Departed

Oh, it's so long since I posted, but given all that was going on at the time of my last post, perhaps you understand some of why I haven't blogged.

As you have probably guessed (or perhaps hoped), I have been discharged from hospital since I last posted.  I had a long admission with a very, very slow weaning of the aminophylline, which went smoothly, but given the upset of my father's death shortly after I was moved from ITU to the ward, we all wanted to be sure that my lungs were going to cope with the reduction in IV and its replacement with the tablets.

Asthma is most definitely a physical illness, but like many illnesses, it can be affected by emotional upset and distress.  This doesn't mean that it's psychosomatic or 'all in the mind', just that physical and emotional well-being is intertwined, and asthma can become worse with both repressed emotion or expressed emotion.  Laughing or crying can both induce an asthma attack in some, including me, which seems most unfair.  When I was in hospital this last time, and out of ITU, I was trying to recover from a terrible asthma attack whilst also trying to find a way to grieve for my father without undoing the healing that my lungs had thus far done.  One of the junior doctors came to see me one weekend evening, still doing her ward round.  I poured out some of my upset that most of the time I was trapped with on my own, and as I forced back some of the tears she said, 'There's no harm in crying and letting some of it out.'  I replied that I wanted to and needed to, but the harm might be that it could set off the asthma again.  She held my hand, which was enough to tell me that she understood that dilemma and that fear, but didn't have the words to make it right.  I'm glad that she didn't try to make it right.  Through a series of comments and observations on both our parts I established that she was a Christian, and I asked if she would pray for me.  She told me that as a doctor she has to be careful about not imposing her beliefs on others, but as I had asked then of course she would pray, and she did.  This lovely young doctor sat with me in my hospital room, with my upset and distress very much on show, and prayed, and it was exactly the right 'medicine' for me that evening.

After my week in the Intensive Care Unit at RVI, I had another three weeks on the ward at the Freeman Hospital.  It was a difficult discharge, not so much because of the asthma, but because I felt like I'd had everything knocked out of me - physically and emotionally.  The one thing I was holding on for was cuddles with Isobel Artemis, my gorgeous kitten.  I had actually seen her once during my admission when a collaboration between my friend J, who was looking after Isobel, and N, the hospital chaplain, meant that J was able to bring Isobel to the hospital chapel (with the permission of Infection Control), and N was able to trundle me down there from the ward in a wheelchair.

I was so looking forward to seeing Isobel Artemis again and giving her masses of cuddles because I'd missed her so much ... but when I got home she wasn't there.  J said that Isobel hadn't been at home when she'd come in to feed her that morning, but we waited in hope that Isobel would return.  Isobel hasn't come home.  She's still missing almost eight weeks later.  I have been so lost without her and every day I wish she would saunter in through the cat flap as though she doesn't know what all the fuss has been about, but every day there is nothing.  I have registered her as missing with the microchip company so that we will be reunited if/when she's taken to a vets or shelter that scans for microchips.  I have registered her as missing with the company Animal Search UK who have put her details on her website and Facebook page.  They've also produced this poster.

 I've put up forty five of these all around the area, plus dropped about 2000 similar flyers through letterboxes in the area.  I've been out calling her at all different times of day (and night).  I've emptied the vacuum cleaner out in the back yard and tied a piece of my clothing to the back fence as both these things carry my and her scent so are meant to attract her home if she's anywhere nearby.  I've contacted the dog and cat shelter, and put her details on every appropriate Facebook page that covers the area.  I've contacted several vets practices in the area.  I've had a few calls from Animal Search UK with possible sightings that I've followed up immediately, but they've turned out to be other cats or nothing at all.  Nothing.  It's like she's just vanished.  The vet receptionists think that, given all that I've done to try to find her and there's been so little response, she's most likely been stolen.  I can only hope that she is eventually scanned for a microchip and discovered to be missing from me.  I long to have her home.

I will never give up on getting my precious Isobel Artemis home unless I get a call to say that she's been found dead, but I'm not good at having no cat in my life.  I'm going to get another kitten.  J has a grown up nephew who has cat who had kittens thirteen days ago.  I would like another little girl kitten if possible, and in a couple of weeks J's nephew and I are going to take the four kittens in Daisy cat's litter to the vet to be sexed.  One of the kittens is a little calico so is almost certainly female, the other three are tabbies like Daisy, and I'm kind of hoping that one of them is female too as I think I'd quite like a tabby.  Anyway, I went to meet all four of them when they were just two days old.

I can't tell from the photos which is which, but I do know that all four of them appear in these photos.  Let me know if you can tell the difference between them.  They'll be much easier to tell apart the next time I see them at four weeks old, and I'll hopefully be able to see more of their personalities too.

So, the other departure, the one I've been avoiding saying much about.  Dad.  We had to wait a month after Dad had died until we could have his funeral, in part because of a backlog at the crematorium.  It was a difficult day, and actually I don't want to say very much about it ... Although I will say that after the funeral and the wake I had a really good family time with my mum, step-dad, my brother M and his family, and my brother C and his family.  M and family were staying in an apartment hotel (a hotel comprised of little apartments, with self-catering facilities as well as food/drink that can be ordered and brought to the apartments) that we all congregated at both between the crematorium and wake and after the wake.  The children were able to run around inside and play together, which they all needed as there isn't much scope for that at a funeral.  The rest of us sat and chatted, and remembered Dad, and then we ate and talked about 'normal' things too - things that weren't about death and dying, or the people we've struggled with through the whole process, or the difficult aspects of Dad that were ignored in the wake remembrances.  We enjoyed being together and being a family, and you know, since then we've perhaps had more contact with each other than we had before.  Maybe it won't last, but at the moment it is good, and that is the positive that's come out of Dad's death.

Longer than expected

When I wrote my last post I fully intended to write again very soon, but for one reason or another I haven't been able to.  I've written my next post in my head several times, with it being different each time because of what's been going on at the time, but because of that I've also rather lost track of how long it is since I actually managed to post anything.  At last I'm here, albeit two and a half months since my last posting.

So what's been going on for me?  Well, it's been the summer and traditionally a time when folk go on holiday.  I haven't really been on holiday as such, but I have been up to Edinburgh to stay with my mum on two occasions, each time for about a week.  I've taken the kitten - Isobel Artemis - with me each time and she's had no problem with the car journeys or getting used to a different environment, and has really loved darting up and down the stairs at Mum's.  I don't have stairs in my flat, so Isobel's first encounter with stairs was at Mum's, and each time we've visited she's had great fun galloping up and down them, sounding like she's wearing boots.  She's five months old now, and although young for it, she was spayed last week, mostly because she's desperate to investigate the outside world, but I don't want to risk her getting pregnant.  She's healing well, and hasn't had any problems at all, which has been a huge relief because I was worried that she was a little too young, even though the vet said she'd be fine because she's quite 'long for her age'.  I am completely besotted with Isobel and she's giving me so much pleasure and delight.

At the middle of July/beginning of August I spent two weeks in hospital with my asthma.  I'd had a brilliant couple of days down in London for the Monty Python show and then drove back home on the Thursday.  I wanted to be back home in time for choir as it was the last Flotsam rehearsal before the summer break and we were singing at the wedding of a couple of choir members at the end of August.  In the end I decided to go straight to Flotsam so that I didn't have that post-drive slump at home and have to go out again almost straight away, but then as I was approaching Gateshead I realised that I was going to arrive a bit too soon so I decided to stop at the Angel of the North.  I was absolutely fine when I arrived and when I got out of the car, and fine when I got the wheelchair out of the car and had a little trundle around, but very quickly and suddenly I became extremely ill.  I couldn't breathe and my chest felt incredibly tight.  I got out my nebuliser and started to use it, but I could feel myself going - the world was going black and I was about to pass out.  I knew that if I passed out then I would die.  I could see an elderly man sitting on a nearby bench, watching me, looking concerned, but he didn't approach me or ask if I needed help, and then he started to disappear into the encroaching blackness.  Just as I was resigning myself to dying under the gaze of an angel, the drugs in my nebuliser started to kick in, the blackness started to dissipate, and my breathing started to ease.  For the first time ever I went from being absolutely fine to incredibly ill to fairly okay again in one 'sitting.'  It was a huge relief, but also very confusing because I didn't know how to deal with this new situation - would I continue to be okay?  Should I go to hospital?  Would I be alright if I went home?

