Cami come home

One of my cats has been missing for 2 days so I'm too distraught to write anything even slightly amusing today. I feel like an idiot, grieving over a lost cat but she's my family.

When my previous pair of cats died within 6 months of each other at the ripe old age of 17 it took me literally years to talk about them without weeping - they helped me through the loss of my son so they were more than mere pets, they were my surrogate children. This is going to put me back a long way if she doesn't turn up soon.

What a burden for a pair of furry little airheads to carry.

Listen to the voice of Buddha

I christened my left big toe Phil Oakey today. Not you understand because it's being getting any love action of course, it's because somehow during a freak accident with the toenail clippers I managed to cut it so one side is a good quarter of an inch lower than the other side. I'm really bummed over this as I have a really hot pink nail polish that looks terrific on toenails. Maybe I should plant a story in Heat! magazine that wonky toenails are de rigeur in WAGland.

Anyway it was a fitting end to a week that started with me committing a quadruple murder (I really must find out how to add sound effects to this page, in my head the Deadwood Saloon's tinny pianny that plays when I'm here just stopped playing when I wrote that). Muhrrdah!

I arrived at the dialysis unit last Saturday to discover that a guy who I shall refer to as Private Joe Walker after the spiv in Dad's Army, had acquired 30 live lobsters and was selling them - 3 for a tenner. I hummed & hahed for a couple of hours before deciding that I would buy some. I've never tried lobster as it's always been too expensive so this seemed like a good opportunity.

Anyway Pvt Walker was finished before me so he bagged up the lobsters and one of the nurses stowed them in my car for me.

All the way home there was an agitated rustling coming from the back seat and when I arrived home I discovered that he'd given me 4 of the little blighters. Or should I say big blighters. Big lively blighters.

Gulp! I don't think I'll be able to go through with this!

I gave myself a stern talking to and decided that I wouldn't jump in the car again and drive off to Cromer to set them free - dammit I was going to cook them. All the same I felt so sorry for those cute little chaps - Claude, Klaus, Claudette & Claudia - I decided that while the water was boiling I would make them comfortable in a big bucket of rain water that was in the back garden. I even added some salt and played some Benjamin Britten to try and make them feel at home.

Apparently that was the worst thing I could have done for them (the rainwater not the Britten); it hastened their demise so I was spared the horror of lowering wriggling creatures into scalding water while bawling my eyes out and screeching "I'M SOOOO SOOORRRY!!!!" as each one went in.

I will never be the same again, I didn't think I had the capacity to deliberately kill something. Now I know I do ...

Trade test transmission

Stay tuned, normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Meanwhile I've become a murdress and there's what looks like a lunar landing module in the back garden.

To the point

I just realised that my 100th post came and went unnoticed, I've also remembered that I haven't done a medical update for some time - this is Medication Time after all.

The big news is that I've been getting dialysed through needles in my arm a lot more often than through the catheter in my chest. This is great for me as it means I'm that much closer to getting the wretched catheter out of my chest. Once that happens and the hole heals up I can go swimming again or even go away on a beach holiday!

It also means that I don't need to have more surgery to create a different fistula - the one created in January appears to be going very well although the blood vessels are still small and deep, but with more needling they will eventually grow and come closer to the surface. It's a Catch 22 situation - you need to get the needles in to make the vessels grow, yet the vessels are too small for a needle.

Apologies to the squeamish, but ... tough shit. If I have to deal with this then so do you. Ooh I could crush a grape I feel that assertive.

Vindicated

Yup. Now there's documentary proof that Captain Scarlet's birthday treat is bad for my health. Ptooey!

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/afp/20070509/thl-us-heatlh-cancer-0b0437e.html

7 Random Things

I've been tagged by my dear cyber pal Shaz (does that count as a random thing?)

1. I used to work in a public library. Great place apart from the fusty old WI crowd who also worked there who looked down their noses at me.

