Blog 54 k...Home Help...

Blog 54 k...Home help...

This morning I was out at the same time as the 'Hubby' and 'Cutie-pie' for an appointment and so I didn’t open the curtains quite as early as I should have. When I did, I was greeted with the Wednesday morning insight into our neighbours’ different lives. They are all so busy that for some of them the need for help in and around the home means that they have to have someone to do it whilst they are at work. So, looking out at the Cleaning Lady’s van and the gardener mowing the lawns and the window cleaner swilling his water down the drain and the dustbin cleaning van sterilising the re-cycling bins; I couldn’t help but think about when ‘Hubby’ and I were newly weds and I used to moan and say that I could have done with some extra help around the house to ease the burden of working and cooking and cleaning and shopping.    

Sometimes we should be careful what we wish for...

The mother-in-law was newly retired. She was bored at home. ‘Hubby’ asked her if she could pop round one afternoon and be in when the washing machine man came to repair the machine [again!] So happy was she to do this that she came early and set about the mound of ironing I had hidden in the airing cupboard [or hot press as it’s also known…or even the ‘keep’ according to the ‘Intelligent one’…he called it this because when I asked him as a youngster to get a towel he said where from and I replied sarcastically ‘from where we keep them...in the cupboard on the landing’ so having clued in on the word 'keep' it remains firmly in his brain as the Keep!]

Anyhow I digress, on returning from work later that day, early evening actually as was the case in those days due to Netball practice and then waiting for a lift home, I was faced with a mountain of freshly ironed clothes and bedding that I had been meaning to do but just never found the time…actually I used to save most of it for the holidays! ‘Hubby’ was delighted with his little self as his mother had also hoovered, swept, mopped the floor and polished all the brass ornaments…I used to have a lot in those days, it was the fashion but the novelty soon wore off once they kept turning dark brown as opposed to shiny! ‘Wasn’t it great to come home on a Friday night and have all your jobs done?’ he beamed…note the words ‘your jobs’…housekeeping has never been his strong point and of course this is what I had always said I would love...a home help just like other members of staff who had a cleaner, a lady dropping off the weekly ironing and a gardener keeping everything trim and weed-free leaving them with free time to enjoy their weekends.

Well, yes I was pleased, I could get drunk that night, sleep in on the Saturday morning and only start marking my school books and planning the lessons in the afternoon instead of trying to cram everything in. So that weekend I have to admit that I did feel less pressured. However, the following Friday morning, just as I was out of the shower, the mother-in-law arrived. ‘Hubby’ had decided it would be great if it was a weekly occurrence so as to help her get over her boredom and to stop me from moaning; and as she would be out of her house most of the day the dog had to come along too. OMG! I wasn’t exactly a slut in the household department but neither was I the most organised of creatures. My house had been a palace when I lived alone but since getting married and having ‘Hubby’ around somehow there were better things to do than fold clothes, tie back curtains, polish the brass and put the trash out. As for washing the supper pots…well there’s always tomorrow…same feeling about scrubbing the shower or dusting the window ledges…so on her return she must have been shocked to see that a whole week of living…and loving…had been going on in place of housework. Hair dripping, crumpled blouse disguised under a cardigan and laddered stockings, well yes I was a bit slutty in that department…I headed off to school with the worry of something I hadn't done. Deep in the back of my mind this something niggled away at me and just as I led my class into the Assembly Hall for Friday morning prayers I gasped as the realisation hit me… My diary... of course. And what had I written? Yes, you’ve guessed it…the ‘mother-in-law from hell’…blah blah…so fingers crossed she didn’t find it stuffed under the bed with a few odd socks and sweetie papers.

