Howdy folks! Thanks for all your messages, very much appreciated to know that people out there give a damn. Please stop worrying though, the kidney is in and working very well in itself - actually it's a corker and I'm peeing for England at the Olympics next month.
We've both had a few complications, the whole exercise has been far more difficult than either the Capt or myself were expecting it to be. The mental & emotional aspect has also been far more challenging than I anticipated so I haven't felt particularly motivated to blog.
Well that's the Reader's Digest version, I'll be back with the War & Peace ediiton at another time. Just wanted to let you know that I'm still around, just licking my wounds and keeping a low profile for a bit.
Saturday, 19 July 2008
Having an offal time
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
How do you solve a problem like urea?
Others
Ron (Carrie's Brother)
Snorkel (The Cleaner)
Bed 8 (Bed of Doom)
Thursday, 29 May 2008
Twinkletoes
Is there anybody there? Knock once for yes, twice for no.
I've been extraordinarily busy just lately, hence no posts for a month. I'm not going to explain why, I'm saving that for another post. Big news, but it can wait until I've crafted it into one of my usual masterpieces [cough].
Today I tell you about the time that my boss borrowed my socks which by a curious happenstance was actually today.
Picture this: he's in his office with the door closed because he's getting changed into his mess dress uniform because he's off to the big Airmen's Leadership School Graduation. Big party. Officer's Club. Lots of brass expected. Very formal event.
He cries "Oh My God!" behind the closed door. I shout "What?" he comes out and says that he didn't bring an undershirt. "Oh" I say dumbly, not much I can do about that since I'm not packing white vests into my supersecretary-almost-ready-for-anything handbag. Note to self, remember to pack a wife-beater tomorrow just in case.
He disappears again. "Crap!" He opens the door again "I haven't got any socks either".
Actually he's wearing socks but they're olive green and don't really go with shiny black shoes and Air Force blue trews. I jokingly offered him my socks and took off my boots to show him. "Jane, they're black! Will you let me wear them?"
Oh boy.
I splutter that I've been wearing them all day and they're, well, you know, sweaty. "That doesn't matter" he insists. I point out that they're err not actually a pair either. "Not a problem, they're black, they're fine. Give them to me". I comply and he returns to his office to dress.
A few moments later he emerged resplendent in his smart mess dress. He lifts up his trouser legs to show me the general effect and I almost die laughing over the fact that on one ankle he has in sparkly fake diamante the word "Foxy" and on the other "Star".
Wednesday, 30 April 2008
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.
Monday, 14 April 2008
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.
Friday, 11 April 2008
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 ...
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
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.
Friday, 4 April 2008
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.
Sunday, 30 March 2008
Growing old disgracefully
They say 40 is the new 30 and certainly in my head I'm 25, 28 tops. Unfortunately the rest of me says I'm 40 going on 75, these old dears have more energy and moves than I do today. I'm off to try and shake my ample booty to my new Davina workout DVD. Creak to you later.
Wednesday, 26 March 2008
I wondered lonely as a clown
You know taking 6 weeks off work and doing nothing isn't all it's cracked up to be. I'm bored and lonely and I'm only halfway through this sentence in stir. I'm sick to death of daytime telly and I've read all the new books that I bought.
I asked people not to visit me for the first couple of weeks knowing that I'd have a problem with looking presentable and getting to the door to let them in but no, no-one listened so I was inundated with visitors, cards and bunches of flowers in the first couple of days after coming home when I was too sore and weary to appreciate them. Now all the flowers are wilting and so am I.
My boss turned up the day after I was discharged. I specifically said no food but he turned up anyway with a huge lasagne and a chocolate cake that his lovely wife made. I'd told him no food because of Captain Scarlet's aversion to all things wholesome and my assorted food restrictions. I don't wish to sound ungrateful but I loathe chocolate cake and the lasagne was the weirdest thing I have ever seen. It looked as though the filling had been vacuumed out - it was just pasta sheets with a little chopped tomato on the bottom and a tiny bit of soft cheese squidging out of one side. I tried a taste but promptly wrapped it back up and left it on the table.
Half an hour later I shuffled back into the kitchen to discover that Cami thought the lasagne made a very nice, heated bed. I love the expression on her face. I can't decide whether to fib and say that the lasagne was lovely or tell them about the unfortunate cat incident - I'm sure they would be amused but I also run the risk of having another one delivered.
Tuesday, 18 March 2008
Set adrift on memory bliss
It's that time of year again. St Patrick's Day commences an emotional voyage through the rapids of memorable dates starting with my son's birthday today and ending with his death at the end of June. Henry would have been 15 today.
