It's way over time since I blogged. Sorry about that, but here I am now. Since I was last here I think I've got used to the idea of being discharged from the mental health services ... sort of, though I still haven't heard anything from health psychology. Next week will be the four week marker since my GP said he'd refer me, so I guess if I haven't heard anything by then it might be an idea to get back to my GP and ask if he can chase it up, seeing as he'd said I should hear within four weeks.
I've been somewhat distracted from all the mental health stuff recently, which is probably no bad thing, except that the distraction has been carpal tunnel syndrome surgery on my left hand. You may remember that I had the same surgery on the right hand at the beginning of December, which has pretty much healed now. I can still feel some stiffness in the area of the surgery and some slightly altered sensation around the scar, but mostly it's pretty good and the scar is hardly visible. I had the same operation done on the left hand last Thursday (15th March). I had to be at the hospital for 8am so W, who was going to be looking after me in the immediate aftermath, came to stay on the Wednesday night. We actually had a really lovely evening as we went for an early pizza at the Italian restaurant down the road - Vincenzo's (used to be called Peppy's) - before going to Northern Stage to see the comedian Chris Addison, who was very funny. It was just what I needed to take my mind of the next day's surgery :o)
All went well with the surgery, although I had to wait until the end of the operating list because of being MRSA positive, so I didn't actually go down to theatre until just after midday. However, I was back on the ward by 12.50pm and we were back home by 2pm!
As was the case when I had the surgery on my right hand, I've had quite a lot of pain, but I've mostly kept it under control with paracetamol, codeine, and nefopam. Today has been the first day without the sling, and it's been great to have a bit more freedom, although my hand and arm have been quite achy.
So anyway, W was brilliant and looked after me wonderfully all day Thursday and she stayed until Friday evening. My mum then came from Friday evening until Tuesday afternoon, and it was so lovely to spend some quality time with her while I'm not in hospital. It was also very lovely to have her here on Mothering Sunday :o) My dad came round for lunch on the Saturday as well, which was also very lovely. Mum had made roasted red pepper and sweet potato soup, cheese scones, and courgette and cheese muffins, which were all delicious :o) After we'd enjoyed the little feast the three of us went for a walk/trundle in one of the local parks, then came back for a cup of tea before Mum took Dad back home. My parents split up when I was nine years old, and for many years they had a volatile relationship after that. Lovely times with both my parents (especially just with the three of us) have been a rarity in my life, and it may well be something like thirty years since I've had such a lovely time with them on my own as I had on Saturday. It felt special somehow. My parents have known each other since they were sixteen years old, and I think they both enjoyed talking about those young days together...
I hope we can all do it again sometime.
Mum and I had been going to go out to a National Trust place on Sunday - to Gibside - but Mum had also wanted to catch up with one of her friends and the only time this friend could manage was sometime on Sunday afternoon. Still, we went for a walk/trundle in the park and had a nice time together. And on Monday evening we went to a talk at the university by Tess Gallagher, which was very interesting and good fun too.
During her stay here Mum did a lot of crochet, using one of two books that I gave her for Christmas. She's been teaching herself and has learnt a lot in such a short time. She's making various tray-cloths etc at the moment while she teaches herself and practises new stitches/patterns. They're amazing, and she makes them so quickly. It made me want to get on with some more cross-stitch. I ended up buying several online, which were all delivered while Mum was here, and now I'm desperate to be getting on with them. It's difficult with only one fully-functional hand, but I think I'm going to be giving it a go and seeing how I get on. I'm impatient!
Mum went home on Tuesday and I'm missing her already. It won't be long till I see her again though, as I'm going up to Edinburgh in a couple of weeks time for Easter :o) I booked my train at the beginning of last week and J, my step-dad, has booked the ramp for me to be able to get into their house, so we're all set :o)
Things are still in progress regarding my grant application to Motability. I've had a couple of phone calls from them, so I know they're considering my application, and I'm hoping that I might hear from them with an answer sometime next week. I'll let you know when I know.