Of course she had found it, whether she had been tempted to read it was another story…it was placed NEATLY on my freshly made bed due to her having hoovered under the bed! That night she smiled as she explained how she had re-organised what little linen and towels I had so that they would not become damp in the cupboard, also explaining that she had hung all ‘Hubby’s’ shirts and trousers at one side of the wardrobe and mine on the other to avoid confusion in the rush to get ready for work…as if that would happen, imagine ‘Hubby’ donning a flowery dress and matching cardigan…mind you if the laundry was left to him he would be in danger of running out…same with the underwear…OMG my mother-in-law had seen all my knickers and suspender belts and naughty nighties…and she had ironed ‘Hubby’s’ poor neglected cotton briefs too! Nothing was sacred anymore!

This weekly onslaught of my home became more of an invasion, not deliberately I’m sure, but gradually it became like a hotel, nothing out of place, cupboards and drawers were neat, Thursday nights were now spent quickly swilling the bath, bleaching the loo, folding clothes and checking under the bed and sofa for any incriminating evidence…I even wiped inside the kitchen cupboards and finally got to the stage where Wednesday night had also become a pre-mother-in-law cleaning night too. During the day at break times when everyone was talking and drooling over the latest George Clooney episode of E.R. I was recovering from the late night of tidying up whilst ‘Hubby’ snored warm and snug in a freshly made bed.

This was no fun. This was not relaxing. ‘Hubby’ thought it all highly amusing until one Friday in particular…

We had a friend who was getting married and as was the tradition between us girlies we bought rude things for the hen party…you can guess the type of naughty undies and creams etc. We had a party whereby the lady selling these goodies would come to the house…this stuff is now so famous that it is a huge shopping experience with countless outlets across the land! Anyway, I had purchased some naughty flavoured condoms, a couple of bottles of creams, crotchless knickers and a blow up sheep…I know WHAT was I thinking!! But it would all be fun on the night to get the 'bride to be' to open these things and suggest ways they could be used on her honeymoon!

In a moment of madness ‘Hubby’ and I blew the sheep up to see what all the fuss was about…and we couldn’t get it to de-flate so we ended up putting it on the top shelf of the wardrobe in the spare bedroom: he looked the picture of fun in the crotchless knickers too! [The sheep that is…] The creams and things were not in boxes and so I popped them on the windowsill in the spare bedroom ready for wrapping. Now if you can picture this…many years ago a good friend of mine had bought me a real leather whip as a joke when I was teaching in an extremely challenging place and the joke was that I would soon “Whip” them all into shape. This whip was also in the spare bedroom on the shelf of the wardrobe next to the blown up sheep in the knickers…all safe and forgotten in preparation for the Hen–party…

Until that particular Friday…when I returned from work to be met by a stoney- faced mother-in-law and a very nervous looking ‘Hubby’…both left in silence as I thanked her for coming and waved them off. After he returned from taking her home he was not amused: he informed me that she had decided to tidy the spare room and after hoovering she progressed to dusting and looking in the wardrobe to see if there was anything in there that needed tidying also. She had come face to face with a blown up sheep which for some reason had actually fallen out of the wardrobe as she slid the door open and had become a source of great fun for her little dog;who lived up to his name and actually nipped a hole in it; he had managed to deflate it unlike us, plus he had run around the house with her in hot pursuit trying to retrieve the knickers [for which she apologised as he had ripped the crotch out of them…!] she had also noticed a whip with tassles no less and was most surprised if not a little disgusted by the names of the creams on the window sill…

Poor 'Hubby' had had an earful in the car from his mother whilst driving with her precious little doggy on the back seat…"if we didn’t want her to come over on a Friday we only needed to say; we did not need to blatantly display our preferences for the bedroom department…
...perhaps we could manage without her help on such a regular basis…" 

…if only I had known it was that easy I would have left the whip and stockings on the bed from the beginning…

Blog 54 l...coming soon...next Wednesday...
Copyright ©GML2012

Blog 54 j...Ain't No Magic...

Blog 54 j...Ain't No Magical Cure...