When I got back in the car I looked in the mirror and could see that I was far from being the right colour, but my breathing did feel a lot better than they had done and I thought I was probably okay to drive ... although, in retrospect, I probably ought not to have done.  I had been very scared by what had just happened and was feeling rather shocked by it, all of which probably contributed to my decision to leave getting checked out until the next day.  In the meantime I decided that I would go to choir as planned because it was probably safer for me to be with people in the immediate aftermath of this than to go home and be alone all evening.

It took a long time - a good couple of hours - for me to get back to being the right colour, and during choir I was sweating a great deal and not feeling well, although my breathing remained okay given what had occurred on the way.  Perhaps because of the fear of the attack at the angel and being so close to passing out, I didn't tell anyone at the time quite how poorly I'd been (it would be like admitting it to myself), but I did go straight home afterwards rather than join others in the pub for an end of term drink.  And when I got home I was exhausted.

I had every intention of phoning my GP the next day to get checked over, and I set my alarm to wake me in time to phone for an appointment, but when morning arrived I was too tired to move.  I tried to wake up, but I couldn't.  My head didn't feel right.  In fact it hadn't felt right since I'd almost passed out in the asthma attack - it felt thick and heavy and I couldn't really think straight.  I went back to sleep, telling myself that I'd phone the doctor soon, but as the day progressed I wasn't able to stay awake long enough to make the call, and I was fumbling around doing my nebs practically in my sleep.  I don't know what happened to the day, but it disappeared, and the next thing I knew my carer for the day was calling my name from the hall.  I hadn't heard her ring the bell, knock on the door, or even phone me up, so she'd got the code for my keysafe and let herself in.  I managed to explain what had happened, but I still wasn't right, and she said that I seemed a bit confused.  I said that I wasn't, that I was just tired, but actually I think I was confused.  The carer stayed a while, made me a drink (I didn't want anything to eat), and phoned the office/on-call to tell them what had happened and how I was, and then she had to go.

I can't remember much about that weekend, except that my head didn't feel right and my lungs were slipping again.  My GP surgery is closed at weekends and I don't like A&E (plus, I didn't think I really needed to go to A&E) so I was hanging on for Monday.  When Monday morning arrived I managed to wake up to make the call to the surgery, got an appointment with one of the doctors, and went straight up to the surgery.  Part of me must have known that I'd end up in hospital because I had checked my hospital bag was ready, but part of me was still in denial, or maybe not thinking properly, so I didn't gather my meds together or take anything with me to the surgery.  The doctor was lovely, but clearly concerned so had me admitted to my usual ward at Freeman Hospital via an ambulance straight from the surgery.

At first the docs on the ward didn't do very much for me, but I could feel my lungs getting slowly tighter, and the nurses who know me well were concerned for me.  My consultant was off (his first sick leave in his whole career), and the registrar had opted to wait and see how things went with me before doing anything proactive, which was tiring and frustrating for me.  I didn't see the point of being in hospital if they weren't going to do anything different from what I could do and was doing at home, besides which I could feel my lungs getting slowly tighter and tighter.  The following day they agreed that the time had come to intervene and they put up the aminophylline infusion, which slowly, slowly did its thing and I started to get better, except that then the docs were too eager to get it down, despite my telling them that I need to be weaned off it very slowly.  It all went pear-shaped and I ended up back on it very soon after it'd first come down.  This time they kept it up until I was more stable, and as far as I remember it was up until after my consultant came back to work and could oversee the whole the process.  Eventually I was well enough to be free of the aminophylline infusion, and I could start to get some better rest before going home.

I was discharged two weeks after being admitted.  The general consensus was that there was most likely something at the Angel of the North to which I'm allergic - a pollen of some kind, probably - and that the confusion and headaches had been due to the lack of oxygen to my brain when I was so acutely unwell.  These seemed to get better with time and rest, although I was still extremely tired for about a week after I got home and did very, very little other than sleep or lie in bed for my first week home.

Since then my lungs have settled back into their usual state of unpredictability, but I've got back into life, taking each day as it comes.  I've been up to Edinburgh once since then and had some Mum TLC, which is always good for recovery from poorliness, and I've seen various friends at various times too, which help my spirits and remind me how lucky I am to have such lovely people in my life.

There have been a few other medical things going on throughout the summer and recent weeks too, but I'll post about them separately because otherwise it might be overload for both me and you.  Besides which, I've just noticed that it's almost 1.40am and I really ought to take myself to bed if I'm to have any chance of seeing any of tomorrow morning, which I'd like to do as I've been enjoying the sunny September weather.  So for now I'll bid you goodnight and I'll take Isobel for a cuddle in bed.

Getting back to it

Well hello there, folks!  Even the most unobservant of you will have noticed that it's a very long time indeed since I last posted, but now it's time that I got back to it, back to you.

It's been a difficult five months or so since my last blog post with two bouts of pneumonia (I told you there was no such thing as a simple cold for a severe asthmatic!); time in hospital; the death of a very long-standing and dear friend; the death of my beloved cat, Zach, who had been my loving (although crazy and psychotic) companion since he was four or five weeks old almost seventeen years ago; the diagnosis of Impaired Glucose Tolerance (IGT), or pre-diabetes, with a major contributory factor being the long-term high-dose oral steroids I take for my lungs; and still working through some of the stresses of last year, both in my own time and with my psychologist.

Is it any wonder I've needed a bit of space from writing about it all on my blog?

However, despite all of that there have been some good times and some good things in the last few months too.  In recent weeks, one of the things that has helped to bring back my smile has been my new little kitten, Isobel Artemis.  This photo was taken when she was just three to four weeks old and I went to meet her for the first time.

Isobel came to live with me on the day that she turned eight weeks old, and this photo is from her first evening with me.

As you can see, she'd grown a bit, but she was still so small (especially in comparison to the size my lovely Zach boy had been) that I kept looking at her and thinking, 'You're so small, you can't be real!'  She was quite unsure of her new surroundings for a couple of days, although she seemed to feel safe enough, judging by how relaxed she was first thing in the morning of her first full day...

She's now completely settled in, a complete delight, and totally nuts :o)  Her mother was half Bengal, which of course makes Isobel a quarter Bengal.  She has some of the traits, particularly being talkative with a variety of little chirrups as well as the more conventional meows and purrs; and she has just a couple of the Bengal spots on her side; but I wasn't sure how many of the other traits she'd have.  One thing Bengal cats are known for is a liking of water, and yesterday Isobel had her first encounter with water.  It was the middle of the afternoon and she decided it was cuddle time, which is lovely and usually not a problem, except that I happened to be in the bath at the time!  Despite having her feet already immersed in the bath water, she walked along my legs into deeper water (my legs were at a slight angle due to the bath lift I use), patted it with her paw as if gently attacking it, walked back up my legs, looked at me quizzically, leapt out of the bath, ran around the flat in crazy mode, scurried back into the bathroom, leapt back into the bath, missed her footing on me and got absolutely drenched.  She ended up very spiky, utterly bemused, extremely soggy, and yet wanting more.  I don't really want to end up sharing all my baths with the cat from now on - that would be weird! - but it was very amusing, and I have to say that she's incredibly silky soft today.

I could probably post photos of Isobel ad infinitum, but I'll restrain myself (for now) and tell you some more of the better things that have been going on for me in recent times.

