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This morning Hubby was up and out at the crack of dawn for a breakfast meeting at work. That left me to get the kids ready for school on my own.

Big Fella was up and watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in the living room when my alarm went off at 7.15am. Big Girl was in bed and refusing to get out because she didn't want to go to school. Brilliant. 

I had to drag Big Fella away from the TV to get him to get dressed but promised him that he could have his breakfast on the sofa so he could finish watching the episode. 

Taking a deep breath and summoning all my energy I go into Big Girls room where the conversation went something like this:

Me: get up, it's time to get ready for school. 
Her: no
Me: you have to get up and get dressed. 
Her: no
Me: why don't you want to go to school?
Her: because I hate my lessons
Me: but you have to go to school. 
Her: I don't want to go and you can't make me 
Me: (heavy sigh) please get up and get dressed. Why does it have to be this difficult?
Her: because I'm not going to school. 
Me: you are
Her: I'm not
Me: you are. Now get up AND GET DRESSED
Her: there's no need to shout. Chill out. I'm only getting up if you will French plait my hair
Me: fine. Whatever. Just get up. 
Her: can you get me my uniform?
Me: can't you get it yourself? 
Her: I can but I can't be bothered 
Me: fine. Just get out of bed. 

And then I sat and did French plaits before getting into another 'discussion' over brushing teeth. If this is what it's like now I am dreading the teenage years!

When I went back downstairs Big Fella had got half of his breakfast all down his uniform so I had to usher him back upstairs to get changed (the baby wipes just couldn't clean him up sufficiently!)

By the time my friend arrived to take the kids to school for me I felt like I had done ten rounds with Mike Tyson. I was exhausted and barely able to stand up. My friend took one look at me and suggested that she come back after the school run to take me to the hospital. I assured her I going back to bed and would be fine.

After closing the front door I looked at the stairs and just didn't have the energy to tackle them. Instead I flopped onto the sofa with a blanket and watched some episodes of Come Dine with Me that I had Sky +. 

It's strange that considering my diet is made up of rice, eggs and potatoes I am strangely obsessed with cooking and cookery shows. I spend ages going through my recipe books and Good Food magazines, looking at all the things I could eat if my tummy and bowels worked properly!

Anyway after an hour or so I started to feel really poorly, got the sweats and passed out when I stood up. Hubby popped in to see me on the way to a meeting and I promised him I would call the GP surgery to see the on call doctor. The earliest appointment they had was 4.20pm and although I took it I knew deep down that I wouldn't last the day and would probably not make that appointment. 

I decided to bite the bullet and call the nutrition nurses at St Marks to tell them how I was feeling. I left a message on their answering machine and when the nurse called me back she told me I needed to go straight in to have blood cultures taken from the Hickman Line and for them to have a look at me. 

I called my friend who picked the kids up this morning to ask her if she could drive me to the hospital. I think she was half expecting me to call and she came straight round. (This friend by the way is the one who took me to Hobbycraft when I was last in...the one who drives like a lunatic. So it will come as no suprise to you that on the way to the hospital she missed the exit on the M25 and declared a phobia of lorries which isn't the most reassuring thing to be told when the motorway is full of them!)

We made it to the hospital in one piece (just!) and went up to the Intestinal Failure Ward. The nurse took me into the clinic room and instructed me to lie down on the bed. She popped out and returned a few minutes later with Dr 20. 

He took one look at me and said "you know you're not going home today don't you?"  He arranged for me to be admitted there and then and within 5 minutes I was in a bed on the ward. 

I think that's one of the reasons I've put off contacting the hospital- because I knew I would be admitted. I have known since I spent the day in bed last Wednesday that my line was probably infected but I thought that if I stopped having my feeds and didn't use the line then my body might be able to fight off the infection. It hasn't happened of course and as much as I have tried not to admit it to anyone, including myself, I have been getting sicker and sicker over the last week. 

So I'm typing this on my phone, in B bay on IFU, level 9 of St Marks. I don't have a window bed this time but I can't really complain. Since being admitted I've had blood tests done, blood taken from my Hickman line to be cultured to check for infection, IV antibiotics, pain relief, fluids and an X-ray. I couldn't get better care if I was paying for it. They really are brilliant here. 

I reckon I'm going to be in for at least a week as I will need 7 days of IV antibiotics. Fingers crossed they get me sorted properly this time so when I go home I will stay there. 

NB x


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