There is no magical cure for what ails me. Can anyone ever help me I wonder? I’m beginning to worry that perhaps my doctor is right and the pain is all in my mind or as the Pain Management Team would say ’the chemicals released at the time of the original injury do not get switched off...the brain has a memory of pain which gets stuck...' so technically my body is still feeling this pain [even though there was no original injury as such] So I take it that my brain is still getting a message from my back that there is a pain still there now even after the injection, the bed rest, the gentle activities and the extra strong painkillers but I will not be beaten. As recommended following the injection I have tried to become more mobile slowly and gently. Well pottering around the house has been fine so I decided that as the sun was shining a little walk was called for. Out in the fresh air, like everyone says, does do you good! So I set off with every good intention of walking myself back to good health. Before the injection any thought of a walk of any description filled me with worry. But surely now is the time to strike? I have a mild pain in the hip area and the sharp stabbing pain in my back has been dulled by pain killers and a little session with the TENS machine: so I’m good to go! Off I trotted after a few minutes to lock up; actually it takes me a while these days, I check all plugs are off, then make sure all doors are locked and all windows are shut and then I use the bathroom and then the whole process starts again and then finally I put the alarm on and stand outside struggling with the worry that I have left  the iron on even though I’ve not used it for weeks or that the oven is on...and everyone knows I’m not a cook so that’s not a possibility at this time of the day! Then I check the door handle once the alarm has set and walk gently down the drive…only to return to just check the door handle once more…God help me if anyone sees me and stops to talk…I have to check the handle again…and all this has only been a problem since being out of work and at home!

Off I went quite happily, listening to the birds, noticing the spring flowers in peoples’ gardens, smiling at passers by, getting into my stride. Walking slowly and with a slight limp that seems to have developed over the past few months, I pondered; should I walk along the pavement where the lorries go thundering by at such speed you lose your sense of balance and feel as though you are about to be blown away or should I go along the newly created cycle path that is landscaped and away from the traffic? Oh what the heck, it’s ages since I’ve been anywhere on my own and it is a lovely day and what could possibly go wrong…fool that I am I didn’t stop to think of the obstacles that would be in my way, no not actual walls or rocks but silly things like great big hairy, bouncy, barking, dogs with silly names [yes really…Max and Paddy !] and a tendency to go deaf once they see me so all calls by their owners:  “Max! Paddy! Heel! Stop!” are completely ignored by the dogs but obeyed by me. Standing still, frozen to the spot because of my innate fear of the 4 legged darlings I wait for their owners to come and rescue me. The comment; "Oh don’t worry they don’t bite they’re just excited!’’ never eases my fear and at this point I wish I had stayed at home. Struggling on and feeling stupid and nervous at the same time my determination wavered and with it my concentration; I stumbled, I grabbed the end of the bridge railing and thought about retreating but then suddenly slid down the soft embankment landing feet first in the few inches of water locally known as: 'The Brook.' Luckily I didn't fall over or surely any good that has been gained by having the injection will be thwarted and I’m unlikely to be greeted with smiles by my doctor whilst trying to explain why I fell into the brook in the first place.Despite the fact that I remained upright and did not land on any other part of my anatomy, I struggled. I stood still wondering how the hell was I going to get back up when along came another bouncy dog even bigger than the ones before and this one wanted me to retrieve something from the brook! No doubt his owner thought I was some kind of nutter standing in the brook without wellingtons on but who cares…I smiled and waved and shouted ‘ lovely morning’ and walked a little along the brook as if I was a six year out for a paddle.

Once I was sure no one could see me I crawled up the not too deep embankment in the same fashion as I have been known to climb up my stairs after a few too many wines! This is not good I thought, I sat on the muddy grass and I checked myself mentally: there was no new pain, no stabbing in the hip area; I could go a little further but no, I was wet up to my ankles and my knees were muddy so I waddled along back up to the pavement and made my way home: looking as if I had been on some form of army training manoeuvre! It took a while to get back home and by now the pain killers were wearing off and I needed to lie down. Oh home, oh sanctuary. A quick change and hot chocolate and I would soon be feeling better. So I decided to enjoy the peace and quiet which was lovely until the silence was broken by the telephone. 


