Blog 54 d...Home Safe and Sound...
Well I am not cured, but it was a good try and I told my family doctor about the treatment and that it must definitely be trouble in the water works department: the reaction was a shock…'Er no! Do not go about talking about hocus -pocus : if you get an appointment with any consultant or an MRI Scan do not under any circumstances mention the Bio Cranial malarkey’: is the jist of what he said… so it was back to square one; join the waiting list for an MRI Scan [usual time can be up to 18 months unless you can afford to pay for it, that wasn’t an option.] Whilst waiting for the appointment I had further blood tests, more antibiotics and pain killers and several different investigations; the hardest of which was a biopsy on a Christmas Eve!
When I got the appointment date through the post my heart sank. Then I had to switch to composed mother mode quickly and get Christmas organised. [those of you who know me know it’s my all-time favourite part of the year!] Both boys were in the Nativity at Church on Christmas Eve afternoon. I just knew that even though it was a morning appointment I wasn’t going to get to the church and to make matters worse I’m such a coward I really wanted ‘Hubby’ with me when I went into hospital. My niece stepped up to the mark and volunteered to take them both to the church, watch the Nativity and then drive them to a local burger place for a special supper. Mention of that and they both forgot to ask me why I wasn’t going with them!
So, with presents wrapped and hidden, food bought and the Christmas table organised; I was prepared for the biopsy. I never thought of the results until I got to the hospital and was sitting in my hospital shirt, holding a pillow, surgical socks [not a pretty sight even when brand new and brilliant white.] pressing on my varicose veins and my name on a wrist band. OMG I might very well be dying and I’ve missed the last Nativity my boys are in. As the tears began to flow I felt such a twit and I realised that I hadn’t kissed the ‘Hubby’ and told him I loved him. What happens if something goes wrong, I’m not good with anaesthetics, past experiences at the dentist proved that. I suddenly realised I was sobbing when the male nurse approached me to take me into the theatre prep area where he was meant to attach some heart monitor plasters on my chest and give me an injection. So distressed was I, I couldn’t raise a smile or think of anything funny to say to relieve the tension…which shows how bad I was as normally I would have said something stupid like: “It’s a long time since a young man has asked me to do that!” in reply to his request of ‘if you just lie down…you’ll just feel a little prick…’
As you can gather I survived the operation, I recovered, although the poor old chap in the recovery room next to me didn’t…and I wasn’t dreaming; I could hear the nurses and the panic in their voices, I could hear alot of shuffling and quick footsteps and then I could sense the moving of my trolley as they pushed me across the bay whilst they kept calling his name. I had a nurse sitting next to me and eventually once my eyes stayed open and my monitor showed I was okay I was wheeled back to the ward where ‘Hubby’ was waiting, the stress on his face making him look worse than me! He handed me the bottle of water we had brought in, and he kept talking about anything and everything whilst I sozzled away all the water. This was my master plan: he was to stop me from sleeping, I was to drink as much as I could and use the bathroom…they never let you go home until you have ‘been’…and if our plan worked then I would be home safe and sound otherwise I’d be stuck in overnight and no one wants that!
The plan worked, ‘Hubby’ helped me to get dressed and then the explanation about the results followed plus also the talk about the after effects and possible infection and any loss of blood etc which was all followed by ‘Have a great Christmas’ which was still ringing in my ears as we got out to the car park. Did the nurse know something I didn’t? Was this going to be my last Christmas?!
Safe to say I have had 3 Christmases since then…so that particular episode can now be relegated to the past! The results came back okay as well, so again there was no diagnosis for the pain.
I have to say that over time I have been worn down once again by the pain and hit rock bottom. But let’s not talk anymore about that…there is news to share on the pain front [back actually!]but it can wait…it has no bearing on today’s Blog at all…which by the way I am finding quite therapeutic: not too sure if the children would think along those lines having their lives exposed across the internet!
When I talk about the children they are 2 teenage boys, the ‘Intelligent one’ and the ‘Cutie- pie’, and then there’s the ‘Bridezilla!’ Aptly named due to the wonderful news of her engagement and the fact that after all these years she will be moving out…boo hoo and genuinely so! To be out-numbered by males at 3 to 1 is hard especially when it comes to the TV choices or take away choices or quite honestly any family choices which involve a decision: like for example when ‘Hubby’ came home and said that he’d been looking at holidays on the web. Wow! This was sooo exciting… ‘Hubby’ had planned a holiday without any problems and interference; he must have taken on board everything we had all said about what we would each like from a holiday and gone and booked the ideal place!!
Ah yes, you've guessed it; there is absolutely no way the ‘Hubby’ had booked a romantic, sea-side get away…I was stupid to even think about joining the local slimming club with great gusto to get into a bikini…what was I thinking when I spent a full Sunday afternoon planning the family’s wardrobe entirely from the latest catalogue? I had ordered perfect matching colour schemes for each day, sexy, backless clothes for the evening strolls, fabulous strappy sandals and matching handbag…the boys would look so great in the khaki shorts and white t-shirts…etc. etc. I was lost in a haze of summer time and just thinking about the sunshine took away all the depression that we all feel in the those long cold months of winter when everyone’s thoughts turn to warmer climates. Ah yes…I should have checked the secret location before the clothes parcels started to arrive… the alarm bells should have rung loud and clear at the comment: “What do you need all that for?”