So, at the end of April my mum turned seventy, shortly followed by my step-dad at the beginning of this month, so between the two birthdays we had a family week away in celebration.  Mum, J (step-dad), my brother M, his wife, N, and their children, O and D, and my brother C, his wife, S, and their son, J, hired a 'cottage' in Shropshire.  The 'cottage' was in the grounds of a manor house with several other 'cottages' (mostly far too big to be called cottages), and amongst other things a huge building that contained a large games room and banqueting hall.  We'd arrived on the Friday, and on the Sunday we had a big party for Mum and J in the banqueting hall with various other factions of the family coming to join us for the day.  Most of the folk who came to the party were from J's side of the family, and it was great to have a chance to meet some of them for the first time, some for the first time since Mum and J got married over twenty years ago, and to chat to others who I have seen more recently but haven't had the opportunity for a good catch-up.

There are always some tensions when families get together for prolonged periods, but on the whole I don't think we did too badly, and I did have a good time.  There were times when I felt a bit 'spare part-ish' and lonely, because I was the only one who didn't have someone else, and a couple of days when I ended up spending much of the day on my own while others went off in their family groups, but I tried to make the most of it, and did have some good times.  I also had some very enjoyable times with my brothers and their families during trips out, and I really valued the time to get to know my youngest nephew, J, a bit better.  I don't get to see him very much, so even at age three, he didn't really know who I was, but by the end of the week he was inviting me to his next birthday party ... in February next year.  I do hope I get to see him (and his parents, of course!) rather more now and we can have the kind of aunty-nephew relationship I have with O and D.

What else has been good?  Well, I've been learning to crochet.  In my review of the year at the end of last year, and I think also at the end of the previous year, I said that I wanted to learn to crochet.  I sort of learnt a little bit in 2012, but not at all confidently, and I couldn't do it with any accuracy without having someone who knew what they were doing to guide me.  Earlier this year my friend R was off work for a few weeks.  Early on in her recovery from the surgery she had I went to visit her and happened to mention that I wanted to learn to crochet, and much to my delight she said that she did to and we set up a plan to learn together.  I'd bought a book (A Little Course in Crochet) a few weeks before in anticipation of teaching myself and we decided to use it as our tutor.  We met up frequently during R's recuperation, working methodically through the book, and practising on our own between times.  We still haven't reached the end of the book, and R is now back at work, but I feel like I can call myself a crocheter.  I can actually make things, things with straight edges where they're meant to be straight, and with corners where there are meant to be corners.  I've made all sorts of things, albeit mainly those in the book, but that's the beauty of the book, because it teaches you a skill and then gives you a project to make using the skill it's just taught.  R and I don't meet now like we did, but I'm still crocheting, I think she is too, and we certainly plan to get together for more creative crocheting times.  It's so relaxing, and actually it really helped me after Zach died.

So having heard what has been, I guess I should say a little about what is.  Right at the moment my priority is trying to keep breathing.  The weather has been lovely recently with lots of sunshine, but the air has been thick with humidity - around 60% to 75% according to the Met Office - and that's been causing me problems.  That and the high pollen count.  As much as I love going out in the sunshine - and I really need to get the vitamin D given my osteomalacia - I've had to spend a fair amount of this lovely weather indoors, breathing the clearer air produced by the ventilation system in my flat.  Even then I've had some very troublesome days and nights with my breathing, and have generally been quite exhausted.  I've put my steroids back up from 45mg to 60mg, and have been having extra nebs, but I'm also thankfully due to see my asthma consultant on Thursday.  I don't expect him to have any magic answers or even the glimpse of any new treatment, but at least he'll know where things are up to.

To be honest, it hasn't been too much of a hardship having to be inside at home.  Sure, I'd love to be outside enjoying the sun and the warmth, but I've also spent lots of time with Isobel and have been taking great delight in her.  We've played a lot, had lots of cuddles, and she's been learning the word no when she's looked up at the curtains with rather too much interest ;o)

I think that I'd better sign off for now as it's getting late, but I'll be back a whole lot sooner than I was last time.

Thankful

There are a various things going on for me at the moment, most of which I can't discuss in this public arena.  I'm afraid I'll have to be vague and just say that it continues to be a difficult time, so to counteract this, and to lighten the mood of my blog from recent months, I'm going to spend a bit of time thinking about things for which I'm thankful.


1.  Poisonous ivy

Specifically, I'm thankful for the poisonous ivy that's growing up the side of the house opposite mine at the back.  The ivy has been there for years, and other than cheering up a drab wall has been of little note, but this year it has provided a safe place for a pair of blackbirds to nest.  I live in a built up area only a couple of miles outside of the city centre, and very few houses in my immediate neighbourhood have gardens that encourage small birds, but there has been a noticeable difference in recent years.  Maybe it's the conservation work done by 'Friends' of the park down the road, or perhaps folk have been putting bird seed/food out, but over the past few years there has been a rise in the number of small birds in the area (as opposed to pigeons and sea gulls).  We've had a lone blackbird for the past two or three summers that has sat on the chimney stacks and filled the air with beautiful song.  I love blackbird song, and this year the air is rich with it because the lone male has found a young lady blackbird and the pair have nested high in the poisonous ivy opposite.  Apparently blackbirds have two or three broods a year, and my neighbourhood pair are already on to their second.  It's wonderful.  It's not often very noisy at the back, so if you're very quiet and listen carefully, you can hear the tiny chirruping of the chicks in the nest.  As the chicks have grown, the adults - particularly the male - try to entice the youngsters from the nest with a morsel of food and a short whistle of song.  With a lot of encouragement, the fledglings dare to take their first tentative flutters from the safety of their nest and soon learn to fly with confidence.  I love watching this circle of life unfold almost in front of me, and listening to the variety of beautiful blackbird song, and every so often one or other of the adults will venture in to my yard in their hunt for food.  I'm not quite sure what it is they find on the concrete or amongst the flower pots, but they always seem to go away with something in their beak.  Yes, I'm thankful for the blackbirds, and for the poisonous ivy for giving them a safe place to nest.

2.  Friends

I have some wonderful friends who have stuck by me in both difficult times and good.  They text me, phone me, come round to my flat, take me out for an afternoon, send me cards in the post and private messages on Facebook, make me cups of tea, invite me round to their homes, make me laugh, share my tears, sit with me, go with me to the coast or the park, swap a little part of themselves for a little part of myself.  At times my trust in friendship has been challenged by folk who have presented themselves as friends, but have turned out to be far from that.  Those around me now are genuine, safe, trustworthy, and true, and to know that for certain after betrayals that have been is very precious and definitely something for which I am thankful.

3.  Sunshine

It feels like a long time since we had any prolonged sunshine up here in the north-east of the country - perhaps a couple of years - but the last week or so has been beautiful.  Today has been a fair bit cooler with temperatures back down to 16-17C, but I don't mind because the forecast is for it to warm up again tomorrow and Friday.  Sunshine lightens me.  Of course it doesn't take the stresses away, it doesn't make them smaller, it doesn't make them any easier to deal with, but it does force in a smidgen of light.  The warmth of the sun entices me outside, even if it's just to the back yard, and wraps itself around me, like a hug from God.

4.  The cat and the vet

Zach is so precious to me.  He is a wonderful cat with enormous character who seems to know when I'm upset, when I'm ill, and when I need cuddles.  He also loves to come for cuddles when I'm lying on the sofa with the computer perched on my legs and tummy; he leaps up, on to my feet, clambers around the side of the laptop, sits on my chest in front of the computer screen, and purrs in my face.  Not particularly helpful for typing or seeing any of what I'm trying to do on the laptop, but his purrs are irresistible so he more often than not gets the cuddles he's demanding.  He's got his summer coat at the moment (obviously), which seems to be a great deal thinner than his winter one, and as he's aged he's lost a fair bit of muscle mass.  He's still very fit and healthy, but he'll be sixteen later this month so he's getting to be an old man and I can feel the bones of his spine when I stroke down his back.  He spends a lot more time sleeping now than he used to, although he still has a lot of crazy running around times, and he is still fantastic company.  I love Zach so very much and I'm thankful for the love and joy that I get from him.  He hasn't often needed a vet for anything very severe (only twice in his life), but even the little things they do for him make me thankful that they are there.  I had to take him last Friday because his claws needed clipping.  They'd needed to be done for a couple of weeks, but with stresses of recent times I'm afraid that they'd been somewhat forgotten about, and then on Friday he got the two innermost claws on his front paws entwined in each other when he was clawing at his scratching post.  He couldn't get them unhooked so I had to help, which wasn't easy and he was obviously distressed about the situation.  I explained to the veterinary nurse what had happened when I took him for his claw-clipping an hour later and she had the vet take a look at him.  The poor little lad has sprained one of the toes on each of his front paws, but he's okay, and after keeping a close eye on him for the past 5 days I think he's probably healed now.  So yes, I am thankful for the vet for keeping my precious little lad healthy and checking him over for free last week.

