Mistaken identity

Yesterday my bestie came to visit me with her husband and kids. Her husband is really thoughtful and takes the kids to the restaurant to do their homework for an hour so that we can have a girly gossip and catch up without the kids interrupting us.

We were sitting chatting and then I needed the loo. In the bay I'm on there is a toilet/shower room that the 4 of us patients share and the door is right next to my bed. As I'm sitting on the loo I can hear the doctor coming and speaking to my friend. I couldn't make out exactly what was being said but then I heard laughing.

When I came out of the loo I asked my friend what did the doctor want? Apparently he had come to put a new cannula in me but being the on call doctor for the weekend he had never met me before and assumed my friend who was sitting in the chair by my bed was me. So she very nearly had a cannula inserted until she explained that she wasn't me! The doctor did day to her that he thought she looked a bit too healthy to be a patient on this ward!

Within 10 minutes of my friend and her family leaving then I heard the familiar voices of Big girl and Big Fella in the corridor. My ears pricked up, my heart started beating faster and I'm sitting up on my bed straining to see them like a meerkat on lookout duties.

I hadn't seen the kids since Tuesday and had been missing them dreadfully. The first thing they did when they arrived us to take their shoes off and jump into bed with me to give me cuddles. As I snuggle into them I try to breathe in the smell of them- a mixture of Johnson's baby shampoo, Bold lavender washing detergent, chocolate and their own unique kid smell. God, I had missed them so much.

I was then presented with a masterpiece from each of them that they had made over the weekend. Here is Big Fellas...

...and here is Big Girls.

I've stuck them to my locker at the side of my bed so that they're the first things I see when I wake up.

We all went to Mass together in the hospital chapel. We arrived late and the only place that we could sit all together was the front row. So we sat there and I'm hoping (and praying) that the kids behave and don't start fighting or anything during mass when everyone would be able to see! It turned out that I needn't have worried; they behaved really well (phew!) and I had a tear in my eye when Big Fella said he had asked God to make me better and send me home.

After mass we all went to the hospital restaurant and the kids had some tea, which consisted of chips and chocolate but there wasn't much else on offer that they would eat. It's nice for us to sit round a table all together and just for 10 minutes pretend to be a normal family

out for dinner on a Sunday afternoon- you just have to ignore the fact that I was attached to a drip stand and wearing pjs!

We were discussing Shrove Tuesday and the fact that Lent would be starting soon. I remember last year Big Girl wanted to give up going to school! We've decided that this year as a family we will be giving up desserts and the money we save will go to charity. I think it's important that the kids understand that there are lots of children in the world that aren't as lucky as they are.

It was soon time for them to go home as the kids were getting tired and so was I. Seeing them leave breaks my heart and despite being in and out of hospital a lot it doesn't get any easier. When they go I sit back on my bed and feel empty inside. As a mum it's so hard to be separated from your kids but I know my Hubby is doing a fantastic job at home of keeping them fed, bathed and dressed and getting them to school and all their extra curricular activities with the support of a few of the school mums.

I didn't have time to mope around for long as curtain-gate continues in D bay. The latest update is that crazy lady has now tied the curtains back to stop anyone from closing them. I believe there have been some choice words exchanged and I think it's only going to be a matter of time before one of the ward sisters will need to intervene to prevent a full blown war breaking out. I will keep you updated.

NB x

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