On the other side

I spent 3 days in hospital, which for the major operation I had is amazing when you stop to think about it. Sending me back up one the ward without morphine turned out not to be such a good idea as the nurses went mental at whoever made that mistake and soon got me sorted out.

For Hubby and mum and dad to come visiting less than 4 hours later to find me sat up in bed and talking to my ward mates both amazed them and gave them some much needed comfort. Possibly also shows that my existing medication regime must be pretty strong to be able to sit up and hold a full conversation under such influence! Hopefully this operation will mean I can stop taking such potent medication on a regular basis.

Beautiful B works in the hospital and gave up her breaks to come and visit and woke up the ward (unintentionally) fetching me contraband choc chip weetabix and milk for an early morning breakfast.

So, now I am home, pain levels are up and down but not as bad as I expected. Hubby has the week off and is ensuring I ignore Physio advice and stay in bed for the week. The Physio wants us to get up and shower, get dressed and move about the house daily - hubby is having none of that considering that it will give me licence to do too much to soon. So he is waiting on me hand and foot and tells me off if I dare to venture downstairs.....

For someone who is so independent, so keen on cleaning and happy doing for others I am surprisingly happy led in bed sleeping, reading and catching up on recorded TV...oh and watching feel good Christmas movies. I doubt I have suddenly fetched home a lazy gene from hospital so maybe it is a sign that even I know when I need to take a step back and rest.

This, however, is week 1 and Hubby is here to give me the evil eye and I sooooo do not wish to worry him more than he evidently already is. When he goes back to work, however......remains to be seen if I continue to be sensible. Especially when work are expecting an 8 week sick leave and the Physio insisted that it should be a 12 week minimum.

Almost Upon Us….well me….no us…..

The third of three posts - and by the way said day is tomorrow!

So I trollied off to the hospital.  With so many conflicting opinions…that it would be 4-6 weeks after the pre-op for the operation to 4 people telling me they knew people who had been in a week after their pre-op.  

Honestly, earlier is better!  With an 8 week recovery period I’d like to be moving around relatively well at Christmas.  I have almost accepted we won’t be able to have the family round for Christmas dinner but to move about would be nice…..

The new surgical unit is open – very white…..so much so that I had a headache when I vacated the building 2 hours later.  I’m hoping the ward, also located in the surgical wing apparently, isn’t as white – having to spend 2-4 days there….I may need sunglasses and who wants to look like some diva in hospital! 

6 weeks!  6 weeks! On average – for those of us that can add up without a calculator and trust me, I can only just about do that (shut up!!! I am an accountant – we are rubbish at sums without a plastic apparatus to bash numbers into) it takes us up to just before Christmas! Suffice to say, I told the nurse that if she can get me in on a cancellation then I will gladly take it.

The nurse was refreshing honest – although I knew what she told me because I had played the google monster…..”You will feel like death for 2 weeks”…..”The sofa will look very appetizing”…..”The sofa will become your best friend for 4 weeks; I strongly recommend you let it” and so on and so forth.

She found it hilarious that the only thing I was concerned about was how soon I could have a proper shower after the op.  “Seriously…that is all you are worried about?”  Erm, yeah – let’s face it, you are going to take parts out of me and sew me back up with hundreds of stitches, it is going to hurt like hell, you are going to give me some sh*t hot drugs for the first day or so and I am going to struggle to move for 3-4 weeks but that is a given – what I want to know is, can I shower with what is essentially a big ass healing wound and how do I shower without risking infection…..

More bloods taken, so I am figuring on 2 weeks for them to come back and me get the all clear for surgery then another chitty thing to get more taken 7 days before the operation date.  So 3 weeks right?  At least! 

So, I’m thinking, be serious, your hand cannot cope another 6 weeks at work.  Your struggling to open a can of pop woman! …..and the world will end if you cannot open a can of pepsi max so admit defeat you need to use the Dragon.  No, not a horrid lady but a nice computer package – voice activated – that sulks like a woman on PMT if you are in a room with other people when trying to get it to listen to you.  Hang on!  No, it’s like a man who thinks you are nagging at him.

So.  My big big big boss, 4 grades higher than me, gets shoved out of her office for me to sit in there and talk to a computer all day.  I don’t think she is overly impressed and I feel super self conscious.

This happened Tuesday, today is Friday – guess what.  Ring Ring…..how does the 22^nd November grab you for being put to sleep, cut open, things removed and then a load of fantastic drugs to make you probably say amazing funny things of which you will never remember when you finally come out of the drug-induced daze? 