2. I handpainted every single paving slab in my garden. I sought the services of an osteopath soon after.

3. I've never seen Dirty Dancing and have no desire to do so.

4. My most cherished ambition next to seeing the Earth from space or to drive a double decker bus at Silverstone is to be a published (read paid) writer.

5. I adore Tommy Lee Jones and Ed Harris. You can keep Brad Pitt.

6. I have a Teach Yourself Conversational Klingon book and the technical specifications manual of the USS Enterprise (the starship not the aircraft carrier).

7. I've already made my will and bought my burial plot.


I hereby tag, ummm, I haven't sown my cyber oats as far as some so it looks like it will be ... DQ and Kai

They're he-ere!

I found myself with an extra half hour on my hands this morning so rather than blog about the construction project ie the garden, which will take too much time (sorry Shaz - maybe later today), I will tell you about the odd goings on in my kitchen at night.

About a week ago just after midnight, I woke to find that I was having a hypo - low blood sugar - so I staggered downstairs to have something to eat to bring my blood sugar back up. As I sat at the table sleepily dunking biscuits in a glass of milk, one of Captain Scarlet's watches started to beep. He keeps at least 3 digital watches on top of the microwave at any one time so I had to paw through them to find the right one to shut it off. When I told him about it in the morning he was adamant that he hadn't set the alarm.

A couple of days later I was again sitting at the kitchen table, this time testing my blood sugar before going to bed at about 10:30. Another watch started alarming, a different one this time. Again I asked Capt S if he had set the alarm and again he said no.

On Friday night Capt S walked into the kitchen and a completely different watch started to alarm. I'd made a point of checking that all the watches were set not to alarm yet it happened again! WTF is going on? Do we have a poltergeist? It's all very spooky.

Ground rules

I wish to apologise to my faithful band of readers who log in daily to see what I've written only to discover that I haven't written a bloody thing. Sorry.

I have a life that precludes regular dispatches on the old blogarama thing. In fact I have gone to such lengths as to draw up a plan for every waking hour to assist with the management of said busy, but ultimately dull life. Unfortunately I drew up this plan in winter and the slot I reserved for blogging fell between 5.50 pm and 6.30 pm which now the weather has been brilliant and the evenings longer, I have pinched for gardening.

I feel most at peace with myself when I'm pottering around in the garden. That's not to say that I have a great garden because I don't. Actually it's like a bomb site at the moment because Captain Scarlet has ripped out his old wooden workshop with my greenhouse attached and is in the process of digging the footings for a new improved brick workshop and brick-base greenhouse.

But I digress. Gardens, plants, wildlife - I love it out there. I'm actually considering starting a Royal Horticultural Society course in Garden Design and then I will work towards a Diploma in Horticulture.

Now I just need to work that into the schedule somehow, something's gotta give - will it be the exercise slot or the weekend blogging spot ... hmmm, tough choice.

Rebel yell(ow)

Gardeners of a delicate disposition should turn away now. Go on, toddle off to your potting shed.

I love dandelions. I love their shaggy yellow heads which are the harbingers of spring, I love the leaves which give the plant its name - dents de lion ... lion's teeth, and I love the fluffy pom-pom seed heads most of all. As a child I launched countless thousands of tiny parachutes towards unsuspecting neighbourhood lawns as I counted off the time.

Did you know you can make an ersatz coffee from the roots?

I know I'm a disgrace to my green-fingered sisterhood, I should hate dandelions, eradicate them, wrench them wriggling and screaming from between the genetically modified delicate specimens that we choose to put in the garden.

But I don't. I'm doing my bit for conservation, I'm saving the planet one weed at a time.

Meep meep

Can I have a big round of applause for Staff Nurse Spill Me, one of my nurses who ran the London Marathon for the first time - she finished in 5 hours 57 minutes. She's an absolute star, one of my favourites; she's only been training since Christmas but has never really run much prior to this and was running to raise money for MacMillan Nurses and for the dialysis unit.