It was ‘Bridezilla’ wanting to know about recycling boxes. You see ‘Bridezilla’ and her ‘Young man’ have just taken possession of the keys to their first home. Both have spent long hours working in their new home: stripping wall paper, ripping up old carpets, pulling out cupboards, cutting trees down, sanding paintwork…you name it they’ve been doing it so that they can move into a newly painted, newly furnished house as soon as possible. Today is her day off from work and, as has become the norm for her now, she is working on her house.  I think that now it is beginning to dawn on her that she will have more things to do with her time on her days off other than dying her hair, manicuring her nails, re-organising her shoes and choosing what to wear. It began to dawn on me that in all the 7 years of living with us she has never recycled a thing! I have emptied her bedroom waste basket, I have collected her papers, plastic bottles and cardboard boxes and put them in the correct recycling boxes. Now I found myself explaining that each box has a different use and if she puts the wrong things together in the wrong box she’ll have to pay the council a fine; she’s heard all this before but NOW it is beginning to make sense! 


The second phone call is this:

“Will you have a look in the shed to see if there is any white emulsion paint…”

“You know full well there is…”

“Can I borrow it?”

“Of course…”

 “Can I also borrow the step ladders?”

“Yes of course…”

 “Do you have any spare toilet paper I could take… can I use those old towels…where did you put those old blue mugs you don’t use anymore?  Is it alright if I nip home and make us a butty?...”

Ah the joys of having a ‘Bridezilla’: she lifts the day’s mood and stops me from worrying about big dogs, falling over and being in pain…I’ll pop the kettle on then…

Blog 54 k coming soon...Next Wednesday...
Copyright ©GML2012

Blog 54 i...Well...

Blog 54...i...Well...

Well, I survived the trauma of my sacroiliac injection; actually when I say trauma it wasn’t as bad as I had been worrying about after all. The twelve year old doctor morphed into an extremely professional, respect demanding and highly proficient surgeon once he had donned his cap and gown! All worries that he looked like he wasn’t old enough to cut cake let alone inject my rear end soon dissipated once I was lying propped up on the surgical bed [yes propped, as I said last week; no chance of lying completely flat on my face…in fact if I was sunbathing on a beach somewhere I would have had to have dug two holes in which to rest my ample bosom…] In fact he was now more like a George Clooney in E.R. than the young man from The In-Betweeners!

I decided to go with the ‘Hubby’s’ choice of black bra and black knickers; large ones… although who was I trying to kid? Even the largest in the range would not have covered all the orange peel that is my cellulite. ‘Hubby’ thought it would be more suited to a mature lady and possibly seem demure. Which of course now poses the problem…OMG my ‘Hubby’ finds my sexy black numbers ‘demure?’ Hmmm need to instruct him in some bedroom etiquette to make sure that he is aware that whichever colour I am wearing he needs to say; ”Wow that looks sexy!” as he is more likely to be appreciated for that comment in favour of “Wow you look so demure baby…”

So, having been admitted in the early hours of the morning and led to what was referred to as a ‘Pod’…which caused instant palpitations as I really thought I was going into an enclosed area and as I may or may not have mentioned I suffer terribly from claustrophobia…which has hindered me greatly during the MRI Scans, Ct Scans and Nuclear Bone Scans procedures…suffice to say I have been known to press the alarm button and grab the attending radiographer by the uniform whilst profusely sweating and mumbling something stupid like; ‘I can’t do this!’ [I must fill you in on this at some point in my blogging as it may help to relieve other claustrophobics in the future: only from the point of view that at least you’d know you were not the only person to have uncontrollable attacks of panic and possibly make a fool of yourself!]