Not 6 weeks, noooo not at all.  Complaining? Nope, not I – by my reckoning…that is 4 weeks before Christmas which means I will be able to move around somewhat quite well by then!  Hubby, however, sounded like he was short of breath with panic when I rang him to inform him – now it is suddenly real.  None of this “best write your will, love, before the op…”  joking. Though I had best get one because we ain’t married and I don’t want anyone to deal with all the splitting monies up if it all goes bottom up.

So yes, almost upon us – a week and a half at work to clear the backlog get things sorted and handed over, a week and a half to winter clean the house because Hubby and Beautiful B don’t even know how to use the hoover attachments and I am not allowed to for at least 4 weeks, a week and a half to get the dogs used to not sleeping in our room and crawling all over my body when they are bored and decide it is time for us to be awake. 

I say us, because lets face it, essentially all I am going to be able to do is lift nothing heavier than a can of pepsi max glass for 2 weeks, so everyone else is going to have to help me which will drive me mad and probably result in bouts of wicked witch of the west syndrome affect my hormones very badly every now and again as I get frustrated at the “sitting” and the “lying”.

Good job the Sky planners (yes plural) have been madly recording and I have not been watching it for 2 weeks – it may keep me occupied for a couple of days before I start twitching madly…..

Not Important At All

This is the second of three posts I had difficulty uploading - written nearly two weeks ago now...

I have had to admit defeat.  It doesn't really matter what is wrong with my hands, regardless of the outcome of further tests.  Medication has only been masking the condition getting worse, whatever that condition may be. 

So, I am now located in a little office, making friends with voice-activated equipment.  So with so many grammatical errors in today's blog, I hold Dragon entirely responsible.  Incidentally, Dragon is the name of the voice-activated equipment.  I may have a tendency to name things but even I am not nuts enough to call voice-activated equipment by a name.

In the real world, in this lovely organisation, one normally has to work 40 years to get an office.  I could consider myself important, but that is as unlikely as winning Olympic 2012 tickets and I feel self-conscious, I feel like I am making a nuisance of myself, I worry that others will think I have an inflated ego, which probably explains why it's taken me eight years to make a fuss.  In reality, I'm scared of my GP.  :-)

My desk will be moved into the room next week (now moved in).  So maybe it will feel more like my office (not yet it doesn’t).  My boss is moving to another site, who vacated this office because I made a fuss, maybe when her paperwork has been replaced by mine it will feel more like my office (yet to occur).

In reality, it may take more than that.  Maybe what it needs is a couple of full-size posters.  You know the ones like full-size posters of Hugh Jackman or Damon from The Vampire Diaries.  I'm not sure that will be considered professional though....

Born Beautiful

This is one of three posts that I wrote and had problems uploading:

Angel’s mum passed away, it was horrid.  It is still horrid.  The funeral was awful.  

Watching Angel, my sister in every thing but name get up and give such a lovely eulogy was heart breaking.  I said I would drink with her for as long as she needed me to, and I did, until midnight that day.

Angel’s mum lived a full life, she was loved and obviously still is.  She loved Angel’s dad who was also horribly robbed of a wonderful life when Angel was only 21.  She learned to love again and was loved unconditionally back.  She gave up a lovely life abroad to return home when Angel got sick, then she got sick herself. 

What has happened sucks, big time.  On the glass half full side, Angel’s mum moving back to the UK gave opportunity for the family to grow extremely close again and to spend some much needed, and at the time, short time with her.  On the glass half empty side, Angel has lost both parents and feels lost at sea.  She has lived the last 6 months at her mother’s side and finds herself wandering around aimlessly.  I related to that because I did it for 3 days after Angel’s mum died – losing time stood in a shop only to have been in there for over an hour when I got back in the car.

I feel like I am not helping Angel, because I don’t know what to do other than be there and listen.  I watch Angel like a hawk, who is in danger of a relapse while going through such a stressful time but not knowing what I can do to prevent it.  Telling her to slow down is like trying to stop a whirlwind.  I know this is all she needs right now, but it feels like it is not enough.

Life sucks sometimes.  You realise that your parents and loved ones are not indestructible and watching my parents, who were Angel’s mums best friends, fall apart as they waited for the inevitable and then grieved was truly awful. 

I am angry, I was angry in an earlier post and I am still angry.  I don’t like feeling this way.  I don’t know what to do to stop it.  I hate what has happened to Angel, and her family, and my parents, I hate feeling useless and out of control.  I hate feeling like we are all on a hamster wheel and for what at the end of it?

I have decided that we are on that hamster wheel so that we can be loved, we can find someone who will love us unconditionally, for who we are and for what we stand for.  Angel’s mum had that with both husbands and of course her children and grandchildren.  Maybe the heartache is the price we pay for that love.

Rest in peace Angel’s mum.  We will look after each other and Angel will continue to do the good and love the family the way you did.  She is already taking over your role and looking after her sisters as you would and for that I know you are proud.