Well that's about it for now. A bit of a catch up post.
Thursday, 22 March 2012
Sunday, 11 March 2012
Discharged
I've now had a chance to process my discharge appointment with the psychiatrist, and I suppose it went okay. It was amicable enough, which I'm pleased about because I am actually grateful for all that Dr T has done for me, and I do actually like her as a person even though I've felt let down by her in recent times. I didn't say to Dr T how surprised I've been by the rapid discharge, especially after explicitly saying in my letter to her that I was having a tough time, but I did say that I felt that 'low priority' had come to mean 'no priority'. She agreed that it had. I suppose it's good that she acknowledged that, but slightly shocking too.
Dr T spent some time talking about the pressures on the mental health services and some of the changes in the psychiatric services, in which it seems that it's only those with schizophrenia or bipolar disorder who remain under long-term care of a psychiatrist. Others, it seems, are given short-term intervention (perhaps as little as six sessions), discharged back to their primary care team, and readmitted to the psych services when they relapse. I said that I think this 'wait for them to relapse' approach was rather dangerous, and I find it somewhat alarming, although sadly not very surprising as my experiences with the mental health services over the years have been very erratic and, at times, very unsatisfactory. To be fair to Dr T, she didn't seem to think it was necessarily the best approach, but as one doctor in a faulty system she can't do anything about it.
Regarding my own situation, well ... I'm on my own now. No, not completely on my own, because I have good friends and my GP practice is very good, but for the first time in seventeen years I no longer have input from the psychiatric services and that feels rather odd. Good in some ways, but odd. I know that I have the referral to health psychology in progress, but I haven't yet heard anything about that, but then it's only 12 days since my GP said he'd refer me. Dr T said she thinks that health psychology is what I could probably do with, and I told her about the referral. She was pleased. I still feel that she should have instigated this referral herself and most definitely that she ought to have ensured that the support was in place before she'd discharged me, but I didn't say any of that. Perhaps I ought to have done. I suppose that one of the things that stopped me was that I was again rather shocked by her wishing me luck in finding 'appropriate support' for myself. I do think that should have been in her remit as my psychiatrist. She even said that I might need to be persistent and that it could take some energy to find the appropriate support. Where does she expect me to get this energy? How does she expect me to know where to go to push for the appropriate support? Sure, I can go to my GP, but what if they don't get anywhere themselves? It's all very strange.
When I came out of the appointment I felt ... I dunno, deflated ... a bit scared ... oddly liberated ... like a grown-up. That sounds very strange, doesn't it, but when you think about it, I've had input from a psychiatrist since I was twenty, which is barely adulthood. Having said that, the input has sometimes been more detrimental than helpful, and it's certainly been very erratic. I've lost count of how many psychiatrists have passed through the acute services here, but it must be something like fifteen in seventeen years. The shortest length of time I remember one psychiatrist staying was one week! There is no stability in the services, and that can be - and has been to me at times - detrimental to the well-being of the patients. So I guess this is another good reason for me to be out of it now.
Dr T had a student in with her. She did ask if that was okay and I consented because I have a general ethos that medical students need every opportunity to learn. However, I don't think I actually did myself any favours on this occasion. I didn't hold back from saying anything because the student was with us, but it does change the dynamics of any consultation and I really could have done with having the final meeting with my psychiatrist on my own with her. In some ways I'm annoyed with myself for agreeing to the student being present, but in someways I'm also annoyed with Dr T for not thinking that it might be important for me to have that final discharge appointment alone with her. It surprises me that a psychiatrist can appear to be lacking such insight ... but maybe it shouldn't...