The pod was of course a very modern, clean and well organised cubicle where I was to don the gown, sit in a fabulous reclining chair and watch morning television as if I hadn’t a care in the world. Oh, and there was a newspaper for ‘Hubby’, so he was happy. Slowly I began to panic about what to expect: possibly due to the fact that at first I had been led to the wrong pod in place of a rather slim and attractive young woman: of course ‘Hubby’ found this hilarious and remarked that I could have mistakenly be given some form of cosmetic surgery…just my luck to go in for an injection and come out with breast enlargements! Yes, sitting there feeling vulnerable I really just wanted to run away; I get this feeling often these days where I really just want to stay at home in my little house and be cosy and safe from the outside world. Instead I had to remain there; I know, it was for my own good.

Under the impression that when ‘Hubby’ said; “There, all tied up,” when fiddling with the back of my gown I was shocked to discover that he had actually only tied the top ribbon and left the back of the gown gaping…on walking to the toilet I had totally exposed myself, worse still when I flushed the toilet, surplus water jumped out of the bowl and soaked the side of my gown leaving me to look like I was incontinent: there was no hand-drier only paper towels of which a 1,000 fell out of the container and all over the floor and I tried desperately to dab at the gown in an attempt to soak this water up…which actually did nothing but cause a hot flush brought on by bending over and my hair to fall out of the pony tail hairband, which believe it or not just disappeared: where the hell did that go? I returned to the pod looking slightly worse for wear in time for ‘Hubby’ to be searching for a pen: his eyes averted from the process long enough to claim; “What the hell happened to you? Have they done you already?”

Eventually I was led into the theatre by a very kind male nurse and introduced to all the nursing staff before being helped onto the bed. At which point of course I totally exposed myself once more in the effort of trying to lie on my stomach whilst retaining my dignity; fortunately the nurse covered me with a blanket and so there I lay waiting…looking around from side to side and unable of course to see behind me I was mesmerized by all the equipment and the size of the x-ray machine. It felt a bit like something out of Doctor Who which of course caused another flush of panic, blood pressure monitor beeping and my heart racing. Sometimes my nerves get the better of me.

My 'George Clooney' explained the procedure and suggested that I would be better slightly raised with something to grasp…good God what was going to happen? Armed with my cuddly dressing gown and pillow I waited for the prick…ha ha yes I know all the jokes about pricks thank you…I had two…yes funny ha ha: I did actually wonder if the doctors and nurses have a bet on as to who will titter first at the comment; “You’ll just feel a little prick;” no doubt none of the patients will ever let on that it’s good old fashioned toilet humour but guess what? It gets me every time! So I felt two pricks that were the anaesthetics and the machine set off towards me! This was the x-ray that allowed the doctor to pinpoint exactly where the next two injections were going. Amazing! Looking at the large t.v. screen I saw my hip joint and it was exactly the same as the pictures on the internet! Throughout the procedure the doctor, the nurses and the radiographer were fantastic.  With the procedure done and dusted I just needed to remain led down for a few minutes whilst things were checked and further information discussed which really was not a good idea; you see as well as nerves and panic attacks I also have suffered for years from IBS which is aggravated by nerves and this leads to a sudden and dreadfully embarrassing amount of flatulence which is uncontrollable. I had clenched my buttocks as tight as I could…good job no needles were near by or they could well have disappeared…but on the instruction of ‘you may sit up’ and with the help of the nurse I moved very suddenly and I think you can guess what happened next…I lost all dignity, I was certainly not demure nor sexy. Hopefully the procedure will be a success and I will not have to face this poor, young doctor again. As I was wheeled away from the theatre I turned to say goodbye and say thank you and saw something small lying on the table. Good God had I had an accident as well? No, thankfully it was the hairband…how on earth did that get there?!

