I've still got pouchitis. I thought it had done one but once the antibiotics finished it came back full force. And I'm tired. I'm tired of spending hours on the loo, tired of getting up 3, 4 or 5 times plus a night, tired of being in pain and tired of being tired. Pouchitis just drains me. I feel like I'm flushing away my energy as well as the contents of my bowel every time I go to the loo. And no matter how much I try to catch up on sleep by resting or having a nap in the day it always seems to be one step forward, 2 steps back.
I was due to go on a friends hen do on Friday night. I had my train ticket to Lomdon booked, my hideous neon 80's outfit packed and Bestie's birthday present (to save on postage) but yep, you guessed it, I didn't make it. Another hen night that I've missed out on. I've actually only ever managed to go on one hen do- and that wasn't even mine! For mine I had planned a boozy weekend in Benidorm (don't judge me!) but instead it was spent in hospital recovering from my first surgery after my bowel perforated. I did end up having a little hen gathering just before the wedding but I was so drugged up that I only lasted a couple of hours and couldn't drink cause of all the meds I was on. And since then my bowels have been the cause of me missing out on so many hen do's that I'm seriously beginning to wonder whether I'm allergic to them!
So instead I've spent the weekend mostly in bed, feeling crap and watching bbc iplayer. I've watched so much that you know the 40 most popular programmes? Apart from Eastenders which I don't watch, I've seen them all. Night manager? Yes, brilliant. The a word? Another great drama. Killed by my father? Scary because it does happen. Masterchef? Love it! Connie Fisher on makeup? I've scraped the bottom of the barrel!! The iPad's great though cause I can take it into the loo with me and all those hours spent on the loo then become valuable TV catch up time!
Hubby had made arrangements for one of his mates to come round and keep him company while I was at the hen do but because I hadn't gone they both realised that it meant that they could go out to the pub. After putting the kids to bed and having a few beers at home they headed out to one of the locals. I didn't think they'd be out late but it was way after midnight when I heard them come in. They were obviously a bit merry given how loud they were talking whilst attempting to be quiet but I assumed that Hubby would be up to bed soon as he had to take Big Fella to football in the morning. I must have dropped off because I was woken up at 3am by loud crashes and bangs. I was surprised to hear Hubbys mate was still here but whatever was going on downstairs I decided I wanted no part of it so I simply left them to it. At 5am I was up for the loo and Hubby hadn't come to bed but I assumed he had fallen asleep on the sofa or had been considerate and gone to sleep in the spare room so I wouldn't be woken by his snoring which is always bad but really, really bad after he's had a drink.
But then at 7am Big Fella woke up, went for his morning wee and got the fright of his life to find Hubby asleep on the bathroom floor. He slunk into bed and said "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" over and over. I asked him what for and he sheepishly told me that he had been sick in the bidet. But then he smiled and said that it had been brilliant because he was sat on the loo at the time so having the bidet there meant that it didn't go all over the floor. He actually seemed quite proud of himself but I could have bloody throttled him.
So I got up and cleaned the bathroom, not wanting Big Girl to get up to find it in the state that Big Fella had. But when I came downstairs to get the cleaning materials my heart sank because I saw what was obviously the outcome of all the bangs and crashes. Hubby has no recollection of this part of the night but I'm guessing that either him or his mate dropped a glass and not being able to vacuum the pieces up then went into the (internal) garage and got the brush that we have for sweeping up in the garden and tried to use that. But that left soil, leaves and dirt all over the kitchen floor and kitchen cabinets and still lots of glass pieces everywhere. So I had to clean that up too before the kids came downstairs and trod on a piece of glass. As I was cleaning up I discovered a large bottle of gin that was full when I went to bed was now practically empty and was starting to understand why he had been so sick. As I cleared everything away I was becoming more and more annoyed at Hubby.
Then Big Fella appeared dressed in his football kit telling me that he had a match and we had to leave in an hour. Hubby was fast asleep in bed and in no fit state to drive even if he did wake up so I knew that I would have to do the football run. I had been promising Big Fella that I would go and watch him play in a match because it's always Hubby that takes him. I do the football training in the week while Hubby is at work so he likes to go and watch him and have some boy time often while Big Girl and I have girl time (often at the shops!) But to make a shitty morning even shitter it was absolutely tipping it down. I layered up, got the umbrella out and we headed off. When we got there Big Fella went off to warm up and I decided to stay in the car until the match started. But after all my cleaning efforts I hadn't had much time to get myself organised and sat there freezing cold wishing I had a flask of coffee, hot water bottle and some breakfast. Although if I had eaten or drank I would have spent most of the match in the clubhouse toilets so it was probably for the best.
When we got home after a thrilling 3-3 draw Hubby was still in bed snoring in exactly the same position he was in when I had left. I decided to wake him up and try to get some food and drink into him in the hope it would perk him up. He wasn't keen on the dioralite that I made him drink and was moaning but I wasn't keen on standing in the rain for an hour when I was feeling like crap I told him so he then shut up and started drinking. After having 2 paracetamol (broken into halves and swallowed like a baby) he flopped back on the pillows declaring that he felt like he was dying and that he would never drink again. Although I told him he was having no sympathy, that it was all self inflicted and that I was really mad with him I was secretly not that cross because he hardly ever goes out and I think he needed to have some time out from work, me, the kids and the new house.
He eventually surfaced about 3.30pm but it took a good few hours before he could manage conversation or eat anything else. It was the final of Saturday Night Takeaway- a BIG deal in our house- and we had promised the kids that we would have takeaway while watching it so luckily I didn't have to cook. I was shattered after looking after the kids and the biggest kid of all for most of the day. But I did cut him some slack because it's usually me laid up in bed all day while he looks after the kids. And when he told me that after getting out of the taxi his mate was sick all over his Mums front lawn I couldn't help laughing. Here were too grown men that had spent Friday night as if they were teenagers and to be fair I think being sick on the grass is a lot worse than a well aimed chuck up in the bidet. If Hubby had done that I'm not sure I would have been as understanding as I had been. In a way I'm glad it happened this weekend because when we have our housewarming party in 2 weeks he might drink a bit more responsibly and remember how bad hangovers are when you're older. But if he doesn't there's no way I will go as easy on him. So Hubbt, if you're reading this, you have been warned!!
NB x
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