Christmas Carols

Tonight we went with another family to a local church for a Christmas Carol service.

At it started at 6.30pm so I decided to do an early dinner of pasta bake and garlic bread. When we arrived to pick our friends up at 6.00 I used the loo and emptied my bag.

Half way through the service I looked down and saw that my bag had filled right up and was almost at bursting point. Knowing there was still at least another 30 minutes to go I started to panic, wondering whether it would last or if it would leak and start trickling down my leg.

I was desperately wondering whether I would be able to go outside and discreetly empty it into a drain or something when I saw a mum take her child through a door and moments later I heard the flushing of a chain. Hallelujah!

Not wanting to draw attention to myself I asked big fella if he needed a wee so that it would look like I was taking a child to the loo and not that I as a grown adult couldn't 'hold it' during the service.

What I hadn't banked on was the other 3 children all wanting to have a wee too so now I was taking 4 children to the loo, halfway through the service, drawing no attention to myself whatsoever. Not!

Anyway, it turned out ok. My bag survived the remainder of the service and my friend introduced me to her vicar who had put me onto the parish prayer list while I've been unwell.

I'm now in my pjs, hooked up to my fluids waiting for my children to go to sleep so that me and hubby can finish the present wrapping and find suitable hiding places for a few more days.

NB x

Comments

Light at the end of tunnel

I’m sat writing this blog post in St Marks, the specialist bowel hospital in London. So much has happened in the last few weeks; it’s all been a bit of a whirlwind. But I finally feel like there is some hope at the end of the tunnel. Let me tell you why. At the beginning of June I was admitted yet again to QMC in Nottingham with huge amounts of pain, my bowels not working properly and just feeling generally unwell. I had only been home a couple of weeks since the admission in May but I had been feeling so rubbish most of my time had been spent in bed. I had tried everything I could to stay at home but the pain had become so bad I was barely able to stand or take a few steps on my own. I had expected to maybe be in for a week or two to get stronger pain meds and get back on my feet but I ended up being in for almost a month. They put me on morphine injections and ketamine but then stopped them when my heart rate dropped to 30 beats per minute and my breathing to 7 breaths a minute. Th

The light at the end of the tunnel is a train

Last week was a busy and pretty crappy week for me health wise. I had to go and have blood tests done with the nutrition nurses and I had two hospital appointments; one with the gallbladder surgeon in Nottingham and the other with colorectal surgeon at St Marks. I was hoping to have at least one surgery date to write in the diary following these appointments but I came home empty handed on both occasions. Here’s what happened. I began noticing over the last few weeks that I’ve started feeling really crappy. I’m feel lucky to have been at home for the last 6 months and I have been the most well I have been for years but it felt like things had shifted slightly recently but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. But years of being sick means I know my body and I can tell when something isn’t right. I have been feeling permanently exhausted and having way more bad days than good. I’ve gone back to spending 2, 3 or more consecutive days in bed, unable to do anything but watch tv and sleep.

The wrong size line

I’m on the M1 heading back to Nottingham after a road trip to St Marks to get my line repaired. But this is me, and as usual it wasn’t a smooth ride. More like a bloody shit show. So what happened? Let me tell you… After being admitted to QMC in Nottingham on Sunday with a broken Hickman line I was taken down to Interventional Radiology on Monday afternoon to get my line repaired. Firstly, I couldn’t believe it was happening so quickly and secondly I didn’t want to get too excited because, well it’s me, and usually things don’t go according to plan. And sadly I right to rein in the excitement. When the doctor came to consent me for the procedure it was for a replacement, not a repair. I assumed he had made a mistake so I told him I was there to get my line repaired and was definitely not there for a new one. He looked at me and said “I hate to be the bearer of bad news…” and that’s a sentence that never bodes well. He then went on to say that they didn’t have any repair kits and that

More than just a bag lady

Search This Blog