Resting at home has been wonderful. That first day I slept like a baby for the first time in years as my back felt numb. The ‘Intelligent one’ and the ‘Cutie-pie’ were left in charge of me with strict instructions to leave me sleeping. At some point in the afternoon I was aware of someone leaning over me…I suddenly woke up to be face to face with the ‘Cutie-pie’ who was just checking that I was still breathing…the fact that he could have given me a heart attack didn’t occur to him! This reminded me of the time when they were both just 4 and 8 years of age and I had woken up feeling really poorly. Whilst making their breakfast  I actually fainted and fell on the kitchen floor…completely out cold…I then heard their little voices calling me and before I was fully recovered I heard; “ Is she dead?” then I heard; “ Where’s the biscuits?” and just as I was about to open my eyes, with the room still spinning I felt my eye lids being lifted wide open by the ‘Cutie-pie’ and the ‘Intelligent one’ blew into them whilst holding my nostrils closed…heaven only knows what they were thinking ! Was this their idea of the kiss of life?

On the second day of rest the ‘Cutie-pie’ brought me a tray up to bed with coffee, toast, jam and biscuits; laughing away to himself he informed me that the ‘Intelligent one' was in charge of making the lunch but he was currently trying to decide which was the can opener amongst the pizza cutter, bottle opener, screwdriver and knife sharpener…” Enjoy your breakfast mum, as I don’t think you’ll be getting much for lunch…unless he can switch the micro-wave on…”

So, I am resting, following the doctor's orders and wondering if by the end of the 4 to 7 days period I will be feeling better; will I be pain free?  Well the red stiletto shoes are still in their box…

 Blog 54 j...coming soon...next Wednesday...
Copyright ©GML2012

Blog 54 h...A New Challenge...

Blog 54 h...   A New Challenge...

 

A few blogs ago I did say that I had some news regarding my pain…following a Nuclear Scan in November; yes it does take a long time to get results and have follow up appointments but to be frank I have now got used to the waiting! The news is that a consultant I saw in November referred me to a specialist in the spine department who diagnosed that the pain could be due to either an abscess or a cyst in the area of the hip joint…well this was good news to me: not that I had one of these things but because it means that it is not all in my mind as some people had been thinking! There is actually something causing this dreadful pain!

Well, last week I was invited to the hospital to have a couple of swabs taken in order to rule out my having the MRSA virus; so two swabs of the nostrils and two swabs ‘down there’ and fill in a form and bingo I’m all set to go this week; I will be admitted to hospital where I will have a procedure in the sacroiliac joint: which is designed to relieve the pain. Don't ask me to explain what the consultant said as you see I was busy concentrating on the fact that he looked about 12 years of age and was the spitting double of a young actor in my boys' favourite T.V. programmes about teenagers growing up and trying to have a great time of it! Not only that but when he was explaining the procedure I keyed into the words:'lying down with your bottom in the air to help with the x-ray machine positioning...' and immediately my brain went into overload...OMG I'll need to buy some decent underwear; what colour? Flowers look too young for a middle aged woman, red is too slutty for such a young man to see, white too virginal and black possibly too sexy for his little young heart! Then; should I wear a matching bra, my God it's years since I've had such a dilemma, will I be wearing a bra? OMG no bra and slutty knickers too much for me to process by which time he is smiling at me and saying:'at least you know it'll be me so that'll be a familiar face for you even though the whole process is less than dignified.' So I'm all set for an undignified unveiling of my stretch marks, cellulite, saggy derriere and face the problem of not being able to lie flat on my face, seriously...just not possible with or without a bra!

Now I face this question: after 4 years of agony will I be cured? Ah bliss…I can hear my red stiletto shoes calling from the bottom of my wardrobe…yeah they are eagerly waiting for an airing; ah to be pain free and to walk [or perhaps totter] in decent shoes. My stilettos always make me feel confident, a real female, sexy, clever, capable. You see becoming so ill with a pain has affected my life in so many ways that it is hard to describe without becoming maudlin.