Fifteen years of healing, and it's true, time is a great healer, I am able at last to imagine what he would be like had he lived. I picture him as a tall, fair haired young man by now, with stormy grey eyes and killer eyelashes. He would have high cheekbones and a firm rounded chin, probably with a dimple. He would be bright and quiet and patient, not at all into sports, he'd have a wickedly silly sense of humour and his face would dimple whenever he smiled.
You might wonder why I choose to torture myself in this way but it actually brings me comfort. Almost as much comfort as the memory of him sleeping on my chest, a tiny, soft, warm bundle curled up wheezing and panting slightly due to his breathing problems but evidently very contented to be sleeping on his Mummy. That memory is wrapped up in many layers of other memories and whenever I'm too stressed to sleep, all I have to do is unwrap that precious gift and I begin to relax and drift away.
Friday, 14 March 2008
Deja vu (all over again)
Forgive me for plugging this again but while real world sponsorship is going well, the virtual handover of virtual dosh is virtually non-existent (said with tongue firmly in cheek, I know everyone is waiting to see if he completes the ride first).
Here's a copy of of the Cap'n's sponsor form just to show that everything is kosher:
Friday, 7 March 2008
Period. Full stop
Well folks, I'm glad to say that I came home yesterday, a mere 2 days post op. And what a trial those 2 days were The operation itself went very well and only took an hour or so but I was in the recovery room for almost 4 hours after struggling to come round from the anaesthetic.
I came back up to my hospital room at around 2pm and was soon feeling well enough to have a cup of tea and some water although I still had some nausea. I had expected to be in quite a bit of pain and indeed I was but it wasn't where I expected it to be, it was much deeper, I thought it was coming from my bowel. Damn that houmous, I thought. What on Earth possessed me to eat such a thing prior to surgery?
Fearing that I need to do a number 2 I asked to be helped to get out of bed. I struggled over to the loo, bear in mind that I was hooked up to a morphine pump and an insulin/glucose drip through one hand and I had a foley catheter plumbed into my bladder. Unfortunately nothing was forthcoming so I struggled back into my room got changed out of the surgical gown and into a clean nightie and sat next to the bed for a while.
My supper arrived and as I thought the nausea may have been down to not eating since the night before I thought I'd try and eat a sandwich. I mananged about 3 quarters of it before I started to feel very sick and just Capt Scarlet arrived I started throwing up violently. The odd thing was that it was just green water, bilious water that sloshed out of the bowl and all over me and my nice clean nightie. The Capt said it was just like that scene from The Exorcist and expected my head to start rotating.
Back to a hospital gown for the night. All through the night I was in severe pain and felt terrible again, I was given 3 different kinds of anti-sickness medicine and told off for not using the morphine pump often enough.
The next morning I managed some breakfast and was able to have a wash and changed into my only other clean nightwear which was a pair of M&S pyjamas ... while still sporting the catheter which created quite an interesting silhouette.
It was discovered that the canulas in my hand supplying morphine and other goodies were not actually going into the vein, they were just delivering the fluid to beneath my skin so they were removed leaving me with a lovely black and blue hand which is twice the size of normal.
After lunch - a shoe leather/cottage pie which I was unable to eat on grounds of it being inedible and feeling nauseous again, I was whisked off for dialysis.
I arrived at the unit feeling really sick but put it down to the wheelchair ride over - I was supposed to have been brought over in my comfy bed but the only bed route through the hospital to the unit lay through a ward which had just been closed to a c. dificle outbreak. My alternatives were to be taken by ambulance to the unit or go by wheelchair which would involved being wheeled outside on a bitterly cold sleety, snowy day. Not wishing to be a burden on the NHS I opted for the wheelchair.
At the dialysis unit I settled into my chair for a snooze but woke up feeling very queer indeed. I reached for one of the sick bowls that I had to hand just in time as I exploded with green watery nastiness all over again. This time it was so violent that it bounced off the bottom of the bowl and ricocheted all over my face, head, chest, arms, everything was covered. I was so upset and embarassed that I just burst into tears while the clinic manager, God bless her, cleaned me up and got me into yet another hospital gown.
Something was clearly wrong with me so I insisted on seeing a doctor when I returned to the ward. She informed me that most likely my bowel had suffered some paralysis during the operation. Bowels are sulky things apparently and if you touch them as you may well have to do during a hysterectomy, they tend to sulk and stop working for a while.
Well that nasty little tale brings us up to my last day in hospital wherein I was determined to come home. My sulky bowel has started to move things along although it isn't doing it quietly or gently. I'm up and about, had a shower this morning, washed & blow dried my hair, still having a little difficulty getting out of bed unaided but other than that I've made a miraculous recovery.