You may have gathered that I'm still feeling rather confused by the whole thing. I don't know what my GP will think of it either, but I suspect that they'll all be surprised. They, after all, are the ones who would have to deal with any fall-out, and they are the ones who dealt with me during so many dreadful times of crisis in the past. Of course, I sincerely hope that I never ever end up in that awful situation again, but even though I've been depression-free for nine years, I still don't fully trust it. And I suppose that's the crux of my apprehension about being discharged from the psych services - fear that they'll be nobody to catch me if I fall...
I guess now is the time that find out if I've learnt to fly.
Dr T spent some time talking about the pressures on the mental health services and some of the changes in the psychiatric services, in which it seems that it's only those with schizophrenia or bipolar disorder who remain under long-term care of a psychiatrist. Others, it seems, are given short-term intervention (perhaps as little as six sessions), discharged back to their primary care team, and readmitted to the psych services when they relapse. I said that I think this 'wait for them to relapse' approach was rather dangerous, and I find it somewhat alarming, although sadly not very surprising as my experiences with the mental health services over the years have been very erratic and, at times, very unsatisfactory. To be fair to Dr T, she didn't seem to think it was necessarily the best approach, but as one doctor in a faulty system she can't do anything about it.
Regarding my own situation, well ... I'm on my own now. No, not completely on my own, because I have good friends and my GP practice is very good, but for the first time in seventeen years I no longer have input from the psychiatric services and that feels rather odd. Good in some ways, but odd. I know that I have the referral to health psychology in progress, but I haven't yet heard anything about that, but then it's only 12 days since my GP said he'd refer me. Dr T said she thinks that health psychology is what I could probably do with, and I told her about the referral. She was pleased. I still feel that she should have instigated this referral herself and most definitely that she ought to have ensured that the support was in place before she'd discharged me, but I didn't say any of that. Perhaps I ought to have done. I suppose that one of the things that stopped me was that I was again rather shocked by her wishing me luck in finding 'appropriate support' for myself. I do think that should have been in her remit as my psychiatrist. She even said that I might need to be persistent and that it could take some energy to find the appropriate support. Where does she expect me to get this energy? How does she expect me to know where to go to push for the appropriate support? Sure, I can go to my GP, but what if they don't get anywhere themselves? It's all very strange.
When I came out of the appointment I felt ... I dunno, deflated ... a bit scared ... oddly liberated ... like a grown-up. That sounds very strange, doesn't it, but when you think about it, I've had input from a psychiatrist since I was twenty, which is barely adulthood. Having said that, the input has sometimes been more detrimental than helpful, and it's certainly been very erratic. I've lost count of how many psychiatrists have passed through the acute services here, but it must be something like fifteen in seventeen years. The shortest length of time I remember one psychiatrist staying was one week! There is no stability in the services, and that can be - and has been to me at times - detrimental to the well-being of the patients. So I guess this is another good reason for me to be out of it now.
Dr T had a student in with her. She did ask if that was okay and I consented because I have a general ethos that medical students need every opportunity to learn. However, I don't think I actually did myself any favours on this occasion. I didn't hold back from saying anything because the student was with us, but it does change the dynamics of any consultation and I really could have done with having the final meeting with my psychiatrist on my own with her. In some ways I'm annoyed with myself for agreeing to the student being present, but in someways I'm also annoyed with Dr T for not thinking that it might be important for me to have that final discharge appointment alone with her. It surprises me that a psychiatrist can appear to be lacking such insight ... but maybe it shouldn't...
You may have gathered that I'm still feeling rather confused by the whole thing. I don't know what my GP will think of it either, but I suspect that they'll all be surprised. They, after all, are the ones who would have to deal with any fall-out, and they are the ones who dealt with me during so many dreadful times of crisis in the past. Of course, I sincerely hope that I never ever end up in that awful situation again, but even though I've been depression-free for nine years, I still don't fully trust it. And I suppose that's the crux of my apprehension about being discharged from the psych services - fear that they'll be nobody to catch me if I fall...
I guess now is the time that find out if I've learnt to fly.