5.  My wheelchair

When I think what I used to be able to do it almost seems unreal ... it certainly feels unfair at times.  One of my brothers and his family are going camping this summer, which is something I used to love.  The last time I went camping was in 2006 when I had an amazing holiday on my own, camping my way around the country for four and a half weeks.  It was meant to be three and half weeks, but I extended it after spending a week in hospital (including ITU) in Cornwall, not letting a little thing like the inability to breathe stop me from having the holiday I'd planned.  It was fantastic, but I suspect that I'm not very likely to camp again as there's a significant lack of electric plug sockets in a tent from which to charge a powered wheelchair.  All the same, I'm thankful for my wheelchair - Noah - because it gives me other freedoms - the freedom of independence in the outside world.  Of course, there are limitations as many buildings still aren't fully accessible, and much of the countryside isn't at all wheelchair friendly, for example, but I can go out, on my own, on the bus, in to town, to the park, along many public footpaths further afield if I go out in the car. I don't have to rely on family, friends or carers to push me in an attendant-assisted wheelchair, or on my lungs for breathing to use a manual wheelchair, or on my balance (POTS) and lungs for walking.  My independence is important to me, and I'm thankful that I have access to a means to maintain that independence as much as is possible.

6.  My mind

Okay, so depression is awful, but depression isn't all that my mind has given me.  I'm thankful that I have the mind I do, because with it I can think things through, I can reason, I can consider, I can be logical, and I can be illogical.  My mind gives me choices and the capacity to make decisions;  it allows me to challenge situations and concepts; it contributes to my creativity; it helps me to recognise emotions and identify why I feel what I do when I do.  Without my mind I would not know that there are things for which to be thankful, and I wouldn't know that I am thankful for those things.

7.  God

The ultimate 'thing' for which I am thankful is God.  Without Him I would not have my mind, my thankfulness, my being, or anything else which deserves thanks.  I thank God for God.

Bedtime story

In my last blog post I spoke briefly about the Writing for Children module that I'm doing as part of my MA, and I mentioned how I'm not yet sure whether to do the Zachariah Zebedee stories or a continuation of my asthma book for my MA portfolio.  At the moment I think I might try working on both and decide closer to the time which of the two would be best to hand in for my portfolio.  However, I also thought that I'd share a ZZ story with you.  This hasn't undergone much editing yet, and I'm waiting for feedback from my tutor before I do any major editing on it, but it might change a little once I have that feedback.  Anyway, enjoy...

Zachariah Zebedee Has a Meeting

It was very late at night when you will have been tucked up in bed, Zachariah Zebedee was curled up on the back of the sofa, and Zachariah Zebedee’s human was fast asleep.  The cat flap made a little rattle-tattle and Zachariah Zebedee pricked up his ears.

            ‘Whozat?’

            He stared through the dark towards the kitchen and waited.

            ‘Nuffin’,’ thought Zachariah Zebedee, and he began to get himself comfy again, resting his head on his front paws and curling his tail around himself so that he could have tickled his nose if he’d wanted to.  But very soon there was another rattle-tattle of the cat flap.  Then click, rattle rattle, click, and a pitter-patter of claws on the lino.

            ‘This my house! Only I is allowed in my house,’ he whispered to himself as he sat up straight.  Then ever so quietly he stepped down from the back of the sofa onto the squishy seat.  Ever so quietly he stepped down from the squishy seat onto the floor.  Ever so quietly he flattened himself to the floor and dusted the polished floorboards with his tummy as he crawled in silence towards the kitchen.

            Zachariah Zebedee got as far as the kitchen door and then got a little bit scared.  He stopped.

            ‘Maybe it be a monster ... Maybe it be a DOG!’  He nearly let out a little whimper when he thought it might be a dog, but then he reminded himself, ‘No.  I is Zachariah Zebedee.  I is very brave.  I is gonna –’  But just as Zachariah Zebedee was about to think of how one day he planned to rule the world, he heard a loud crunch.

            ‘That my food!’ he yowled.  He puffed up all the fur on his back and all the fur on his tail so that he looked as big and scary as he could to a possible monster or dog.  He leapt the last little way to the corner where a rather large white cat with patches of tiger was munching and crunching Zachariah Zebedee’s biscuits.

            ‘My food!’ Zachariah Zebedee yowled again.  ‘My house!’

            The rather large white cat with patches of tiger glanced up.  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said with a bored kind of voice, and set right back to munching and crunching Zachariah Zebedee’s biscuits.

            ‘Nooo! This my house!  Get out!’  And Zachariah Zebedee flicked out five of his sharpest claws.

            The rather large white cat with patches of tiger stopped munching and crunching, gave a little cough as he swallowed his last mouthful, smirked, and looked Zachariah Zebedee in the eye.

            ‘You’re young.  You’re new round here.  I’ll let you off this time, but you should know that this is my patch.  I’m Philip, but you can call me Boss, like everyone else.  Any house round here is my house, and any food is my food.’

            ‘’Tisn’t!  This my house!  Get out!’ and Zachariah Zebedee swiped at Philip with the paw that was showing his five sharpest claws.

            Philip just managed to avoid being caught, but was so unused to being shouted at by other cats that he forgot all about being cool and calm.

            ‘I’m Boss Cat!  Everything is mine!’ he yowled, and tried to hit back at Zachariah Zebedee with five of his own sharpest claws.

            Zachariah Zebedee growled and hissed and shouted back.  Soon there was an almighty commotion going on in the kitchen with Philip and Zachariah Zebedee both claiming the house to be theirs and the food for them.  They were so busy fighting and arguing that neither of them heard the heavy footsteps in the living room.  Suddenly the kitchen light flicked on, and both the cats stopped fighting.

            ‘HOOMAN!’ yelled Philip.

            ‘My hooman,’ hissed Zachariah Zebedee.

            ‘What a racket,’ exclaimed the human. ‘And who are you?’ she said to Philip.

            Philip whimpered, ‘h-hooman...’ and turned half of his body towards the cat flap.  Zachariah Zebedee hissed a loud hiss, growled a loud growl, and yowled a loud yowl of ‘This my house!’  He kept staring at Philip and concentrated hard on keeping the fur on his back and the fur on his tail as puffed up and as spiky as he could make it.  ‘I is a very scary cat,’ he thought to himself.

            Philip looked at the human, he looked at Zachariah Zebedee, and he looked back at the human.  ‘H-hooman...’ he whimpered again.

            ‘Go on.  You don’t live here.  Off you go,’ said the human.  She stepped towards Philip, and Philip slipped and scrabbled on the lino until at last he managed to scarper out of the cat flap.

            Zachariah Zebedee’s human went to the window to see that the rather large white cat with patches of tiger had gone.

            Zachariah Zebedee peered through the clear plastic door of the cat flap and gave a warning growl to Philip who was still in the yard.

            Philip looked at Zachariah Zebedee’s face at the cat flap and at the human’s face at the window.  He squeezed himself under the bottom of the fence and disappeared into the darkness of the backlane.