I haven't noticed any ill effects from being surgically placed in the menopause yet, but I can tell you it feels damn good not to have to go through a monthly period ever again. I have had so much trouble over the years, pain and embarrassment as pads fail to hold everything and I'm in a public place with a huge bloodstain on my clothes or office chair. Never again. Fantastic!!
Monday, 3 March 2008
Blast off
Well this is it, I'm off to the hospital in a couple of hours and the surgery is scheduled for first thing tomorrow morning. I think everything will be fine, I'm not as worried about it as I was the first time round although I'm questioning the wisdom of indulging my craving for my home made houmous (1 can of pinto beans/chickpeas/cannelini beans or whatever you have to hand, half a jar of sundried tomatoes, 1-2 cloves of garlic, olive oil & salt to taste - whiz them all up in a food processor, enjoy with crisp vegetable sticks) so close to surgery that will leave me confined to bed for a couple of days.
Enter the ICHC online Poker Cats Contest!
Sunday, 2 March 2008
Fat bottomed girls*
Captain Scarlet, along with several nurses, perhaps a doctor and at least one patient are all taking part in a sponsored bike ride in a couple of weeks to raise funds for the dialysis unit. I would have a go myself but what with being only 2 weeks post-hysterectomy by then and it being 15 miles through the rough terrain of some Suffolk woodland it doesn't really seem like a good idea. I'll be cheering them on from the relative comfort of a parked car and hopefully I'll be up to turning a few sausages for an apres-bike barbecue.
The money raised will be used by Addenbrooke's Kidney Patients Association to fund all manner of quality of life projects for dialysis patients and their families.
So here comes the shameless begging part. If you would like to sponsor the good Cap'n , click on the button below or over in the sidebar and fork over as much moolah as you can spare. Also, I would be most grateful if you could link back to me from your blogs (or if you would like to add the button to your sidebar, please email me on the address in my sidebar - this post edited to remove the uncoded address due the fact that I'm being spammed left, right & centre).
In the interests of transparency I want you to know that initially the money will be coming direct to my account but I pledge that it will all go to AKPA. I was going to register with Justgiving.com but AKPA themselves have to open an account and I'm not sure they are going to do that (it does actually cost the charity a monthly fee plus fees are taken out of every transaction) so doing it via PayPal seemed like the next best thing. This way I can spread the word far and wide and reach people who I can't reach with a good old-fashioned sponsor form. In about a month's time I will write AKPA a nice fat cheque and Gift Aid it which should give them 28% more than the value of the cheque.
Please help me to raise a bundle of money for a worthy cause.
Thank you!!
*And boys**
**Although hardly any of them actually have a fat bottom, they're all supremely fit because they're medical professionals (snerk)
Thursday, 28 February 2008
UFO
You could have knocked me over with a feather when I discovered that the delicious Glamourpuss, mistress of the Pole, she of the gorgeous shoes and undies, has bestowed upon me a Wonderful Women of the Web Award. And the fact that my name was mentioned even in the same breath as Elegantly Dressed Wednesday, well, oh look a flying pig!
Anyway, there are so many wonderful women out there it seems a shame to pick only a few to pass this on to but I would like to pass it on the girls who are listed on my Most Wanted - your blogs and comments make me laugh, sometimes make me cry but mostly you just make me want to keep going. Thanks for that, you are all wonderful women.
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Ridicule is nothing to be scared of
Now I'd hate for everyone to think that my life is all doom and gloom because honestly it isn't. Sure I have some medical problems but I try very hard not to let them get me down too much. I'm like a Weeble you see, I wobble but I don't fall down. Generally after some bad news, I cry a lot, drink a lot and then the next day I say to the world "Up yours!"
A couple of weeks ago we had our meeting with The Prof, he who decides who is suitable or not for transplant surgery. The meeting went well as you all know by now. We learnt that when screening live donors the team look for matches across 6 common antigens. Normally a good donor will match on 1 or 2 of these, Captain Scarlet actually matches me on 3 which apparently is quite unusual for donors unrelated by blood. A modern day fairy tale, only my Prince Charming isn't giving me a glass slipper he's giving me a kidney!
So, not only a future happy ending but the good Capt was informed that he is in the top 20th percentile for fitness within the population of the UK. I think this pleased him more than the news that he will make me well again because when we got home, we celebrated with a couple of glasses of bubbly and no sooner had these taken effect than he was hula hooping, virtually naked, on the bed to the funky stylings of Mr Eric Prydz' Call on Me.
I only wish I could figure out how to use the video functon on my phone. Don't you ever, don't you ever, stop being dandy showing me you're handsome. XX
Friday, 22 February 2008
Stubble in paradise
Where to begin? Firstly I must apologise to those who have been worrying about me, needlessly as it turns out because my surgery, due to take place last Wednesday was actually cancelled. I have delayed reporting as much because I have been having a crisis of conscience due to the fact that my Dad has discovered this blog.