Monday, 5 March 2012
In correspondence
On Friday I got a letter from my psychiatrist in response to the letter I'd written her. I was actually quite surprised to hear back from her, and in some respects surprised by her response.
In my letter I had told her about how stressful I've found the time since my last appointment with her in respects to my physical health, and went into some detail about the various admissions that I've had since the beginning of October. I also told her that I was finding things quite difficult at the moment and had been relying upon the appointment with her that she cancelled, and that I was unhappy about having to wait until 21st March for a replacement appointment. I reminded her that she'd originally said she'd see me every six weeks and pointed out that times between appointments have gradually lengthened and lengthened until the most recent gap would, after the latest cancellation, make it five and a half months. I did say that perhaps I don't need to be seen as often as six weekly, and that I know I'm low priority as I haven't been mentally ill (a normal stress response to life threatening situations isn't mental illness) for many years now. The latter is fantastic and I feel very privileged to have regained my mental health after so many years of such terrible depression, but the psychiatrist had said that she would try to fill the gap left by the lack of any other support for people in my situation. The gap isn't being filled though and I thought she ought to know that.
In the letter I got in response to mine, one of the things the psychiatrist says is that my expectations of what she can provide are too high. This puzzles me as I've only ever expected to receive from her what she said she would provide. She reiterates that I have shown no signs of mental illness whilst I've been under her care and am therefore low priority, which is fair enough, but I do feel that 'low priority' should not come to mean 'no priority'. I had said in my letter to her that I understood that this recent cancellation was due to an emergency and I understand that emergencies must take priority, but I did also say that this is not the first appointment of mine (by a long way) to be cancelled and that at the moment I do need the support. She responded by stating again that this emergency needed to be prioritised.
Towards to the end of my letter to the psychiatrist I had said that either the support that had been promised should be provided or, in light of the lack of mental illness, then I ought to be discharged because repeatedly being let down is more stressful than no support at all. The psychiatrist has opted to discharge me.
I was sincere in what I said about discharge, and in some ways it's very encouraging and very positive that she thinks I'm well enough to be discharged from the psychiatric services. In other ways it seems like an odd time for her to discharge me, when I've just said that I've been having a stressful time and in need of support...
She says in her letter that she still feels that Health Psychology would be of benefit to me, but she hasn't made any moves towards referring me on to them, and she knows nothing of the referral my GP made to them last week.
I'm a little confused about how I feel about all this. My discharge appointment with her is at 10.30 tomorrow morning.
In my letter I had told her about how stressful I've found the time since my last appointment with her in respects to my physical health, and went into some detail about the various admissions that I've had since the beginning of October. I also told her that I was finding things quite difficult at the moment and had been relying upon the appointment with her that she cancelled, and that I was unhappy about having to wait until 21st March for a replacement appointment. I reminded her that she'd originally said she'd see me every six weeks and pointed out that times between appointments have gradually lengthened and lengthened until the most recent gap would, after the latest cancellation, make it five and a half months. I did say that perhaps I don't need to be seen as often as six weekly, and that I know I'm low priority as I haven't been mentally ill (a normal stress response to life threatening situations isn't mental illness) for many years now. The latter is fantastic and I feel very privileged to have regained my mental health after so many years of such terrible depression, but the psychiatrist had said that she would try to fill the gap left by the lack of any other support for people in my situation. The gap isn't being filled though and I thought she ought to know that.
In the letter I got in response to mine, one of the things the psychiatrist says is that my expectations of what she can provide are too high. This puzzles me as I've only ever expected to receive from her what she said she would provide. She reiterates that I have shown no signs of mental illness whilst I've been under her care and am therefore low priority, which is fair enough, but I do feel that 'low priority' should not come to mean 'no priority'. I had said in my letter to her that I understood that this recent cancellation was due to an emergency and I understand that emergencies must take priority, but I did also say that this is not the first appointment of mine (by a long way) to be cancelled and that at the moment I do need the support. She responded by stating again that this emergency needed to be prioritised.
