Skip to main content

The good run ends.

I haven't blogged for a while because I've been caught up trying to survive everyday life. By the time I've got up in the morning and got the kids dressed, fed and gathered together all the stuff they need (football, tag rugby and netball kits, flute, swimming and hip hop gear, book bags, water bottles...the list goes on!) then I'm so worn out that I have to go back to bed! Hubby is great at helping out or to be honest it's more me helping him to do it all as he's super organised now and has it all under control. 

Then I might try to tackle a bit of housework. It might only be a small task like putting a wash on or sweeping the floor but afterwards I feel as though I've ran a marathon and I'm sweating, out of breath and I have to lie down. Most days I have a nap in the afternoon to recharge my batteries ready for the kids coming home from school. Then it's homework, reading, flute practice and getting ready for whatever clubs they have that evening. Plus they require feeding. Every day. The cheek of it! 

By the time hubby gets home from work I can usually be found laid out on the bed exhausted by the activity of the last 2 hours. And it's not that I'm lazy. Some of you might be thinking: she can't be that tired. But I am. I honestly am. It's the kind of exhaustion you experience in the first few weeks of having a newborn baby or when you are struck down with flu. It's a weariness that goes right down to my bones; or maybe it starts at my bones and exudes out wards. Regardless, however you dress it up, I'm knackered. 

As well as fighting the tiredness the past few weeks, I've also been feeling dizzy. It started out just every now and then, then it was more noticeable. Particularly when I stood up. The room would spin and I would feel a darkness, a strange sensation creep over me. I fight to stay with it by focusing on a particular spot and sometimes shaking my head would help too. But in the last week I started to blackout too. I thought it was probably related to my bowels or my medication and I convinced myself it would pass. 

One day last week Big Fella was off school with the dreaded sickness bug and I had gone into his room to talk to him. The next thing I know I'm on the floor with Big Fella crying hysterically next to me. He was so upset and he tried to call hubby but couldn't get through to him. When I felt better and he calmed down I made it to my bed and we lay there together, him crying and me cuddling him and thinking that it's not fair that my kids have to go through this. 

Another blackout came in the early hours of the morning when I got up for the loo. I made it about 4 steps before the dizziness overtook me and bam! I'm on the floor. Luckily hubby heard me and helped me back to bed. 

And so it was with great reluctance and after some persuasion that I went to the Doctors. I knew that if I went they would tell me to go to hospital and that's exactly what they did. I initially saw the nurse practitioner who quickly realised she was out of her depth with me and got the doctor to come and see me. The doctor said that she couldn't be sure what was causing the blackouts and that I needed blood tests and fluids. Trying to stay out of hospital I asked if I could have the blood tests done at our local community hospital and then go home and give myself extra fluids. She was having none of it because apparently I was as white as a ghost with very low blood pressure and I could barely stand. 

As the doctor went to write a letter to the hospital and my friend went to collect her car I sat alone in the room. At that moment I just wanted to run away. To go somewhere, anywhere but I just wanted to get away from this nightmare. But as I summoned up my strength to get up off the bed I realised that wherever I ran to, no matter how far I went or how long I tried to hide from all of this that it was impossible. It's not like I was running away from an abusive husband and that once I left I would be free. My problem was inside me. It never leaves me; I'm stuck with it 24/7. So there was no point in legging it that morning because what would it achieve? Nothing. So feeling defeated I lay back down and waited for my friend to come back and take me to hospital. 

Before we went I wanted to go home and get a few bits because I knew that I was likely to be in A&E for a while and there was a strong possibility that I would be kept in. I gathered together some toiletries, spare knickers, all my medication and my book- the essentials! By this point bestie had come round with the baby and she was going to drive me to st marks cause the friend I bumped into at the drs surgery was supposed working from home. I guess she was, it was just my home and not hers! 

As bestie got the bags and the baby into the car I started to get up to walk to the car. Three guesses for what happened next. Yep. I was flat out on the tiles in my porch with the whole world spinning. I don't remember much about what happened next other than an ambulance was called and I somehow made it to the sofa by crawling on my hands and knees with my eyes closed to try and stop the spinning feeling. 

The ambulance came but it was only one man, probably in one of the ambulance cars. He took my blood pressure which was on the floor, did some other tests and took my medical history and called for back up as I needed to go in. 

And so I found myself in Princess Alexandra hospital in Harlow. The good run was over. I had managed 8 weeks at home which is the longest I've been at home since June 2013. I was hoping I would be in and out pretty quickly. I didn't even tell my parents I was in because I didn't want to worry then and I thought that I could ring them the next day when I was at home and tell them what had happened. But no. So far I've been in 6 days seeing a variety of doctors from the surgical team and the medical team, having tests and fluids pumped into me in an attempt to raise my ridiculously low blood pressure. I've even had medical students come to see me who want to go through my medical history probably to use me as a case study in one of their lesson! I'm hoping to be home by the weekend...fingers crossed. 

NB x

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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