            ‘I is very brave,’ Zachariah Zebedee said to his human.  ‘I seed him off.  I is very clever.’

            Of course, the human only heard Zachariah Zebedee say meow a few times, and she thought that perhaps he wanted a cuddle.  She bent down to stroke him, but Zachariah Zebedee still had all his fur puffed up and wasn’t in a strokeable mood.  He slithered underneath his human’s hand and went to munch and crunch on what was left of his biscuits.

            ‘Philip bad cat, not Boss Cat.  This my food.’

            The sleepy human put the light out and went back to bed.  Zachariah Zebedee curled up on the back of the sofa again, wrapped his tail around his body again, and dozed with one ear pricked up and one eye almost open.  While he dozed he thought about how he might show Philip that he wasn’t Boss Cat, and just before he slipped into proper sleep, Zachariah Zebedee thought to himself, ‘What I is needin’ is a catapult and a trampoline.’

Too long

It must be about three weeks since I last posted.  Profuse apologies (again).  The difficulty has been having the energy to blog as I seem to be on a circular treadmill at the moment.  I'm loving the MA, but it's sapping me of energy, and for the past several weeks the weekdays have been a blur of attending university and doing homework for university, followed by weekends of exhaustion.  Things should be starting to get easier as the classes ease up, and this week sees the last of my Tuesday evening classes.  Two more Thursday evening classes till that one finishes.  Of course then there's the assignments that will need to be done and handing in at the beginning of June, but I'm hoping I'll have more energy as I won't be having to travel to and from university several times a week.

My Thursday evening class is Writing for Children and I'm loving it.  I've written a little story about my cat, Zach, although he's insisting on use of his full name when I write about him - Zachariah Zebedee.  The plan is that I'm going to write a serious of short stories for children about Zachariah Zebedee, and then perhaps put them all together into a book.  That, of course, requires writing enough to fill a book, which itself requires discipline and time.  I will have a portfolio of work to prepare for my MA, and at the moment I'm undecided if I'll do the ZZ stories, or if I'll do more of my book of hospital experiences.  I want to do both, but I can't for the MA ... well I could, but it's not advised; they prefer you stick to one thing, and really that's better because you get a substantial chunk of that one thing written.

I may be doing some more 'research' for my book about asthma/hospital experiences before too long :o(  My lungs haven't been very happy over the past couple of week (probably contributing to my tiredness), and I wouldn't be surprised if they decide to have a big strop fairly soon.  I've got that horrible wait again.  I went to the GP eleven days ago because I had horrible oral thrush.  I get it a lot because of the nebs and the steroids.  I often don't bother getting treatment for it because if I did I'd be at the doctors even more than I am already, but it had got to the point where it was making my gums hurt as well as my tongue.  It was all so sore that I wasn't eating much.  The doctor gave me two one-tablet courses of fluconazole, saying he was giving me 'one for now and one for luck,' but only to take the second one if the first didn't do the trick.  Five days after taking the first one things had improved a little, but my tongue was still very sore.  I took the second one that evening.  That was almost a week ago and I'm back to where I was at the point at which I saw the doctor :o(  I'm going to have to go back :o(  Anyway, part of the point of telling you this was that while I was at the GP surgery for the oral thrush, the doctor asked me about my lungs.  I told him I thought things were on the slip.  He can't do anything, and we both know it, but he made a sad face not dissimilar to this one :o(

I'm sure I've done more in the last three weeks than going to university, writing a story about Zachariah Zebedee, and seeing the GP, but I can't think what on earth it is.  My brain is all fuzzy.  That'll teach me to leave it so long between blog posts!  I'll set myself the task of writing a thousand lines of 'I promise to update my blog more frequently,' without using cut and paste.  By the time I've done that it might be time to update my blog ;o)

Home

I'm home and it's fantastic!  I got home on Saturday afternoon and didn't even have to wait long for my prescription as the fab doctor got it all requested on Friday :o)  W came and picked me up after lunch, and she said she was glad to be the one to bring me home as she'd gone in the ambulance with me, so she saw the circle through.  Bless her.

My lungs are so much better, but it turns out that my blood results are still showing a problem with my liver so I'm going to be sent an appointment for a scan as an out-patient.  Now I don't know if it's this thing with my liver or something else, but I feel sick almost all of the time.  Nausea's been a problem throughout this admission, and I've been taking extra meds for it, but the past couple of days I've been feeling more queasy than I was.  Maybe I'm just more aware of it because I'm at home and trying to get on with other things.  I could do without it though, especially as I'm hoping to get to my university class tonight and I'll have enough to think about just trying to catch up and have the energy to be there.

Speaking of university, while I was in hospital I got the results for my postgraduate certificate in creative writing.  I got a Distinction!  I hardly dared hope that I'd get a Distinction, even though I knew it was a possibility based on my coursework results.  It feels great!  I can hardly believe I've done it!  It gave me a boost while I was in hospital, and now that I'm home and thinking about going back to uni tonight, it's given me another boost to get stuck back in to study.  I just hope that I can catch up on all that I've missed.

Well I know this has been a short post, but I'm going to leave it here for now.  I'm tired.  I need to have a rest before I think about going out to univerisity.  I just wanted to let you know that I'm home, it's great, and the cat has turned into a limpit >^..^<

Three weeks and counting

I've made it back to you at last.  I'm still in hospital, and have been here for over three weeks now, but I do seem to be making much more steady progress now and I can see the possibility of discharge.

As you know, I had a slow decline this time round, and I was getting really tired with it, but things escalated quite rapidly on 10th October.  In the early afternoon I emailed the Charge Nurse (J) on Ward 29 at Freeman to say that I thought I'd be heading their way soon, and a couple of hours later I was in resus in A&E at RVI after phoning Ward 29 and finding that they had no beds.  As it turned out I wouldn't have lasted long on Ward 29 anyway as I went from resus in A&E to HDU in the Critical Care Unit at RVI, and was there from the Monday until the Friday.

I had a fairly horrendous time in HDU at RVI, which I can't say a whole lot about on here as those involved are being disciplined (albeit unofficially), but one night was particularly awful and caused me a great deal of stress.  I'm sure the stress has contributed at least a bit to my slower recovery, although things were slow anyway, most likely because the decline was slow.

So I made it to Ward 29 at Freeman on the afternoon of Friday 14th October, and although I was still on the aminophylline infusion I was kind of doing okay.  Saying that, though, something didn't feel right ... it didn't feel like a stable improvement, and although I was able to get off the aminophylline by the Tuesday (I think) I wasn't convinced of the improvement, and actually felt like I was getting a cold.

I was right.  I did get a cold and the cold rapidly headed south to my lungs, giving me a none-too-pleasant chest infection.  I had a barking cough, I was exhausted, I wasn't sleeping well, I was wheezing more and more, and by the next Friday I was in HDU in Freeman.  Thankfully I only had 24 hours down there and was able to come back to the ward, but I was far from well and still very wheezy.  It's taken a heck of a long time for the wheeze to settle and to begin to feel like I'm mending, but at last I think I'm getting there.

For the second time this admission the aminophylline is down - as of yesterday - and so far I'm doing okay.  I was a bit tighter again this morning, and ever so tired, but things settled after nebs and then I slept the morning away and was woken for lunch.  I'm still very tired, but it's been a long haul with a lot of stress and upset, and a big set-back in the middle that itself made me want to cry.  The trouble is that crying can make my lungs tighter so I have to push the upset and stress to one side until it's safe to express it, but then I think others can be confused when it does get expressed as there may not be any particularly apparent reason for the tears when they come.  For the most part the tears still haven't come yet for this admission, and I have a feeling that they won't until I get home.  There's almost too much to process while I'm here, even though I have my own room (the benefit of being MRSA positive) ... I'm kind of numb most of the time ... just getting on with it ... almost afraid of touching the miserable bits, but I know that I will have to in the end.