Towards to the end of my letter to the psychiatrist I had said that either the support that had been promised should be provided or, in light of the lack of mental illness, then I ought to be discharged because repeatedly being let down is more stressful than no support at all. The psychiatrist has opted to discharge me.
I was sincere in what I said about discharge, and in some ways it's very encouraging and very positive that she thinks I'm well enough to be discharged from the psychiatric services. In other ways it seems like an odd time for her to discharge me, when I've just said that I've been having a stressful time and in need of support...
She says in her letter that she still feels that Health Psychology would be of benefit to me, but she hasn't made any moves towards referring me on to them, and she knows nothing of the referral my GP made to them last week.
I'm a little confused about how I feel about all this. My discharge appointment with her is at 10.30 tomorrow morning.
Thursday, 1 March 2012
Contemplation
If I'm honest, I'm finding things difficult at the moment. I still enjoy the things that I do, but I'm so tired and get exhausted so easily, it's difficult to stay as positive as I'd like, perhaps because there's so much more that I'd like to be doing. It also doesn't help that since coming out of hospital I've had to have yet another course of antibiotics, which have played havoc with my insides, so that's added to the grottiness alongside the beginnings of the infection for which the antibiotics were prescribed.
Then there's the whole new car thing. It's good that there is the possibility of a new car, and it's good that Taz will be able to go into whatever new car I get, but the fact that I need a car that will take Taz is difficult to get my head around because it signifies another decline in my health. Yes, I know that it will open up my independence again, and that will undoubtedly be good for my mental health, but I find it hard to think that it's come to this, that I have so little mobility now. It's not just the asthma, it's the POTS too. It's the combination of the two. It's all the other bits of me that are letting me down too, and in combination with the asthma and the POTS. None of this is what I expected from life...
I've been filling in the forms for a grant from Motability towards the cost of a new car and the powered ramp that I'll be needing. The forms necessarily make one concentrate on all the things that one can't do, nowhere near as much as DLA forms, but still, the focus is on how your body fails you ... and to some degree, what few prospects you have, I have... Okay, so I'm hoping to be able to develop my writing, finish writing the book I've started about my experiences of asthma and hospital, get published, but what about all the things in life that I'd hope for ... like family, children. That is the biggest sadness for me - that I don't have children. I always imagined, and hoped, that I'd have maybe four children and a loving husband, but instead I have no children and no hint of a relationship. I might not be the most physically attractive woman on Earth, what with being overweight, but I'm not the ugliest either, and I think I probably have a lot to offer in personality, but the truth is that chronic illness and repeated near-death is not attractive. That is something I can do nothing about.
There are so many things that I would love to have done and would love to see as possibilities in my future. So many things that there's no way I'll do. The impact on my life of the asthma and everything else has been enormous ... devastating in some respects, even though it's given me different opportunities as a result of having lost the chance of some many other opportunities. It's tough. Most of the time I get on with it, and I appreciate all the things I can do and all the things that I do have, but sometimes the reality of the losses hits hard.
Some time ago now I asked for a referral to the health psychologist attached to the difficult asthma clinic run by my consultant so that I could have some support for the impact that the asthma has had on my life. After a long wait I had the assessment meeting, which I had to go to from the ward as I was an in-patient at the time. I wasn't feeling great either physically or emotionally, but as I knew that I'd have the rest of the admission to get through, I had to hold myself together to a certain extent, which perhaps didn't do me any favours.
