him. See my dilemma?

Tell me what you think - I've disabled the no anonymous comments setting so everyone who visits can join in for a change.