I know that even what I'm writing here is probably coming across as emotionally detached.  I also know that it wouldn't be so detached if I could write about what happened at the RVI, but I can't.  Though I will say that what happened has left me feeling like I'd rather take the risk in the future of waiting at home for Ward 29 to have a bed, than end up back in ITU/HDU at RVI, even if that means I don't survive.  However, the RVI ITU/HDU matron is on the case, has been as reassuring as she can be, and has told me that if/when I'm in her unit again I'm to have the staff tell her that I'm there.  W has also said that if at all possible (i.e. if she's not working the following day), she will not leave me alone in the unit again.  I think that's probably all I can say about it.  Sorry to be evasive, but I feel I should be at least a little cautious about how much I say.

The next step is to get off the oxygen.  It shouldn't be too difficult as I'm only on a trickle of 2 litres now, and as I've said, my progress does feel much steadier now.  I've even been out for a proper trundle in the park today, with Dad pushing the wheelchair.

Nobody has yet mentioned home, but providing things continue as they are then I'm anticipating discharge by the end of the week, maybe Friday.  In my head it's Friday, anyway, though I haven't mooted the idea with anyone yet either.  I might do tomorrow.  Actually, these days the medics tend to leave it to me to tell them when I'm ready for discharge, and at the moment I think Friday is probably realistic.  Also, I have to get home by Saturday because the cat is terrified by fireworks so I need to get home to comfort him and most likely spend a large proportion of Saturday evening with his head stuck in my armpit as he tries to hide from the noise >^..^<  Bless him.  I miss him so much and can't wait to get home to him.  Here's hoping Friday is doable.

Good things

While I'm having a rough time physically at the moment I think I need to spend a bit of time thinking about the good things and appreciating the positives. It can be all too easy to get trapped in the misery cycle, and sometimes making space to think about what's good in life is enough of a pick up to keep motivated, so here's a little list of some of the good things in life:

• Friends. They are a wonderful gift and friendship is one of the most valuable things you can be given. I'm very lucky to have the amazing friends that I do.
• My slanket. This is my new favourite possession and I now firmly believe that every household should have at least one.
• The cat - Zach. He's completely nuts so keeps me entertained; is very cuddley (when he's not eating me!); and is great company.
• A long lazy bath and freshly pumiced feet. Ah, the little things...
• Heinz baked beans - the tasty, nutritious, Becky-friendly standby when cooking is too much to think about (I had them for tea tonight).
• My nephews. The oldest one is three today and I spoke to him on the phone this evening. Both he and his brother (who's fourteen months old) never fail to make me smile :o)
• Books. They feel good; they smell good; and they're easy to get lost in.
• BBC Radio 4. It's an education. It's funny. It's interesting. It's dramatic. It's entertaining. Sometimes it can even be a little boring :oO but I listen to it anyway and often learn something.
• Pyjamas - sheer comfort.
• Music. I love listening to it and love making it. I managed to get to Christmas Choir practise last night and it was fantastic to be able to sing again for a bit. I was completely wiped out afterwards and today, but it was worth it.
• Wednesday mornings when my carer comes. Once I've let her in the flat she usually sends me back to bed either to sleep or to listen to the radio and drink the cup of coffee that she always makes me as soon as she arrives.
• Good neighbours. For many years I had horrendous neighbours in the flat above, but for the past three years or so I've had a lovely couple living above me, who keep an eye on me and always ask if there's anything they can do to help.
• Creativity. I love it that I can do arts and crafts, and get pleasure from making things for people. I made my nephew's birthday card the other night and was really pleased with the result, but the real joy was that he liked it too and made a point of thanking me for it (and 'all the lovely birthday parcels') on the phone this evening :o)
• An active mind. Sometimes when the body isn't up to much it can be frustrating to have such an active mind as I want to be doing all the stuff that I'm thinking about, but mostly it's good. It keeps me occupied. It keeps me interested in life, and life beyond myself. It gives me the ability to read and enjoy all sorts of things.
• Comedy. I love a good laugh. I should sort out another trip to the Hyena Comedy Cafe with friends. It's not exactly cheap, but it's good fun ... maybe something to do in the long, dark days after New Year to help us giggle our way towards spring.
• Better deals on utilities. I had a call from Virgin Mobile yesterday offering me a better package on my mobile phone than the one I already have with them - more minutes, more free texts, less money, and 3 months completely free as I was happy to keep the handset I've got. Hurrah!
• Hot chocolate. Mmmmmmmmmmmm.

Ya see? Life's okay really. Sure, my body's not working very well at the moment, but all in all I do okay, with the best of people and the best of things - both big and small - that keep me ticking over. I have a heck of a lot more than a lot of people in the world, and for that I'm grateful.

What are you thankful for in your life? Maybe we can remind each other of some of the things that we take for granted but really ought to take more notice of.

A bit of a mix

I'm home. I got home on Tuesday evening after a lengthy wait for some of my meds that had inadvertently been left by the pharmacy hatch rather than being sent up to the ward. They'd been ready for three hours when they were finally located and then collected. Oh well, such is life. I never expect a quick getaway from hospital so I just get on with the wait and while away the time (or should that be 'wile'?). Anyway, I got home in the end and it's great to be here. The cat has been ever so cuddly >^..^< It's wonderful to be in my own surroundings with my own things and no hospital clatter :o) The only thing is that I'm exhausted and finding it hard work being at home too. My lungs aren't fairing too badly given how recently I've been discharged. The main problem is the anaemia and the iron. It's wonderful that the pharmacist managed to find a preparation of iron that I'm not allergic to, but I am having other side-effects - gastrointestinal effects that are getting me quite dehydrated, even though I'm trying to drink loads of water. I'm told these effects should wear off fairly soon, but in the meantime it's not pleasant and isn't helping me achieve a general feeling of wellness. And there's the anaemia itself. My Hb was still around 8 when I was discharged, which was a bit controversial, but as I have a suppressed immune system, and I'm a sitting target for infection the longer I'm in hospital, it was thought that I'd probably be better off at home. I agree, except that I don't feel great and I can't do very much of anything ... even staying upright is a bit of a challenge at times so I'm spending a lot of time sofa surfing and thinking about doing some study to catch up, but I don't have the mental energy to concentrate :o( I must get my head around some study at some point though, because I'm getting quite behind with my course now. I'm hoping that the gastro effects of the iron will soon sort themselves out, and that then I'll feel a bit better in that respect. The iron will take several weeks to have full effect on my Hb (so I'm told), but I should hopefully begin to feel some benefit much before then. I have to go for blood tests at my GP surgery the week after next to check that my Hb is starting to come up, and if it isn't then they're to look closer into the cause of my anaemia, but I sincerely hope that things are significantly improved.

One of the very disappointing things of this whole situation is that there's no way that I'm going to be up to doing my gym marathon on 25th. I know it was an (over) ambitious date to set in the first place, but I needed to set a new date when I did ... and now I'm going to need to set another one. This is something I desperately want to do, and I will do, but I'm not going to be stupid and do myself in in the process. I want to do it before Christmas, and I want to do it before the pre-Christmas craziness gets too crazy, so I'm now proposing to do it on 15th December. This gives me four and a half weeks from now to get back on track with health and fitness, and is hopefully more realistic than 25th November. I am disappointed, but I know that I'll do it, and in the end there'll be an even greater sense of achievement. Oh, and it gives people more time to sponsor me, or donate through my Just Giving page.