A lot of years ago now I suffered from terrible, debilitating depression, and for nine years of that time I saw a clincial psychologist from the health psychology department. L was incredibly patient with me and a fantastic support, seeing me through the worst depression of my life, and ultimately all the way through the other side of it. I had come through a lot, somewhat unexpectedly. But the things that caused that terrible, awful, horrendous depression weren't the things of chronic illness. Unfortunately, the health psychologist attached to the difficult asthma clinic didn't recognise that. She had read my notes from all those years ago and saw how far I'd come, without any acknowledgement of how my physical health has deteriorated since then, so I got a verbal pat on the back for having come so far and sent on my way with no offer of support. It was far from satisfactory, and it also surprised both my GP and my psychiatrist. The psychiatrist has said that I don't really need the psychiatric services any more as my mental health is generally good these days, and has been so since 2003, but she has also said that as there doesn't seem to be anybody else who is willing/able to give me the support I need to cope with repeated life-threatening asthma attacks, and all the other health problems I have, then she will continue to see me. At first she had said that she'd see me every six weeks, but gradually that support has waned and it is now four and a half months since I last saw her. I was supposed to have an appointment with her on Monday last week, but she cancelled on me, and not for the first time. The replacement appointment isn't until the middle-end of March, and to be honest I don't feel very supported by her at all any more. I wrote to her last week expressing my dissatisfaction, but I don't suppose I'll hear anything from her before the rescheduled appointment.
I had to go to see my GP on Monday. I told him about the cancelled the psychiatrist appointment, and I also mentioned, almost in passing, that I'm feeling a bit low at the moment, finding the chronic ill-health difficult, and the impact it's had/having on my life tough. He asked if I'd ever seen a clinical psychologist from the health psychology department so I told him about my years of seeing L, and I told him about the assessment by the health psychologist at the difficult asthma clinic. He immediately suggested a referral back to health psychology, but to the department rather than to the difficult asthma clinic. I agreed that it might be helpful, although I'm a little nervous that I might end up seeing the person who I saw at the difficult asthma clinic and who was a great deal less than helpful on that occasion. The GP - Dr Cg - said it'd probably be about a four week wait and asked me if that would be okay. I thought it would be okay, but he said that if I changed my mind and I needed to be seen sooner then I should get back to him and he'd speed things up for me. I am so lucky to have such great GPs. There are five or six GPs at the surgery I go to and I have complete confidence in all of them. Anyway, I'm now waiting for that referral to come through and to receive an appointment in the post. For all that I'm reluctant in some ways to go back to therapy, I think that perhaps I need something at the moment. I am struggling a bit and I know that I can't afford to let it get anywhere close to depression, so I suppose the first step in managing it is realising that I need more professional support than I'm currently getting and to accept that support now that the opportunity has been offered. Who knows what will happen at the assessment appointment, but I need to make it clear to whoever I see that the issues I have now are very different from those I dealt with when I saw L nine years ago. This is about now and the future.
Then there's the whole new car thing. It's good that there is the possibility of a new car, and it's good that Taz will be able to go into whatever new car I get, but the fact that I need a car that will take Taz is difficult to get my head around because it signifies another decline in my health. Yes, I know that it will open up my independence again, and that will undoubtedly be good for my mental health, but I find it hard to think that it's come to this, that I have so little mobility now. It's not just the asthma, it's the POTS too. It's the combination of the two. It's all the other bits of me that are letting me down too, and in combination with the asthma and the POTS. None of this is what I expected from life...
I've been filling in the forms for a grant from Motability towards the cost of a new car and the powered ramp that I'll be needing. The forms necessarily make one concentrate on all the things that one can't do, nowhere near as much as DLA forms, but still, the focus is on how your body fails you ... and to some degree, what few prospects you have, I have... Okay, so I'm hoping to be able to develop my writing, finish writing the book I've started about my experiences of asthma and hospital, get published, but what about all the things in life that I'd hope for ... like family, children. That is the biggest sadness for me - that I don't have children. I always imagined, and hoped, that I'd have maybe four children and a loving husband, but instead I have no children and no hint of a relationship. I might not be the most physically attractive woman on Earth, what with being overweight, but I'm not the ugliest either, and I think I probably have a lot to offer in personality, but the truth is that chronic illness and repeated near-death is not attractive. That is something I can do nothing about.
