Sad Dragon

I had my first unsupervised outing since my surgery today. I took a walk down to visit the giant who is holding the high street of our small town in a full-nelson and squeezing the life out of it ... Tesco in other words. It's only a 10 minute walk so I wrapped up well and headed off.

I only needed a couple of things, basically I only went out to stretch my legs and get some fresh air. I was queuing at the cigarette kiosk because it was quicker than going through the main tills, I looked over at the papers and was horrified to see on the front page of the local paper a news story about someone from my squadron. He's been jailed for 2 years.

I can't remember how long ago it was but I know the investigations have been running for some time, this man was involved in a car accident which left 2 people dead. It was a head on collision, from what little I know about it, he was overtaking another car when he smashed into a car coming in the opposite direction. I don't believe this was reckless driving but more a serious error in judgement by a man unfamilar with our roads while driving a lefthand drive vehicle - he had his own family in the car with him at the time and his wife was seriously injured.

I feel desperately sorry for the loss of a mother and her daughter. Nothing can mitigate that loss and I'm not sure sending a decent man to jail for 2 years balances the books.

Discuss?

PS Sad Dragon because my squadron is called the Green Dragons. Although a lot of them piss me off from time to time I am fiercely loyal to them and consider myself the Dragon Den Mother.

Worshipping at the Temple of 3BT

I promised Clare a couple of months ago that I would try harder with the 3BT concept, so here goes.

1. My house is tidy because my parents-in-law have threatened to visit. MIL does not subscribe to my housework doctrine of clean enough to be healthy, untidy enough to be happy. She hoovers every day, cleans her oven every week and I suspect that she even polishes her apples. I cleared up the clutter but didn't manage to vacuum as the vacuum cleaner was upstairs and I can't manage it down the stairs one-handed. They just had to sit in squalor.

2. My parents -in-law arrived an hour later than they said they would.

3. My parents-in-law leaving.

Book Report - Ugly

I just finished reading Ugly by Constance Briscoe. Once I picked it up I literally couldn't put it down, not so much because it was enjoyable but because it certainly was compelling. It makes for very distressing reading at times but there are occasions when I found myself smiling, even some of the unsavoury moments have a hint of comic absurdness so I just couldn't help myself.

Here's a link to a Sunday Times interview with the author which details some of the highlights of the book http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2092-1985687_1,00.html . The interview is worth a read if nothing else.

Borborygmi 'n' blues

It has been my experience that following any surgery there follows a period of depression. I'm on that slippery slope now, I'm feeling bored and miserable. Physically I feel much better than I did last week but I'm still not able to use my right hand properly yet. I'm looking forward to a proper meal, not only am I unable to cook but I have difficulty managing cutlery, to which the sofa if it could talk would attest, so I've been eating a lot of sandwiches. Bleh.

You may be wondering about the borborygmi, cool word isn't it? I think it's a word that Word Imp over at Word Imperfect might be interested in. It's quite onomatopoeic too. In my belly right now it sounds like there's a giant in there yelling :

Boooooorrrrrboooorrrrryyyyygggggmmuuuuuusssssss!!!!!!

That's right - things have started working again. I've had many weeks where there has been no tangible activity, not even a bottom burp, other than the occasional diamond studded rabbit pellet.

Unh huh, thank you very much.

On being held at needle point

When I arrived at dialysis last night there were sharp intakes of breath and much oohing and aahing all round as the nurses looked at my arm. It is a bit of a spectacle I have to admit. The back of my hand looks as though I've been dip dyed with my knuckles being darkest and the colours graduating through blue, purple and green up towards my wrist.

The hairy side of my arm is a revolting jaundiced yellow. The underside is multiple shades of purple and working back down to my palm, well that's actually quite pretty and rather like marble with the usual healthy flesh colour being shot through with pink and blue.

Of course at the centre of it all is the wound itself which is surrounded by vivid pinky-red skin because it it most definitely infected. Sister Mac said I needed to peel off the Dermabond myself so it could be swabbed.