Hello Dad.
I made the mistake of logging onto my blog while using Dad's PC when I was Mum-sitting earlier this year. I didn't know how to delete the address so I simply crossed my fingers and hoped that he wouldn't find the link, but alas he has found my hidey hole. I don't have anything to hide of course and naturally I realise this is in the public domain but this blog has been my therapy over the last couple of years and I have written about things that I would never talk about to my family mainly for fear of worrying them, occasionally for fear of shocking them. Likewise I haven't been able really to pass on to him that I'm uncomfortable with him reading my blog. With any luck he'll read this and problem solved, ahem.
Enough of that squit as he would say.
So anyway I went into the hospital last Tuesday evening - the plan was to dialyse Wednesday morning so I'm in tip-top shape for the operation Wednesday afternoon. I had a terrible night's sleep, couldn't get warm, tossing and turning, hungry, thirsty, worried about the post operation trauma, etc. When 06:00 am Wednesday morning rolled around I started throwing up despite not having anything much to bring up and convinced that it was because I was too hungry I headed off to the dialysis unit so I could have some tea and toast before going nil by mouth from 7:30 am.
When I got there it became apparent that I had quite a high temperature which set alarm bells ringing. The dialysis session itself was terrible, they couldn't get any decent pressures on my line and I ended up clotting the machine and coming off 2 hours early. I also learned that the surgical team weren't prepared to go ahead with the surgery with my temperature being so high, they were worried that I had an infection somewhere. Drat.
I was sent back to the hospital ward to await an examination by a doctor to see if they could find the source of the infection. Someone turned up eventually and gave me a less than thorough going over during which I had noticed a slight redness on one of my legs. I pointed this out to him but he dismissed it as nothing and proceeded to inform me that I should have a chest X-ray and then I would be put on broad spectrum, heavy duty, IV anitbiotics - the kind that unfortunately have a negative effect on kidney tissue but as I already have kidney failure anyway, killing off the little function I have is apparently immaterial. I should add that it is material to me because even having the tiny amount of function left that I have means that I still pee a little bit which means I can still drink up to a litre a day. Losing everything will knock me down to about 500mls a day. It matters, trust me.
Anyhoo, a chest X-ray and a dose of 2 different IV urotoxic antibiotics later and I was allowed to come home but we were none the wiser as to what the hell caused the fever.
The next day, I was at dialysis again and my leg started to itch, I rolled up my trouser leg to discover the leg was inflamed and hot and one of the nurses decreed that I definitely had cellulitis which is simply an infection in the skin. The penny dropped, on the Saturday before going into hospital I had had my legs waxed. One can't have surgery with hairy legs can one? Probably what had happened was that an infection had got into the skin while it still a little raw after waxing. I er, also had another rash that I developed after shaving the other bit that was closer to the impending action, but no-one got to see that one.
I've got to go through it all again soon because I go in for the surgery again a week on Monday. This time without the waxing although I do have to break out the razor again. Ouch.
As a footnote I should add that my chest line has been playing up ever since that Wednesday morning and on Saturday I spent virtually all day at another hospital while doctors fought over whether or not they would put in a new line. Thankfully they decided against it although it took them them until 10:00 pm to figure that out.
Monday, 11 February 2008
Hub cap diamond star halo
Just a brief update for those that are interested.
1. I had a new chest line inserted a week ago. It's on the left side of my chest now so at least I will have matching scars when this is all over.
2. We met the Professor of Transplant Surgery last week and despite other doctors going by my BMI alone and therefore thinking I'm built like a truck oh yeah, he having actually seen me has given the go ahead for my transplant once I'm recovered from the hysterectomy. The irony is that since I'm approved for a live donor transplant I'm also being worked up for a cadaveric transplant (just in case presumably). I'm rather annoyed because I've spent 2 years trying to get on the list and when the Capt came up trumps with the offer of a kidney because I couldn't get on the list they're finally putting me on the list. Confused? So am I.
3. I'm having my hysterectomy on Wednesday. I'll be off work for about 6 weeks (whooppee!!). I'm nursing a Lionel Blair Cut because I desperately needed a trim but couldn't find the time due to the short notice op date and having a very busy week what with more transplant tests today and dialysis tomorrow, breathe, the Capt had to trim my fringe for me. Actually it's quite cute with my longer bits at the side pinging out like wings, very retro and very Charlie's Angels. I would post a link for the Lionel Blair Cut reference but I spent ages trying to find the video to no avail, maybe later I'll find one.
Can't think of much else. I just want this week to be over. Bring it on!!