There are so many things that I would love to have done and would love to see as possibilities in my future. So many things that there's no way I'll do. The impact on my life of the asthma and everything else has been enormous ... devastating in some respects, even though it's given me different opportunities as a result of having lost the chance of some many other opportunities. It's tough. Most of the time I get on with it, and I appreciate all the things I can do and all the things that I do have, but sometimes the reality of the losses hits hard.
Some time ago now I asked for a referral to the health psychologist attached to the difficult asthma clinic run by my consultant so that I could have some support for the impact that the asthma has had on my life. After a long wait I had the assessment meeting, which I had to go to from the ward as I was an in-patient at the time. I wasn't feeling great either physically or emotionally, but as I knew that I'd have the rest of the admission to get through, I had to hold myself together to a certain extent, which perhaps didn't do me any favours.
A lot of years ago now I suffered from terrible, debilitating depression, and for nine years of that time I saw a clincial psychologist from the health psychology department. L was incredibly patient with me and a fantastic support, seeing me through the worst depression of my life, and ultimately all the way through the other side of it. I had come through a lot, somewhat unexpectedly. But the things that caused that terrible, awful, horrendous depression weren't the things of chronic illness. Unfortunately, the health psychologist attached to the difficult asthma clinic didn't recognise that. She had read my notes from all those years ago and saw how far I'd come, without any acknowledgement of how my physical health has deteriorated since then, so I got a verbal pat on the back for having come so far and sent on my way with no offer of support. It was far from satisfactory, and it also surprised both my GP and my psychiatrist. The psychiatrist has said that I don't really need the psychiatric services any more as my mental health is generally good these days, and has been so since 2003, but she has also said that as there doesn't seem to be anybody else who is willing/able to give me the support I need to cope with repeated life-threatening asthma attacks, and all the other health problems I have, then she will continue to see me. At first she had said that she'd see me every six weeks, but gradually that support has waned and it is now four and a half months since I last saw her. I was supposed to have an appointment with her on Monday last week, but she cancelled on me, and not for the first time. The replacement appointment isn't until the middle-end of March, and to be honest I don't feel very supported by her at all any more. I wrote to her last week expressing my dissatisfaction, but I don't suppose I'll hear anything from her before the rescheduled appointment.
I had to go to see my GP on Monday. I told him about the cancelled the psychiatrist appointment, and I also mentioned, almost in passing, that I'm feeling a bit low at the moment, finding the chronic ill-health difficult, and the impact it's had/having on my life tough. He asked if I'd ever seen a clinical psychologist from the health psychology department so I told him about my years of seeing L, and I told him about the assessment by the health psychologist at the difficult asthma clinic. He immediately suggested a referral back to health psychology, but to the department rather than to the difficult asthma clinic. I agreed that it might be helpful, although I'm a little nervous that I might end up seeing the person who I saw at the difficult asthma clinic and who was a great deal less than helpful on that occasion. The GP - Dr Cg - said it'd probably be about a four week wait and asked me if that would be okay. I thought it would be okay, but he said that if I changed my mind and I needed to be seen sooner then I should get back to him and he'd speed things up for me. I am so lucky to have such great GPs. There are five or six GPs at the surgery I go to and I have complete confidence in all of them. Anyway, I'm now waiting for that referral to come through and to receive an appointment in the post. For all that I'm reluctant in some ways to go back to therapy, I think that perhaps I need something at the moment. I am struggling a bit and I know that I can't afford to let it get anywhere close to depression, so I suppose the first step in managing it is realising that I need more professional support than I'm currently getting and to accept that support now that the opportunity has been offered. Who knows what will happen at the assessment appointment, but I need to make it clear to whoever I see that the issues I have now are very different from those I dealt with when I saw L nine years ago. This is about now and the future.