Another sharp intake of breath but it's hard to refuse when someone's waving a 1 & a half inch large bore needle at you.

So peel it off I did and I nearly passed out in the process. Imagine trying to peel off sunburnt skin when it's about 2mm thick and stuck down with superglue. I'm seeing stars just writing about it.

A little later I was supposed to start an infusion of intravenous antibiotic. It was being administered by Nurse Blusher who was being assessed on the task by Sister Mac. Sister Mac whispered to me that I had to refuse to have the drug as a test for Nurse Blusher. I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it but remember Sister Mac is the one with the large bore needles, so I agreed.

Nurse Blusher went through her strict routine step by step and when it came to the point where she had to ask me if I agreed to receiving the drug, I just launched in to my spiel of having thought about things and really I'm already taking 2 oral antibiotics I didn't really want to take the IV one as well especially as it is so urotoxic (kills off the kidneys), blah blah blah.

The poor girl just went red (hence her code name) and asked me if I was joking. I managed to keep a straight face and kept up the charade with some input from Sister Mac until she went through the protocol that she was being tested on.

Fortunately she passed and Sister Mac said I deserved an Oscar. Who says you can't have fun when you're ill?

Puss 'n' boots

I treated myself to a new pair of boots a couple of weeks ago, Dougal thought the box was tailor made for him.

Sealed with a twist

I'm now 4 days post-op and the swelling and bruising is improving slowly. My hand is no longer the size of a small boxing glove and is now merely a subtle shade of zombie-skin grey. I can type a little better, previously I had to employ the hunt-and-peck method with the index finger on my right hand but now I'm almost back to my lightning fast touch typing speed.

The wound on my wrist however is infected. It's livid (not to mention slightly annoyed) and very sore. I rather freaked out my GP when I went to see her yesterday to ask for some antibiotics, she was worried that I was developing gangrene due to the funny colour of my hand but thankfully we established that it was just bruising.

The interesting thing about this op is that it wasn't dressed with anything afterwards. Instead they sealed it with something called Dermabond which is a clear glaze that sets hard over the incision site protecting it from contamination. It also saves you from having to pfaff around with dressings (which is great for me because the adhesives really irritate my skin) and allows you to take a shower. Supposedly it peels off after a week or so.

In this instance it appears to have sealed in an infection. Just for once it isn't my dodgy aftercare that's done it, more worryingly I could have got it from the surgeon or theatre. Even if I had the bacteria on my skin to begin with I was practically hosed down in antiseptic before the surgery began. However it happened, now I have it it'll be a bugger to get rid of. Diabetics are human sized petri dishes for bacteria to thrive on.

I expect to have the Dermabond removed this afternoon at dialysis because I need to swabbed in order to establish what kind of infection is going on. I'm not looking forward to that as I strongly suspect it will be painful.

Incisive wit

Picture this: you're lying there on the narrow surgical table, draped and prepped for surgery. Your arm, out of sight behind the drapes, is flooded with local anaesthetic (which incidentally hurts like !*$& as it goes in) , the theatre assistants are surfing Match.com and soft music is playing in the background.

Feeling a little anxious you desperately search for something to focus on other than what's going on on the other side of the drapes. Your mind tunes in to what's actually playing in the CD player.

Ooh goody, a collection from the 70's ... Roberta Flack and Killing Me Softly ... The 3 Degrees and When Will I See You Again? ... Boston with More Than A Feeling ... Blue Oyster Cult and Don't Fear The Reaper ...

Eeeeek!!

Count Fistula; The Reawakening

Tomorrow morning I go in for more surgery, on my right wrist this time. Hopefully this fistula will be a success. I'm worried that a. it's not going to work just like the one in my left wrist and b. it will bugger up my hand.

Nothing much more to say. Keep your fingers crossed, let's hope I'm still able to do that myself after tomorrow :-).