Knights of the Road

Definitely not Knights Who Say Ni, but some jolly nice ambulance driver chaps and I believe some chapesses who are raising money for the Richard House Trust - the children's hospice in London.

Read more about the mission on Tom Reynolds' blog here or click on this widget (keep your fingers crossed that it works as this is my first time with a widget - yes I truly am a widget virgin). Oh yes and please spread the word.

Size matters

I now have an official fluid restriction of 800 mls (or just over a pint and a half) per day because quite frankly I don't pee very much these days. This allowance includes drinks and fluid found in foods such as fruit, rice, pasta, yoghurt, etc. A bit stingy isn't it and needless to say almost impossible to stick to whilst maintaining some kind of quality of life, so I tend to aim for it but overshoot by about 50%.

One of the tricks I have found useful is to use smaller cups and glasses - sounds obvious but psychologically a full small cup is more satisfying that half a large cup - not to mention more accurate. So to that end I have commenced a quest for dinky cups that hold no more than 150 mls, preferably less.

I have some glasses that are 100 ml or to put it into some kind of perspective, 20 teaspoons full. I've had them for years and countless times they been on the verge of being chucked out but saved such ignominy due to the fact that they were given to me by my Granny which curiously enough is also the reason for them potentially being thrown out in the first place. Hmmm, my life is full of such conundrums (or is that conundra?).

Another little trick I discovered is to suck ice chips. Not being in possession of an ice-chip maker I armed myself with an icecube tray and a hammer at work and if I'm feeling thirsty I will pop out a couple of ice cubes, smash them to pieces and scoop them into one of said tiny glasses just to ensure that I'm not having too much. Sucking 100 mls of ice is almost as satisfyig as chugging 500 mls of water. Almost.

On a related note I have lost 3 kgs or almost half a stone. I've given up that dratted Xenical so it's all down to me not some stupid drug that gives you diahorrea. I'm so frustrated because I'm losing weight from my boobs, ribs and waist but not my hips or thighs. My trousers droop down over my hips but I can't get into a smaller size yet.

Oh yes size matters, on so many levels it matters.

Jane's addiction

I'm on a high. There's white powder everywhere - all over my trousers, all over the laptop. There was a hole in the bottom of the packet. I'm going to go over everything with a clean bag in the vacuum cleaner to retrieve what I've lost.

Later though, I need to delay the gratification for a while otherwise I'll be wanting my fixes more often.

They've started selling it in Budgen's in the next town over. Tesco despite their desire to rule the world haven't yet figured out how lucrative the local market can be.

The cashier looked askance at me when I paid for my precious - 5 packets all in one go. I found myself having to justify myself to her, "It's for the kids" I stuttered, "it's half-term" - she nodded knowingly, thinking "Suuure, it's for the kids".

I haven't got any kids.

That was 3 days ago and I've just had my last pack. I've broken out in a sweat just thinking about not having any. I don't know what I will do, it's ages until we go over there again!

I'm going mad! I know I shouldn't be having the stuff but I can't help myself. The yellow tubes, the licorice straw, the white fizzy yumminess of Bassett's Sherbet Fountains just keeps calling my name "... Jane ... Jane ... Jane"

Re-entry in 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 ...

Cooee - I'm back in the blogosphere. I'd like to say that I've been quiet 'cos I had a kidney transplant but the truth is I've been floating around in another dimension - you know the one I mean, the one where you have to go to work, the one where Dull Stuff Happens.

Unfortunately in that dimension fathers-in-law fall off ladders and have heart attacks, internet connections fail, work and hospital treatments absorb all the hours in the day, Easter eggs have to be hand delivered to distant relatives.

It's a scary place and I'd much rather be in the company of pole dancers, drama queens, goths, Dane lovers and geekettes.

My email server appears to have found a worm hole and gone off on its own little adventure somewhere - I can neither send nor receive anything and am stuck with a Yahoo account, for which no-one appears to have been able to decipher the address.

Now you know what's been happening. Sort of.

Feed me Seymour!