So yeah, a bit of a mix - it's great to be home. It's great to have my creature comforts and be with my little black creature (the cat). It's not so great feeling not so great and being so worn out. I'll press on and come through in the end, and while I wait I'll snuggle up in my cosy new slanket that I'm loving :o)

Flagging

I think I need to be reminded that I'm only a week out of hospital, and therefore need not to be pushing myself quite as hard as I am. Whilst I'm getting very little physical exertion, my brain is spending all day in the revision gym and it's beginning to get over-heated. The problem is that my exam is only two and a bit weeks away, and my recent hospital admission ate a hefty bite out of my revision time, so I have a lot to do in a very short space of time. I know that ultimately it's counter-productive to over-work, but I do have to get my head around the concepts/critics/poems/plays/prose etc that are going to be in the exam. I have spent today analysing four poems by three Romantic poets, and trying to learn snippets of the poems that give the essence of them. It's hard! I have poetry stuck to the walls around the house (Wordsworth's 'Tintern Abbey' is next to the toilet. I wonder what he'd say to that!). I have the basic concepts of the Romantic poets stuck up on the food cupboards in the kitchen - they're getting up close and personal with the lentils - and the critics/theorists of the Realist novel stuck on the tea cupboard where they can have a drink while they ponder. You see, I can tell you where they are, but can I tell you what they say? ... erm ... not really. Maybe I'll end up writing in my exam that 'I cannot remember what the critic Kettle said about the Realist novel (something to do with it's value being in its contribution to human freedom????), but he is stuck up on my kitchen cupboard above the kettle, waiting for a cup of tea.' ... P'raps not.

I'm rambling. It's a sure sign of scrambled brain syndrome. Anyone fancy doing my exam for me? Any English professors out there who want to do my exam for me? That'd be most helpful.

On a completely different subject, Nipper is trying on a name for size - Daniel. It might not fit, in which case he might well try on Jacob, but his mummy and daddy are going to see how he looks in Daniel for a few days :o)

I can't believe it's only 8:25pm. I'm whacked. I could go to bed, but then I'd probably end up waking up even earlier and sleep isn't happening much at the moment anyway. I think that's down to a combination of exam stress and lungs being a bit more grumpy, because of my slight coldiness, but whatever it is I don't like it - I don't like mornings. Mornings are too early in the day.

Oh grumble, grumble, moan, whinge, grumble ;oP

Right then, I'll wander off and bother the cat. He's been trying to sit on me all day and hasn't understood that it's not helpful to sit on your slave when they're trying to study.

>^..^<

No see of IC

This is Imposter Cat. He's a difficult subject to take a decent photo off, because he has a tendency to come out as two glowing, yellow circles near the top of a mass of indescript black, as his immense furriness hides most of his feline features. So this was the best I could do, and it was taken shortly before I went into hospital. While I was in hospital my friend J, who was feeding Zach, made an attempt at catching Imposter Cat to take him to the dog and cat shelter. He didn't manage to get hold of him and bundle him into the cat basket, but since I've been home I haven't seen IC. I've heard him sneak in through the cat-flap once or twice, but he seems to have become more nervous again and isn't hanging around. This is very good news for Zach, whose now much happier again.
...

So this is a very relaxed Zach, stretched out in front of the fire and generally looking very happy, don't you think? As I say, he's a lot more relaxed now that IC hasn't been around so much. Even when there have been the tell-tale clatterings of the cat-flap, suggesting that IC is poking his nose through the door, or trying to sneak in to steal Zach's food, Zach has regained his courage. He's rushed to the kitchen to see who the intruder is and has then seen them off, which is how it should be, but he'd got all nervy and unhappy when IC was making himself so comfortable here. I'm still not convinced we've seen the last of Imposter Cat, so I may yet have to try catching him myself to take him to the dog and cat shelter, but for now I shall enjoy having a more settled Zach again, and Zach can enjoy feeling safe and secure in his own home.

Absence explained

If you're a regular reader and have been missing regular new posts I'd like to apologise for my long absence. After the bad night I wrote about in my last entry I had another bad night, with the lungs and also sickness, and I ended up in hospital again. The sickness had been going on for a few days before I went in, and this meant that I couldn't keep down the medication that keeps me breathing, which is how come my lungs went splat. The sickness continued for two weeks of my hospital admission, with me unable to keep any food down and only a few of my meds from the beginning of this week. It was only on Monday or Tuesday that I started to be able to keep down food, and Thursday when I was finally able to hold onto all my meds, so it's been a long and horrible haul.

So things went really wrong on the Tuesday (I think that was 5th February). I phoned the ward I usually go to, but they had no beds. However, just from talking to me (or rather, hearing me really struggle as I tried to say single words to them) the nurse could tell that I needed help quickly and called 999 for a blue-light ambulance, but even in the time it took for the ambulance to arrive I sunk fast and was very ill by the time the paramedics arrived. I was taken to A&E where they put me on the infusion of aminophylline (the drug that usually eventually works for me) I needed, and is recommended by my consultant in a letter from him that I carry with me at all times. There is another drug that many asthmatics having a severe attack have - magnesium - but it's a sulphate and I'm allergic to sulphates so cannot have this, which rather limits what the doctors can do for me. Anyway, they started the aminophylline, kept me in resus for a couple of hours and then transferred me to the EAU's (Emergency Admissions Unit) resus at one of the other hospitals. I stayed in that ward all night, fighting for breath, being sick, unable to sleep or relax or help my desperate battle to stay alive. I was exhausted, but not quite ill enough to be ventilated on ITU. I was though transferred to the EAU's HDU (High Dependency Unit) ward, where I had another long day, long, wakeful though exhausted night, and continued battle for breath. My breathing very gradually improved from critical to bad, although the sickness continued and as I was getting quite dehydrated another infusion of fluids was started. Half way through the Thursday a bed became available at my usual ward at one of the other hospitals in the city, and I was able to be transferred.

It's always a relief to get to my usual ward - 29 - because they know me so well, know the severity and unpredictability of my asthma and what helps. This isn't to say that other hospitals/wards/doctors/nurses can't treat me as well, but if they don't know me and my lungs, there can be difficulties, and that doesn't instill confidence. Because of the terrible state that I get into with my asthma, and the terrifyingly rapid decline that can occur, doctors who don't know me often get frightened, and this was the case at the EAU. I much prefer that I'm kept in the picture and medics tell me what they're thinking, but it's hard when they tell you that they're running out of options ... very hard ... and scary. The EAU consulatant told me this, and also that he was reluctant to put me on a ventilator because he wasn't convinced I'd manage to get off it alive. I had no choice but to fight on alone. It's such hard work and so very lonely, because, despite being constantly surrounded by doctors and nurses, I'm unable to breathe enough to speak. I can't tell them I'm frightened. I daren't cry out my fear with tears as this will only make breathing harder. I don't have the breath or the energy to react to pain when they do the painful arterial blood tests that check various things including my oxygen and carbon dioxide levels. I am a thing that's there to be fixed, and at the disposal of any medic who comes along, who will do what they need to keep me alive. I know they're trying to help. I don't resent them, but I sometimes resent my situation and the isolation within the company. I know what to expect and I'm used to the routine, but I don't think I'll ever get used to the possibility of imminent death and the fight to stay alive. This is probably where my fight comes from - a refusal to accept it as normal, even though it's a frequent occurance in my life - and I am a stronger person for it, I'm sure, but I don't like it and I dread each attack as I feel it coming on.

Well, yet again despite the odds I have survived, and now I am back home. My breathing is better than it was, although not fantastic, and although I haven't been sick for several days now I still have a fair bit of nausea and some abdominal pain. I don't think I'm as 'well' as I usually am when I get out of hospital, and my consultant would've preferred it if I'd stayed in over the weekend, but having got to this stage of betterness it was agreed that I could do the rest of my recuperation at home. After all, several of the medications I take for my lungs suppress my immune system, and while hospital is a good place to be when you need it, it's not a good place to be in terms of picking up nasty bugs. The longer I stay there, the more chance there is of getting an HAI (Hospital Acquired Infection), and when I do that I tend to do it in style. I will need to take things very easy and remember that while my mind may be willing (although it's surprisingly frazzled today), my body isn't. Two weeks of not being able to eat and having only 188 calories a day dripped into your veins over 10-12 hours does nothing for your energy levels, and three weeks lying in bed does nothing for muscle tone. Needless to say, I am very feak and weeble. However, being back at home, surrounded by my own things, getting cuddles from the cat, with peace and quite rather the constant busyness of a hospital ward is all great.