Taking the piss

Until last week I was an Ebay virgin, never had an account, never bid on anything, never sold anything. Cap'n Marvel opened an account in 2005 but had never used it himself either. I decided to go on Ebay to search for a boardgame from my childhood - Take The Brain (Zoe I hope this little farce brings a smile to your sad lips). I apologise for the profanity but I'm a tad miffed.

It all started at Christmas., bored with TV I started a jigsaw one night and really enjoyed the peaceful time in the kitchen, Cap'n M joined me after a while and we just spent a pleasant evening working and chatting together. I wanted to do another one but didn't have any in stock so we started playing our meagre collection of boardgames instead.

Finding games that just 2 people can play is a bit of a trial. There's Scrabble of course but I'm completely pants at it and always get royally thrashed by the Cap'n which I find annoying because here I am a relatively articulate, well-read, bloggist with a huge vocabulary while he buys newspapers only for the cartoons and has never willingly read a book that has a bigger word to picture ratio in it.

We have a lovely set of wooden board games like Ludo, draughts, chess, snakes & ladders but I wanted something a bit more fun and started to reminisce about Take The Brain which I used to play for hours with my brother. To be fair it's quite similar to chess but the pieces have more wacky names like Ninnies and Numskulls making it more appealing. I've wanted this game again for years but had given it up for dead long ago, my parents must have given away our games before I left home - little did they know they were sitting on a goldmine.

Anyhoo the Cap'n suggested I do a search on the the internet which had never occurred to me (I know, duhhhhh which way did he go George ...) and lo and behold there were 3 or 4 for sale on Ebay! I went for the one with the lowest bid and longest time left because it looked to be the one in best condition.

For about 2 days I was the highest bidder and was pretty chuffed to be getting it even if £8 was a little steep for a 36-year old boardgame.

And then a bunch of complete wankers came along and suddenly the price shot up to £30!

Little did I know that I was engaged in a battle of wits with a bunch of twats who I envision to look like Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons and we're fighting for what is evidently the Holy Grail of boardgames.

To make things more interesting someone also posted that they were selling another Take The Brain for the buy it now price of £34.99. I was torn, the buy it now copy was quite tatty - and 35 quid - but I could end the suspense.

I really wanted to get the better game (nothing like a bit of competition to sharpen your desires - kerrang, I've fallen into the Ebay trap) so I decided to wait until the last minute so I could get my final bid in. I had until about 6:50 pm on Saturday, if I could get the winning bid submitted at the very last moment, Take The Brain would be mine!! Unfortunately we usually go out to do our food shopping on Saturdays at about 6pm so I couldn't see my plan through - instead I took a gamble that normal people aren't sitting in front of a computer screen at that time on a Saturday night so I plugged in my final max bid of, wait for it, £40!

Boy was I ever wrong.

As soon as we got back I rushed to my laptop to find that the other bidder had beat me by 1 penny! That fucker, within a minute of my final bid, had started plugging in figure after figure until he revealed what my final bid had been. In less than a minute he beat me by a lousy penny. To add insult to injury the buy it now version had also been snapped up. Grrrrrr!

If anyone has this game please let me know - I'll make it worth your while :-)

Bingo Fuel

I’ve had to concede defeat and give in to the fact that I’ve gained weight over Christmas and the New Year. Of course for most people that’s nothing exceptional but as I am trying desperately to lose weight in order to be activated on the transplant list it is something of a blow.

I dropped my "dry weight" a couple of weeks ago and ever since I’ve been struggling to take off the extra fluid that computer thinks that I’ve gained between sessions. On 2nd January the computer reckoned that I had gained 4½ kilos which equates to 4½ litres of fluid – to put things into perspective that’s almost 8 pints. Not only did I not drink that much fluid over the weekend but I still have enough kidney function to pee a little bit therefore making me able expel some of what I take in the way nature intended.