First there was the sudden unemployment that I have mentioned before. Who’d have thought I would have finished my teaching career so flatly? It was as if I had fallen off the face of the earth; no goodbyes to children and parents; no  golden handshake from the Education Department for giving them the best years of my life; no opportunity to clear cupboards and remove all the years of teaching paraphernalia hidden deep in the cupboards. Worse still, which has to be every teacher’s nightmare, is to no longer return to your class room: leaving it with unmarked books or unsigned paper work. Would I look unorganised? Unprofessional? Literally I was in school one day and the next; gone, bedridden.

Secondly there was the weight gain due to being at home all day sitting around or lying around depending on the level of pain, with nothing better to do than eat biscuits, crisps, bowls of sugar-laden cereal, drinking hot chocolate or milky coffees and cakes; all foodstuffs designed to keep the depression at bay as well as the boredom and the loneliness. The watching of old movies or day time chat shows does nothing for the morale and by the time the family came home at the end of their busy days my eyes would be red and puffy due to the crying caused not just by the pain but by the sadness of the T.V. selection!

Thirdly there was the lack of finances: the loss of a salary is devastating for any household but when the other salary is unsteady due to the recession then it becomes ten times worse. ‘How do we cope without my salary?’ is something that still haunts me during the never ending sleepless nights. Bringing two growing boys up on so tight a budget makes you feel more ill than you are sometimes; the worry of the price of school uniforms, school trips, Christmas and birthday presents, dreading the invitation to a birthday party is overwhelming at points due to having children who are popular and have a better social life than their parents! Transferring them from school dinners to packed lunches is always hard for boys who prefer the option of 'seconds' at lunch time; let's face it, was it really any cheaper? Then of course there's the loss of holidays; somehow a picnic on a windy park does little to lift the spirits of anyone when you receive a stream of postcards from around the world from their friends who were holidaying, when you don't know if it'll ever be possible to travel again.

Fourthly there is the loss of 'mojo' linked to the incredible guilt that surrounds the loss of my job; my career and how our family life may never be the same. Exhaustion caused by lack of sleep led to memory loss and confusion as days meltd into each other: I often lost track of time or what day of the week it was; sometimes finding it very hard to make simple decisions!
Feeling tired, fat, spotty [I know what the hell is mother-nature doing to me? I didn’t have acne as a teenager!] Having no clothes to fit, non-existent waistline preventing me from wearing anything that isn’t elasticated, wearing baggy T-shirts due to having boobs bigger than either pregnancy had given me; which also stopped any ideas of wearing dresses or blouses, fat ankles disappearing into swollen legs and tubby feet meant that I was more comfortable in slippers or trainers and would spend winter in the same wide ankle boots year in year out: a lot of side effects of pain killers cause these changes as well as inactivity. Lack of finances also dictated the colour and style of my hair; home colouring kits bought in the sales do not guarantee that your grey will colour successfully every time nor can you colour match; resulting in the three colour layering of my hair which probably didn’t attract as much attention as the strange fringes or my haphazard cutting [or hacking] of the split ends!

Feeling as low as this on the inside makes you want to hide behind the curtains and stay indoors.

Looking as bad as this on the outside makes you want to keep away from everyone, family and friends included, as you see your reflection in peoples’ eyes as they wonder how could you change so much?

I could feel myself closing in on myself as my world began to close in on me.

My pain took over my life, my family’s life, as I have said before it became my constant companion.

Now I face a new challenge; if all goes well at the hospital will I become pain free?

If so how will I cope without my constant companion?

Will I miss it?

Will I now be expected to step outside into the world that I have hidden from for so long?

Will I now be expected to pick up where I left off?

I’m four years older now, I’m slower than I used to be, I used to rush everywhere and when I wasn’t running about I was driving. I was always multi-tasking: organising the children as well as 'Hubby' and 'Bridezilla', I ran a house, cleaned, cooked, shopped, decorated, did some gardening and worked full time. Then it all stopped.

The thought of being able to live a normal life again is actually quite frightening…overwhelming if I'm truthful...

...good job I have my red stiletto shoes at the ready then…

Blog 54 i...coming soon...Watch this Space...
Copyright  ©GML2012