The one thing I have done today, other than sofa surfing, has been to go and buy a Nintendo DS. Often when I've been in hospital I've thought that it'd be good to have some mindless distraction when I'm at the stage of being able to concentrate on anything besides breathing or sleeping, but some how I've never quite got around to treating myself to the games system that might help provide this distraction and time-passing. In anticipation of this recovery time probably being longer than average I decided to go for it ... even though I nearly passed out from the effort while I was in the shop, which was an indicator that I needed to finish my trip and get home. I've had fun this evening lying here slobbed out on the sofa, with the cat on my knee, playing various games and then spending silly amounts online buying more games, most of which should arrive next week.

Now I think it's time to head towards bed ... but quite possibly with my new Nintendo in hand, and no doubt with the cat following as he seems to have velcroed himself to me since I got home yesterday evening >^..^<

Taking liberties

I was woken this morning by the sound of the television mumbling away in the living room. This is a little unnerving when you live alone and you know that you've been tucked up in bed asleep. Once I'd come round enough to realise that the TV was on and I hadn't fallen asleep in front of it, I staggered out of my pit and wandered into the living room, whereupon I discovered Imposter Cat lounged comfortably on the settee again. Obviously, feeling very much at home now, Imposter Cat had decided that a spot of breakfast news on the telly was just the thing for a Sunday morning. I disagreed, especially as this decision had been made by an uninvited guest. I reached over to get the remote control, which caused Imposter Cat to lose his concentration on the TV, and, I have to say, he looked most disgruntled when I turned it off. Then it was as if he'd suddenly remembered that he wasn't supposed to be looking quite so comfortable, and he slunk off the sofa and scurried out of the cat flap. I went back to bed. However, Imposter Cat was stretched out on the sofa again when I got up for the second time this morning, though he didn't look quite so comfortable to have been discovered slobbing out for the second time in one morning. He made a sharp exit, but stayed sat outside the cat flap while I fed Zach, looking as though he was wandering when he'd be able to come in and steal Zach's food. No more imposition as yet, but I'd lay bets on Imposter Cat making a reappearance before the day's out.

Imposter Cat

Apologies again for the rather long time between postings. I've had a busy week finishing off the final assignment for my OU play writing course, but that's all done and sent off now, which makes me a very happy bunny (hoppity-hop). I'm also very happy because I collected my shiny new car yesterday, which is just gorgeous, and I love it, and I've called it Tommy Crotchet.

Anyway, I was going to write about Imposter Cat.

Zach (my cat) has been rather put out recently by the sudden appearance of Imposter Cat. I don't know where its home is, or which of my neighbours he owns, but a very long-haired, long-bodied, black ball of fluff of the feline variety has been coming in through Zach's cat flap. Imposter Cat has also been eating all of Zach's food, which has meant that Zach has become rather hungry, and also a little nervous when he's eating in case Imposter Cat comes in and tries to push him out of the way. This hasn't happened yet, but Zach looks like he's thinking this worry to himself.

I woke up in the middle of the night about a week ago almost convinced that someone was in the house. I know Zach's little padding footsteps, and the tappety-tap of his claws on the wooden floor, but the sound I heard didn't equate with what I know to be Zach's movements. After lying awake for a couple of minutes wondering what to do, I became aware of a very catty smell. Zach doesn't smell, so at first I wondered where he'd been or what he'd been up to to get to smelling like this (funny how this kind of thing can distract you from the thought that you might be being burgled or close to being murdered in your bed! ;oP ). Anyway, I turned over (I'd had my back to the door) and saw four yellow eyes shining back at me through the dark. This was something of a surprise, but also gave me answers to both of my queries. I wasn't being burgled. Zach hadn't been rolling around in smelly muck. I had an imposter of the feline variety, but it was in my bedroom! Imposter Cat was sitting in the middle of the bedroom, whilst Zach was standing at the door making strange 'get out of my house' yowls and hisses. I turned the bedside light on, at which point Imposter Cat got very scared and didn't know whether to look scared at me or scared at the cat. Actually, it looked so scaredy that I wanted to comfort it, but my movement towards him/her scared it silly and it risked rushing past Zach and made a sharp exit through the flat and through the cat flap, back into the wet outside world. Zach looked rather pleased with himself, if a little put out at Imposter Cat's intrusion onto his property.

Two mornings later, when I got up and walked into the living room, Imposter Cat was lying stretched out on the sofa in the living room, and was looking rather too comfortable for one in someone else's house into which they hadn't been invited. He stopped looking comfortable as soon as he saw me, and scurried as quickly as he could out through the kitchen and dashing through the cat flap. (As an aside, how come cats don't seem to get headaches from diving through cat flaps at great speed?).

As Imposter Cat is making such regular visits (and I've just heard him poke his nose through the cat flap as I type), and gobbling up Zach's food each time, I've had to move Zach's food dish into the hall - the furthest point from the cat flap before reaching my bedroom. This seems to have stopped it coming in so much through the day - when I'm in, at least. Who knows what cats do when they can't be seen by humans - but I have heard it creep in and then crunch noisily on the food in the bowl outside my bedroom door. And the give away that it's not Zach? He's usually asleep on the end of my bed. What cunning powers of deduction I have, don't you think?

So anyway, Zach's been rather upset by the whole thing, as I'm sure you can imagine with cat's being so terratorial. In fact he came sauntering in the other day, through the cat flap, through the kitchen and into the living, and he had that look on his face which says, 'I'm a cat and I need a new experience. What shall I do? I've tried tasting houmous. I've tried licking the bathroom radiator. What new experience would be good to try? I know, I'll pee on the wall.' That is exactly what he did - he made his way across the living room, giving over an air of 'I'm the king of this castle, just let me show you,' and promptly peed on the wall under the window! This is something he's never done before and I certainly hope it's not something he'll decide to do on a regular occurance. I'm so pleased this isn't an activity that we humans do to mark our territory. I'm much more in favour of putting up a fence around the garden and having a front door, than peeing on our property's perimeter.

I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do about Imposter Cat. At the moment I'm hoping that it'll just stop coming in and making Zach all nervy, but I'm not convinced that strategy is going to work. I may have to come up with a cunning plan.

A First Entry

This is my first entry, which is obvious as this is the first post on the blog - duh! Anyway, I thought I'd get started after the idea of beginning a blog came to me during my latest hospital admission.

I got home yesterday evening after an eleven day stay at my usual hospital, where I have direct access to the respiratory ward. It's a weird life going in and out of hospital all the time (every few weeks really), and keeps one oddly dependent on others for the most basic of things. I resent it sometime, although I always fully appreciate all that the medics and nursing staff do for me ... it's more the need to be reliant on them that can get to me, rather than anything else, but I've come to realise that there's no point in dwelling on the negativity of the situation, because that only makes the whole thing so much more miserable. It's much better to allow the gloomy times to have their time when they come, but to get on making the most of life the rest of the time. This has been no easy learning curve for me, and in my time I have suffered from the most debilitating depression, at times requiring admission into mental health units, but these days I'm lucky enough to have broken free of the jaws of that particular beast.

So anyway, as I said before, I'm fresh out of the resp ward of my local hospital where I am a regular. It's great to be back home, but I've had to take things easy today because my lungs have been feeling a little grumpy, despite their recent reminder on what they're supposed to do. I've been lying on the sofa most of the day (sofa surfing, so i call it), which is really rather dull, but better sofa surfing than hospital bed surfing :o) The cat, Zach, has pinned me down and refused to let me out of his sight. He puts up with a lot with me disappearing on and off for a week or more at a time, so it's little wonder he's ... emotionally challenged. It's lovely to have his company though, and lovely to feel unconditionally loved, even if it is by the cat >^..^<

This has been a bit of a ramble, and rather disjointed, but hopefully subsequent posts will be more coherent. I'll sign off for now though, have a play with the rest of the site, and then head to bed.