Needless to say losing 8 pints of fluid in 3½ hours to restore me to my dry weight is hard going. Consequently I’ve been restricting my fluid intake more and more in order to keep up and it’s making me ill and miserable. Amongst other things this has had a catastrophic effect on my bowel, my poor fluid starved body is sucking out the moisture of the umm, number 2’s, making it impossible for them to pass through.

Ergo I must have gained good old fashioned lard.

I don’t deserve to be as heavy as I am. It’s not like I eat crap all day long, I never have. OK I have a few glasses of wine and a packet of crisps every couple of days, I’m not a saint for crying out loud but what I survive on and still not lose weight is ridiculous.

It drives me nuts when I read those sappy success stories in the Sunday papers of people who suddenly have an epiphany over their weight and by simply cutting out fish & chips, pies, chocolate, curries and pints of beer and eating a healthy diet instead they lose 8 stone – if it was that effin’ simple I’d be giving Posh Spice a run for her money by now, I've been on a low calorie, low fat, low sugar diet since I was 11 years old!

My next step now is medication. I’m going to be taking a drug called Xenical which prevents the body from absorbing fat. Instead the fats within your food just pass through your system undigested so if you have too much ie more than 3-5% you run the risk of such delights as oily diarrhoea or even anal leakage. Niiiice.

You call this progress

Has anyone else experienced difficulty in accessing blogs with a blogspot.com address lately? Since I switched over to the new version of Blogger I have extreme difficulty connecting to them, including my own site!

While I was sleeping

Woohooo! The site meter tripped over to 1000 today ... I was in fact the 1000th visitor myself. Thanks for pushing up that counter with me - it gives an old girl an awful lot of satisfaction.

Break in transmission

Happy New Year everyone!

It's funny how things go sometimes, I had 2 weeks off work and thought that I would have ooooooodles of time for writing, customising, etc. The reality, obviously as I haven't been anywhere near this blog for over 2 weeks, was very different. Forgive the essay version of the recap but I shall try to keep it as snappy as possible.

Monday 18 Dec - The Gas Man Cometh

I spent day 1 of my precious leave cleaning like a woman possessed. The gas man was coming to service the boiler and central heating system at noon and as I don't do housework as often as I should, this was probably a good thing because it forced me to tidy up. He arrived promptly, was here for approximately 32 minutes and left £45 richer. Nice work if you can get it. He didn't even comment on how shiny everything was.

I spent the afternoon attempting to make gingerbread. I was following an American recipe that I found online, I was lucky enough to have been given some American measures for cups, etc. which was fortunate as my kitchen scales have gone kaput, however you know what everyone says, everything's bigger in America and that applies to recipes too. The dry ingredients were far too much for my puny little Masterchef so I had t0 halve everything as best I could. Half of the dough made about 30 gingerbread men & gingerbread trees, which I promptly overbaked into rock hard little table decorations.

Tuesday 19 Dec - Essex Girls go round the outside

Tuesday morning was spent as usual at the dialysis unit. After treatment I spent a few hours Christmas shopping trying to bag the final perfect gifts for the parents-who-have-everything. I think I managed to find the very last parking space in all of Christendom and was acutely aware whilst walking back to the car with my bulky first purchase, of other motorists cruising along behind me like great white sharks prowling the shallows. It felt rather good to load the boot of the car and walk off back in the direction of the town leaving the parking predators fuming behind me.

When finished I drove home and crashed in the recliner for 20 minutes before being whisked away by the good Cap'n to visit his brother and his family in Essex, an hour & a half''s drive from where we live. I love these relations to bits but it is always a bit of a trial as they are so different from us country bumpkins in Suffolk, I always feel so square in their presence as they are so damn trendy and I am so damn not.

The house is always filled with smoke and they have an enormous German Shepherd who insists on greeting visitors personally with a paw on each shoulder and looking them squarely in the eye. He's soft as muck but due to his sheer size he can do some damage (particularly to chest catheters) if you don't have your wits about you.

We drove home at about 9pm as we both needed to be up early in the morning.