The weekend before last was spent planting seeds. It's an annual event for me, even if the seeds germinate they are doomed to an early death in my excuse for a garden, but I get a kick out of it all the same. The fact that a 10 foot tall sunflower can grow from such a tiny seed just blows my mind.

This year's contenders for East Anglian Roulette, chosen primarily due to the poorness of my sandy soil and therefore standing a fighting chance of survival, are:

Red sunflowers
Yellow dwarf sunflowers
Garlic chives
Red Basil
Lime Basil
Nasturtiums in 4 varieties
Tomatoes
French Tarragon
Catmint
Lemon Balm

The shoots started to appear at the end of last week on some of the trays and when I saw that the nasturtiums and sunflowers which normally have sturdy shoots like beansprouts, were sending up spindly, thin, red-stemmed shoots I concluded that something was amiss.

My seed compost was contaminated! A pox on you Mr Innes and your demon seed!

I have no idea what I'm growing but I'm assured by an expert that at least it isn't cannabis. I shall keep them going just for the sake of curiosity but I sincerely hope that I'm not going to be eaten out of house and home by a bunch of Audreys.

Prince of Toads

The good Cap'n and I have tried for many years to get a population of toads and frogs living in our garden. The fact that my mother-in-law is so terrified of them that she can only refer to them as "those hoppy things" has absolutely nothing to do with it m'lud. Captain Scarlet just likes them and I want them to keep the slug population to a minimum.

A good few years ago when we first had a garden pond, we would spend many hours searching woodland ponds trying to acquire some spawn, often precariously slithering down the bank in danger of going in. We once managed to snag a pair of toads in coitus. They must have been practising tantric toad sex because we drove 10 miles home to bring them back to the pond and they didn't even seem to notice, "Did the Earth move for you darling?"

It soon became apparent why toads lay eggs in such huge numbers, the game of Toad Survivor is a tough one. To begin with our first pond had a sitting tenant - a large, belligerent looking koi carp who was rather partial to tadpoles and we would despair at watching him trawl round the pond sucking up the tadpoles and smacking his fat, pouty lips with delight.

We decided to have 2 ponds, one for fish, one for wildlife. The 2 ponds were however connected by a little waterfall made of Welsh slate - the top pond was for the fish, the bottom one for the toads & frogs. Despite our best filtering efforts we discovered that the tiny toads that had survived trial by fish were ending up in the top pond. In order to get there they actually had to travel about 15 feet along a pipe which led to a mini pumping station (so positioned because of the power supply) which pumped water through an unltraviolet filter (to keep algae at bay) and then back 15 feet into the top pond. This must have been quite an adventure for them ... but at least they got a tan on the way.

The saddest discovery was when we saw on the stone edging of the pond which got very hot in the summer sun, several tiny flattened toad bodies looking for all the world like fossils in the stone - we think they hopped out of the pond and got stuck to the hot stone.

Despite all this I am happy to announce that we still have at least one toad in the garden. I heard him calling for a mate tonight - if you don't know what that sounds like imagine the sounds of crepe soled shoes on a shiny floor. I'm chuffed to bits and can't wait to tell my mother-in-law that we might be having tadpoles soon.

Back in the saddle

I'd like to thank everyone for their kind emails and comments following my last post. I'm fine now, thank you - I don't often wallow in self-pity but when I do I tend to go for it in a big way. This gets everything out of my system and I bounce back like a weeble.

I've been tagged by DQ with this delightful 3 Things meme (which Clare should be an expert at by now).

Three Things That Scare Me:
1. Spiders - 8 legs, 8 eyes, mostly hairy - what else can I say?
2. A kidney & pancreas transplant - being cut from breastbone to hip. There go my abs of steel.
3. Politicians.