So right then I said, spill the beans if I do not need new clothes and the boys do not need new clothes and you are turning your nose up at the colour of these t-shirts…where are we going? Did I flinch when he said that colour of yellow will frighten the fish? OMG yes you probably realised a damn site quicker than I did…with the word FISH swimming in my ears [pardon the pun] I could hardly get the words out…fishing in Majorca?? Ha don’t be silly, Skegness!! ‘Hubby’ had found the perfect caravan site with 2 Fishing Lakes…it has modern caravans with central heating, site shop, not far from the village and it’s a short drive away from Skegness if we fancy one day having a run out…the clue by the way is in the words ‘one day’…So that was the plan; we were going on a fishing holiday; to a site where the fishing lakes were literally on the doorstep of the caravan, so close you could set up your rod, throw your bait and nip back for breakfast whilst keeping one eye on the rod from the window or the doorway of the caravan. A fisherman’s dream. The family of males' dreams. Not mine.
The journey was just unbelievable…2kids, 2 adults, 3 fishing rods, tackle baskets, 4 pillows, 3 duvets [yes we had to provide our own bedding] wellingtons, waterproofs, picnic cooler basket, a week’s worth of cereal, jam, butter, marmalade, eggs, porridge, [don’t you just love self- catering…it’s like home from home.] toilet paper, toiletries, washing powder, sun tan cream [I was living in hope] sun hats, woollies…all in the Kia Picanto and on the Kia Picanto roof rack and when you have sat for miles, and I do mean miles, with your feet wedged in between boxes and clothes somehow your early excitement of the great escape just disappears. I shouldn’t go on really but I can’t leave you in suspense: yes the caravan was as bad as you are imagining…that is if you can imagine the smell of the caravan as we opened the door…obviously previous occupants had been fishing for a fortnight round the clock in the same clothes and wet boots. Even opening all windows and doors did little to ease the sour stench…perhaps supper out in the village would perk us all up: can you believe that the village shuts early on a Friday afternoon?! There’s a small fish and chip shop still open where you can dine in along with the swarm of flies…I do mean small and I do mean swarm… all for the very good price of £45…what for 4 fish and chip suppers? Ah well we are on holiday.
All the caravans are identical, all facing a beautifully landscaped lake and I suppose if blinded by the sun reflecting off the water then ‘Hubby’ can be forgiven for what he did…one morning the boys and I were having a lazy breakfast watching the ducks and the ‘Hubby’ on the water’s edge, quite relaxing actually to be tucking into egg and bacon with a nice pot of tea…when suddenly he shot up off his chair and quickly walked towards the caravan. We watched, mouths open, as he walked straight past our caravan window and up the steps of the neighbouring caravan, walking through their lounge towards the bathroom for his morning constitutional sit down with a newspaper: had it not been for the newspaper which was not where he had left it; so he had to look around in the bedroom ; he would not have noticed that a] the woman standing washing up at the sink was not his wifey, b] the bedroom he was ransacking was not as sweet smelling as ours had become and c] the toilet was occupied already by a whistling fisherman…I kid ye not when the realisation that he was in the wrong caravan finally dawned; he suddenly looked up and saw the three of us standing horrified at our kitchen window…shouting : “What the hell are you doing daddy?” He ran out of the door turning only to apologise to the fisherman’s wife before fleeing desperately into his own caravan and toilet…minus his morning paper!
Indeed even all the fishermen and their boys and their wives, come to that matter, are identical: they sit still on the banks of the lakes telepathically willing the fish to jump out. You must never speak when they are concentrating but you must be able to read their minds and know when they need that extra cup of coffee or the bacon butty. Truth is that on the first day there, once the 3 of them were happily sitting on their special chairs, the peace and quiet of the caravan site enveloped me and I decided that I could watch the Sky programmes I don’t have at home [don’t have Sky] and so I lie down on the long sofa that I have sprayed with perfume and prop myself with pillows and a cup of coffee and a packet of Jaffa cakes…no point in dieting now… and begin to flick through the channels: not only is there interference but I cannot get the Sky to work…who told me there was Sky? The ‘Hubby’ is puzzled he hadn’t, ah well that’s because I had Googled the camp site and thought we were in a luxury caravan…more fool me…so as I sit back down with a spotty telly and watch day time TV Skegness style, the sun shining through the blinds and a cool waft of air flows through the open door and I feel that possibly it isn’t going to be that bad…WHOOSH!! The loudest, biggest noise I have ever heard cracks across the sky and as I run out shouting to my kids and hubby to ‘take cover we are under attack’ throwing myself down next to their chairs I notice I am the only person moving, why was I the only one terrified by this imminent attack from God knows who it is flying the F-16's? I feel the biggest fool of all times: no one else is worried because everyone else knows we are in the direct flight path of these American planes who do this amazing ‘air show ‘ of practice the same time every day…good job I didn’t jump in the lake then and spoil someone’s catch of the day…
Blog 54 e coming soon...next week same place...