Wednesday 20 Dec - Promoting a good image

I still can't believe that I agreed to attend the Lt's promotion to Captain at 08:00 am on a day when I was on leave. Somehow I managed to drag myself out of bed to arrive early for the 2 minute ceremony which was followed by a breakfast most of which I can't currently eat.

I arrived home at about 10:00 and set about wrapping presents. This is the part of Christmas I dread the most because I can't wrap for toffee ... I I I I said that I I I I can't rap for to-o-o-o-ffee, mo fo.

Anyway 4 hours, several rolls of sellotape and 2 dozen yards of curling ribbon later I stopped for lunch and then I remembered that I had to get some small gifts and sweets for the kids who might turn up for the staff Christmas luncheon on Friday. We have a Secret Santa gift exchange and I like to do a little raffle-type game so any kids who turn up get something to unwrap too. Ain't I sweet.

I set off into town and bought a dozen suitable little things and brought them home for another marathon wrapping session.

After that I decorated the previously mentioned jawbreakers, I mean gingerbread.

Thursday 21 Dec - It's worse than that, he's dead Jim

Dialysis as usual. On the way back I pulled up to some traffic lights which were on red. A car pulled up behind me and as is my custom I examined the occupants in my rear view mirror.

I was intrigued by the passenger as it looked like he was fast asleep, head back on the back of the seat. With my second look I concluded that he didn't look very healthy at all, in fact Omigodddd! He's dead!!

With a further look (the lights take a long time to change) I realised that he was in fact a shop mannequin but I have to say I'm baffled by why he might need to be driven around in a Mini-Metro.

I then had to make a quick stop off to work again to drop off the kids' parcels and the Secret Santa stuff so no-one would see me arrive with them the next day and thus give away who gave those gifts.

In the afternoon I had an appointment to talk to my GP about my mother. The Parkinsons is affecting her brain and giving her some kind of dementia. She thinks that her parents still live at home and that all her own kids have died. It's all very upsetting and I needed to talk to someone about it. Dear old doc was great and instantly made room on her schedule to see my parents together in the New Year

Friday 22 Dec - How not to be a domestic goddess

I couldn't sleep Friday morning so I was up around 4 am, just in time for the milkman to deliver my long awaited orgasmal box. Pfft is all can say. Any orgasm derived from that measly collection would definitely have been faked. It contained:

a tiny bag of Brussels sprouts
4 parnsips, each about the size of my thumb
2 apples
2 carrots
2 potatoes
a vacuum pack of beetroot
2 satsumas
2 tiny onions

I was somewhat perplexed by what exactly I was supposed to do with such a minute quantity of stuff. Size matters to a girl no matter what they tell you.

And so, on to the the piece de resistance of my "relaxing" week before Christmas. I blew up my hob with 3 days to go until Christmas.

I was following a Nigella Lawson recipe for cola baked ham. It's very simple, you simmer your joint of gammon in cola for a couple of hours and then you bake it in a very hot oven for a few minutes with a few extra ingredients until you have a succulent crisp coated joint.

I was actually cooking 2 joints as I couldn't find one big enough to feed 25 hungry Americans. I had turned up the heat ever so slightly on one of the pans and then left the kitchen for a couple of minutes to make a fuss of Dougal in the living room. I heard a muted pop and went back in to the kitchen to investigate.

The Real Thing was oozing in a thin syrpy puddle all over the hob and the work top but the pans had stopped simmering - yup not only can you melt teeth and clean your toilets with it but you can also short electrical circuits and totally mess up hobs with it.

I had to finish the ham by casseroling it in the oven and then baking it off.

Fortunately it turned out to be the best ham anyone has ever tasted. Certainly the most expensive.

I'm not going to cover the week after Christmas as it was extremely boring but tiring with not much time being spent at home. I apologise if I've kept you in suspenders for such a long time, I'll try and make it up to you this year.