Three People Who Make Me Laugh:
1. My husband
2. Aardman Animations (a collection of people I know, but I don’t care, their films rule)
3. My cyber friend Dizzy Liz

Three Things I Love:
1. My husband
2. My cats
3. The written word

Three Things I Hate:
1. Coffee
2. Cleaning the shower
3. Poor manners

Three Things I Don't Understand:
1. Myself
2. HTML (but I’m working on it)
3. The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle


Three Things On My Desk:
1. A beanie baby dragon wearing a pair of slippers (Old Navy keyrings)
2. 2 clementines
3. A big pile of blue folders (23 performance reports close out on the 15th April which mean they’ve just arrived to be reviewed)

Three Things I'm Doing Right Now:
1. Errrr, helloooo, this meme
2. Ploughing through the big pile of blue folders
3. Wondering what the hell I can do to make a living from home instead of being here.

Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Publish a novel or two or three or four
2. Drop my BMI so I can get on the transplant list
3. Drive on a skid pan

Three Things I Can Do:
1. Make a mess
2. Make yummy Yorkshire Pud
3. Make beautiful greetings cards

Three Things I Can't Do:
1. Knit
2. Whistle
3. Keep houseplants alive

Three Things I Think You Should Listen To:
1. Jeff Wayne’s Musical Version of The War of The Worlds
2. Baz Luhrman - Sunscreen
3. The elderly - hardly anyone gives them the time of day yet they have such great stories to tell.

Three Things You Should Never Listen To:
1. Your inner gremlin who says you can’t do it
2. Your iPod at full volume - you only have one set of ear drums in this life
3. People talking about you

Three Things I'd Like To Learn:
1. Russian - I know a few words but it is such a beautiful, lyrical language
2. To paint in watercolours
3. Photography

Three Favourite Foods:
1. Funnel cake/freshly cooked doughnuts
2. Sundried Tomatoes in olive oil
3. Roast potatoes with rosemary

Three Shows I Watched As A Kid:
1. Battle of the Planets
2. The Clangers
3. Blue Peter

Three Wonderful People to Inflict My Meme On:
Shaz
Clare
Mrs Woman

Henry's Day

It is a cruel twist of fate that Mother's Day this year falls on 18th March which should have been my son's 14th birthday. Note the "should" in that last sentence, Henry died when he was almost 4 months old. His death left an enormous wound in my heart which never quite heals, instead it gets torn open again every time his birthday rolls around; this year it had to fall on Mothering Sunday.

Henry was born at 26 weeks gestation by emergency caesarian after a rollercoaster ride of a pregnancy - this week we're going to terminate, no we'll try for another week, this week we're going to terminate ...

He weighed just 1 lb 10 oz and had been given a 50/50 chance of survival. It was 3 whole days before I was allowed out of intensive care to see him in his own little intensive care unit. I could barely take in what I saw before I passed out. Some mother I turned out to be.

The following day was Mother's Day. Next to my bed was a card from him - it contained a Polaroid picture of him and his hand prints. Later I got another card and some flowers. Clever little lad was my boy, especially considering he was intubated on a respirator and had just undergone surgery for a collapsed lung the night before.

The day before he died we were preparing to bring him home from hospital. We'd just bought his pram and his cot - I hadn't allowed myself to buy anything when I was pregnant, but I started buying things and then he died. What's wrong with this picture? Did I tempt fate?

Early one morning we got a call from the hospital saying we had to come at once, they wouldn't say why. In my heart I knew that he was gone. He was 15 weeks old.

The only time I got to see him without tubes or tape on his face was when he was dead. My sweet boy. When I can't sleep I imagine him lying sleeping on my chest and it calms me.

That day was a a blur but 2 things stick in my mind - I saw a herd of deer in a field in the early morning mist. They were startled to see anyone out so early. I sometimes see deer on my drive to the dialysis unit and the memory stabs me in the heart.

It was still early in the morning when we drove home and we ran over a hare. It's the only time I've ever seen a hare and I have the image of its huge paws zig-zagging along in front of the car until we caught it. I screamed. Does everything we touch have to die?

My kidney failure was diagnosed when I was 7 weeks pregnant. The doctors like to say that it was the pregnancy itself that prompted my kidneys to fail but the truth of the matter is that I'd been symptomatic for over 2 years before, and despite repeated visits to doctors no-one put everything together until it was too late.

