Bloody blood tests!

That was yesterday. I think I did too much on Monday and yesterday I just couldn’t function. I needed to pack my clothes for holiday but just couldn’t get out of bed. So I decided it was going to be a rest day. I stayed in bed and dozed on and off until about 6pm. Hubby and Big Fella were off to football training and before they went Hubby asked if I might be able to get my case packed. He wants to be organised this year and get everything in the car ready to go a day before we set off instead of our usual last minute rush. So I forced my arse out of bed and started to pack.

But I didn’t just pack, I ended up feeding the dog, loading the dishwasher and the washing machine and a few other chores around the house. When I went back upstairs to put the last few bits in my case I knew I had overdone it and didn’t feel well. I could feel that I was about to pass out but there was nobody in the house to catch me so I hit the decks. Eventually I got myself up and ended up phoning one of my friends to bring me an emergency delivery of sugary fizzy drinks. I don’t know if my blood pressure is low or if I’m not getting enough calories from my feeds but I’m getting lightheaded quite often. I’m only getting 700 calories a day from my TPN feeds which was enough for when I was just lying around in my hospital bed doing jack shit but now I’m home and doing stuff the dieticians might need to increase it.

I felt better this morning and managed to get out of bed before lunchtime. This was mainly due to the fact I had to be at the GP surgery for midday for blood tests. When I got there I told the phlebotomist that I had bad veins and that the phlebotomists in the hospital had struggled to bleed me which resulted in one of the ward doctors taking blood from my wrist (and yes, that does hurt!) As with most phlebotomists she said “I’m sure your veins aren’t that bad” so I just sat back and waited for her to realise that my veins are actually non existent. After a few attempts she eventually conceded that I was difficult to bleed and she went to see if there were any nurses available to help her. Unfortunately there weren’t and she asked what happened the last time I came for bloods at the surgery. “Nobody could bleed me so I ended up going up to the hospital to have them done” was my reply.

So she admitted defeat and went to print out the form that I would need to take to the hospital only for the system to crash. Cue a 25 minute wait with her apologising profusely before I left with said paperwork. I decided to ring the ward to check what time you could turn up at at the hospital for walk in blood tests but they told me not to bother and to just head up to the ward and they would do them for me. I’ve got an appointment with the gynaecology team tomorrow to get the results of my bone density scan and to have the injection that puts me into menopause and keeps the endometriosis symptoms at bay so I’m going to pop up to the ward before that. At least if they’re being done on the ward if they can’t find a good vein then the doctor can go in my wrist or one of the nurses can access my Hickman line and take blood from there.

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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