Spot the difference!

Last night I went down to theatre to have a central line put in my neck.

Obviously that's not me- my hair is longer and my tits are bigger 😉

Now this one is me- can you spot the difference?

A central line is essentially a big cannula that goes into the jugular vein in the neck and down towards the heart. I'm so difficult to cannulate so when my third cannula tissued yesterday (medical term for stopped working) I asked the doctor if I could have a central line. I know some people will think I'm mad requesting to have a giant needle stuck into my neck but I would rather have one painful procedure done than have repeated cannula attempts done every day or even multiple times a day.

Because it has to be done in theatre by an anesthetist you get called whenever they have a free spot. From past experience this is usually at some ungodly time in the early hours of the morning and you get a nurse coming in to wake you up, flapping about because theatre has called for you and they want you down in 5 minutes and they need to do their checklist and get your notes and get you in a gown and stress, stress, stress!!! But last night was different- they called for me at 9pm! The nurses still flapped but that was because nobody had handed over that I was going down for a central line so they weren't expecting to have to get me ready for theatre!

By 9.30 two porters had wheeled me down to theatre 2 (although I would have preferred number 3 cause it had frozen stickers and Thomas the tank engine on the door. Probably the kids one but you're never too old for a bit of Disney!) and by 10pm after some local anaesthetic injections, a lot of pulling, tugging and a few stitches the central line was in place. I won't lie- it hurt. Despite the local it still hurt. The anesthetist said that because I've had a few central lines in the past there was scar tissue that he had to push through and that made it a lot more unpleasant than normal. But it was done and it means that I won't be pricked again because they can run my feed through it, my antibiotics (and both at the same time too because it's such a big vein) and they can also take blood from it. So it's short term pain for longer term leave-me-the-fuck-alone!

I was back on the ward by 10.10pm, in time to watch most of Celebrity Big Brothers Bit on the Side with Rylan. I know it's complete trash TV but it's something I can watch that doesn't require any brain cells and it's just easy TV. I'm sure you all have a similar programme you watch, either when you're doing the ironing or you're hungover or on a Sunday evening. I'm right aren't I?

Because I had a real life pain in the neck I couldn't get comfortable and despite numerous syringes of oramorph I couldn't get on top of the pain. I did get in a good position but then I moved and couldn't find it again for ages. Grrrr. I think I finally dozed off about 4am only to be woken up at 7.30am with "what do you want for breakfast babe?" I could have murdered the woman.

Here I am now, hooked up to all my stuff and still trying to find that elusive comfy spot! I've had a 10 minute Skype conversation with Hubby and the kids and they told me all about yesterday's trip to the outside pool in 34 degree heat, having a BBQ with our friends family and having a tractor ride on our friends dads tractor. They've been having a ride on the tractor since they were tiny and now it won't be long until they can drive the thing! Scary where the time goes. Anyway, they're having a great time and are off to see the castle that inspired the Disney castle and to swim in a lake. It sounds fab but I'm happy lying in bed, watching loose women. Honest.

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

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