The simple fact is that Henry saved my life. If I hadn't fallen pregnant no-one would have known how dangerously high my blood pressure was and I would probably have had a stroke and died. Another irony for you.

I have to wonder what I fucked up so badly in a previous life to be given this one.

Cutting room flaw

Happy Red Nose Day everyone. At last Shaggy Blog Stories has been published so everyone should hightail it over to www.lulu.com with their flexible friends at the ready. It'll be money well spent 'cos I'm not in it. Run along now, I have a shattered ego to nurse.

The Princess and the Pea

A few years ago my mother decided to move out of the bedroom she shared with my Dad, and move in to the spare room instead. Her decision wasn’t due to marital problems, merely down to a matter of comfort – she felt she couldn’t get in and out of their double bed anymore.

The guest bed in the spare room proved to be uncomfortable so they went out and selected a replacement. When the new bed was delivered Mum was adamant that the shop had sent the wrong one so it was sent back and replaced. A few months go by and Mum starts to complain that the bed is uncomfortable again. A replacement was sought again, delivered, installed, slept in and duly condemned.

This pattern went on for almost a year – something like 5 beds were bought in one year. My parents are both pensioners so can ill afford to throw their money around but my Dad’s world revolves around my Mum, and he was willing to do anything to make her happy. He attempted some modifications – removing buttons, adding padding, adding springs, boards, planks, anything he could possibly think of. Eventually they ended up with one of those space-age foam mattresses and at last she seems reasonably settled. That is until she decided that she wanted a new chair.

We went through the whole saga again with the chair. Supposedly the wrong one kept being delivered, one particular attempt got replaced twice at considerable extra cost but the search for a comfortable seat continued. I have one of the cast offs in my living room – doesn’t match my living room but rather than throw out a perfectly good chair I took it in. My Dad now sits on another of the rejects. Mum finally accepted one chair but most of the time chooses to sit on the settee from the old suite.

My Mum has always been difficult to please so I didn’t really give it a lot of thought – I just thought that’s Mum all over. Every Christmas I have endeavored to buy her something that makes her say “Oh that’s wonderful, just what I wanted!” but every year I’m crushed by the disappointment as she primly announces "thank you". She didn’t even unwrap her Christmas presents from me last year. And I have since heard through my Dad that every single item I spent ages choosing was unsuitable in some way.

What we didn’t realise was that the bed and chair saga were part of her developing dementia due probably to Parkinson’s Disease, and in the space of about 6 months my Mum has gone from being a tad daffy to barely recognizing the people around her.

She often thinks my Dad is her mother. She asks if her father (who died 60 years ago when she was just 16) is in the other room and she cries and has tantrums every time my Dad breaks it to her that her Dad is dead, it’s as though we have killed him off.

She either calls me by my sister’s name (my sister died nearly 30 years ago in a motorcycle accident) or she thinks I’m one of her friends. Sometimes she thinks my brother and I are dead and she has to get ready for our funeral. She behaves like a child.

Mum had a brain scan recently – Dad was perversely hopeful that she had a brain tumour, his reasoning being that the doctors can do something about a brain tumour. As it turns out her brain is actually shrinking and parts are being starved of oxygen because the Parkinson’s is hardening the blood vessels. She will be given some drugs usually given to Alzheimer’s patients.

None of it is her fault of course and we don’t blame her for anything but when you have everything you do thrown back in your face as not good enough it gets a little old. It is an awful situation and I worry constantly about my Dad’s state of mind. I find it stressful visiting because I don’t know what to say to the woman who should know me better than anyone, the woman who shuffles off to her bedroom because I’m a frightening stranger. My Dad lives with it day in day out.

I get upset because I’m having a shitty time with my illnesses and it should be my Mum giving me a hug and making a fuss of me. I’m sorry this has been a bit of a self-indulgent ramble today.