Funnylingus

My regular readers will know that I like to indulge in a a little wordplay now and then, the saucier the better - observe the gratuitous use of the word "pussy" in my post titles.

Anyhoo, a source of amusement for me was delivered this morning, quite literally, to my doorstep. It's the bill from my milkman and yes I do know it's cheaper to buy from a huge multi-national conglomerate like Tesco who are only a few hundred yards down the street but I haven't the heart to kill off yet another of our traditional trades.



Take note if you will of the circled portion. It's supposed to be detailing a charge for a small box of organic vegetables, yet it says to me and my dirty mind "Orgasmal Box".

Ooooooooh Matron! I can't wait for that delivery!

Support your local milkman!!

A pink kink in her think

As I’m sitting here writing at the kitchen table, my progress is being monitored by one of my cats. She’s sitting purring loudly and staring at me over the laptop screen. She’s on Prawn Patrol. Her hunted eyes follow my fingers’ every move just in case they should produce from behind my ears, Paul Daniels-stylee, a pink morsel.

Prawns are, you see, kitty crack and Cami’s a prawn whore who’s going cold turkey.

When Cami first came to live with us almost 5 years ago she was the smallest cutest bundle of fluff you have ever seen. She had peculiar tastes though having apparently been weaned onto Weetabix and milk rather than catfood. Her first night home she didn’t show any interest in the food we put down, she preferred to nibble on cat litter instead. She did develop more conventional tastes and now when she gets the crunchy munchies she eats ordinary cat food. And prawns.

Things have got out of hand just lately and she’s got a little too used to having them often so she’s been cut down to a few every weekend. This makes her alternately very sulky and very adorably affectionate. I like the affectionate bit and it’s hard not to reward nice behaviour with a little treat, trouble is once she gets what she wants she wants more, more, MORE!!

With hindsight I think Cami and her brother Dougal were too young to leave their mother but I also think we saved their lives by bringing them home when we did - they were infested with fleas and I believe that if they’d been left any longer without intervention that they probably would have died from anaemia. Their third litter mate had died already so I think we got them just in time.

The couple we got them from said to me as we were leaving on that fateful Saturday, “they might have one or two fleas”. One or two? Bloody hell the poor little buggers were absolutely heaving with fleas and would have to pause every couple of seconds mid-playfight to stop and have a good scratch. They were being eaten alive and I couldn’t get them into the vets until Monday.

So I sat with them on my lap and a mug of hot water beside me and combed them with a flea comb. And combed them and combed them. The fleas came off on that flea comb clustered like tiny bunches of grapes and I swiftly plunged the comb into the glass of hot water to kill them. I sat and did that for over an hour changing the water every ten minutes to ensure that it stayed hot enough to kill the fleas. When I got to the vet on the Monday night he could only find a couple of fleas on them.

I wish I’d carried on with the regular combing, they have very dense, long fur (I think they have some Maine Coon or Siberian in their genes, definitely some Husky somewhere in there) and they hate being combed now. They love being outdoors and getting muddy and matted from creeping through the undergrowth. I frequently have to extract twigs from their fur and they usually leave me something prickly after they’ve been snoozing on the bed.

kasjrdobcljasroiacjamslkdljLDLKLDJqowueojvlzn,\ c x,cxnlkgjpaswlhjegjasgdd I have to go now, she thinks I have some prawns stashed in the keyboard.

Dancing in stilettos in the snow

Saturday night was spent at our annual Dialysis Unit Christmas Party. This year’s was actually a ceilidh - we had a live 7 piece band playing Irish folk music with dancing plus of course great food and company.

Cap’n Marvel is fairly musical and was fascinated by some of the instruments used on stage. The one that most took his interest was a strange looking contraption that from where I was sitting looked like a small fat viola with a keyboard and a wind up handle. It turned out to be a hurdy gurdy and it would seem that the player was used to being asked about the instrument because when the Cap’n went up to ask questions the guy said “Here, I’ll give you a leaflet.”

A warm mince pie and a dollop of clotted cream to anyone who makes the connection between the post title and the subject.

Cold War

It's funny that Shaz should mention her microwave/convection oven in the previous post's comments because one is going to feature in today's story. It goes thusly:

The building I work in is a former aircraft hangar dating from WWII and was converted into offices just after the war. It gets pretty draughty at times due to having a huge uninsulated roof space and suspended ceilings. Heating is in the form of ancient cast iron radiators that resemble dinosaur ribcages. Unfortunately the valve that controls the one in my office wrung off many moons ago and now I have to turn it on and off with the aid of an adjustable spanner - there is no middle ground, it's either on or off. It's such a palaver that usually I don't turn it on until it gets really cold and I make do with a little fan heater to take the chill off until I can stand the cold no more.

It's the same story for my Lt's office which is a windowless, airless room just off mine and the previous occupants have never actually felt the need to have their radiator on at all. However, my new Lt was stationed in Arizona previously where it gets pretty warm most of the time and she's been feeling the cold since moving over here so when she moved in she wanted her radiator on. And mine too!

Every morning I walk into my office and exclaim "bloody 'ell it's hot in here!" and proceed to turn on my fans while the Lt proceeds to combat the draught by turning on her portable air conditioning unit that doubles as a heater. This morning was no different, I walked in, said my piece at which the Commander appeared at his door (my office is at the centre of a suite of offices for the Command Section ... it's a glorified reception area and I'm prone to a lot of through traffic and have no privacy) to see what was going on.

I explained the situation to him and he went over to my radiator to try and turn it off but for some reason turning the valve one way made the radiator so incredibly hot it was like the surface of the Sun and we could barely get close enough to it to turn the valve the other way. This didn't actually turn it off this time, merely turned the temperature down to blast furnace temperature.

Hurrumph.

Anyway, half an hour later this strange hot smell started to permeate the room and I began to worry that the heating was about to melt down like Chernobyl. The Commander came out of his office again and moaned at me for complaining about the heat and then putting on my fan heater. I told him that I hadn't at which point the Lt piped up and said that she was bakng cookies for everyone in her new microwave/convection oven. The Boss and I just looked at each other for a moment and then he went off for a meeting.

A few minutes later she emerged with a pile of cookies and said to me "Gosh I feel so bad, making you smell these baking when you aren't allowed to eat them". She swiftly flounced off to deliver said cookies to the rest of the staff.

My gast has rarely been so flabbered, how insensitive can you get? Shaz if you can tell me what you did to your oven I shall endeavour to do the same to the Lt's.

The Contaminatrix

The results of the latest swab from the line in my chest came in today. I apparently have a coliform bacterial infection. Go on and follow the link, have a good shocked gasp and get it out of your system and then come back and read the rest.

I'm devastated and at a loss for how I managed to acquire this little lurgy. Let me just state for the record that I am very careful about changing my dressings. Everyday after showering and before changing the dressing I wash my hands with hot water and antibacterial handwash, apply an alcohol hand rub, use only sterile swabs soaked in Betadine solution which is supposed to kill all pathogens.

Might as well use Domestos. Kills all germs. Dead.

So the solution is to have intravenous Gentamycin, a particularly noxious antibiotic. When the nurse looking after me asked her colleague to fetch the Gentamycin, she added "Oh and remember to bring the anaphylaxis stuff too".

Gulp.

Bloggus Interruptus

To my trio of faithful readers, yes I am still around, sorry I haven't written much lately but it's all been so blah that I haven't really wanted to share all the shitty nitty gritty itty bitty details.

Suffice it to say that I've been ill with a cold/sinus infection, I've covered about 400 miles in the last 2 weeks for numerous hospital visits for scans in preparation for my next surgery (which should be after Christmas) and my Mum ... oh my Mum is going downhill fast.

And I'm completely knackered.

Only a week and a half to go and then I have the week off before Christmas, I'll be on my own during the day so I will have some precious me (and maybe you) time.