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Wheels
This week has been a bit crazy, which is why I haven't been around these parts much. It's daft because it's exhausting me, and so ultimately it's counterproductive, but sometimes it's just how things work out. One of the things I've been doing this week is test-driving WAVs (Wheelchair Accessible Vehicles), doing three test-drives in two different models of car.
On Tuesday I tried the Renault Kangoo. The guy from the conversion company - Bill - took the car round the back of the house where my wheelchair access is and I met him in Taz. He showed me how the ramp worked, and although it was light enough as it was power-assisted, I think it will be too much with the POTS because the bending and standing affects blood pressure, which I don't maintain well at all. It was quickly decided that I'd need to apply for a grant to cover the cost of a powered ramp (£1200), so that was a very useful thing to discover and discuss. When the ramp was in place I steered the chair up it and into the car, and then secured it down. All very easy, especially as I don't need to be in the chair once I'm in the car so I can reverse the chair up the ramp without actually sitting in it, and there's loads of space for the chair both on the ramp and in the car.
Time for the test-drive itself and all started smoothly enough, but a few minutes down the dual carriageway I could hear a kind of clicky flappy sound that I mentioned to Bill. He said he'd run over something in my street when he was driving the car round the back, and had hoped he'd avoided getting a flat tyre, but now he wasn't so sure. Only minutes later, whilst caught up in the middle of a load of road works, the car was bouncing and making a pflp pflp pflp noise. Yup, we had a flat tyre. I pulled in amongst the road work cones, Bill got out, confirmed the flat tyre, and proceeded to get out the canister of foam stuff that is supposed to fill a flat tyre until you can get to a garage for a new one. It seems that most new cars don't come with a spare wheel these days, and this was certainly the case with the Kangoo. Unfortunately, it turned out that the canister didn't have enough foam in it to fill the Kangoo tyre either, so it seemed like we were a bit stuck. The guys doing the road works (actually, they were gathering the cones in) reversed their truck up the road, parked behind us, and came to see if they could help, having thought that they might be able to change the tyre for us, but of course with no tyre to change they were left just standing looking at the flat tyre that was now partly filled with foam.
The two road works men and Bill stood around for a bit looking at the floppy tyre, and wondering what to do. Bill then decided to phone his office, which is attached to the garage where they actually make the converted cars they sell. It's only a few miles away from where we'd broken down, so he asked if someone could come along with a new wheel and fit it to the car. However, the road work men needed to get on with collecting the cones in, so I had to move the car with it's flappy tyre a little way down the road into a bus stop. This rather annoyed a bus driver a little later on who thought I'd just parked there for fun.
We waited for what seemed like ages, but it gave me the opportunity to think of questions about the car, try out the radio, discuss grant applications, have a little peek around the car (in a very limited kind of way as I wasn't about to get out and walk amongst the traffic), and then get bored of waiting. Eventually the bloke from the converters garage arrived with the new wheel and a car-jack. Bill got out of the car whilst I stayed in it and got tipped up sideways while the garage bloke got the car-jack into place. This was not the most relaxing situation to be in as I was, by then, being tipped towards the traffic moving speedily past me at rather close quarters as the cones had now all been removed and speed restrictions lifted. I don't recommend finding yourself in this position if you can help it.
At last the wheel was changed and we could continue on with the test-drive, which only lasted another fifteen minutes or so, but it had taken over an hour and ten minutes to do a twenty five minute (if that) drive by the time we got back. We sorted Taz, getting him out of the car, and I came back in the flat while Bill drove the car back round to the front. Just as I was parking Taz back up in the living room I realised that while we were out, the cat had weirdly pooed on the living room floor. He never does that, and there doesn't seem to have been any reason for him to do so this time either, but it really was not what I needed to come back to. I swiftly cleared that up and then opened the front door for Bill to come in so we could both have a well-deserved cup of tea while we filled in the Motability assessment form.
Although I was due to test-drive a Citroen Berlingo with a different converter company on Friday, I arranged to do one in a Berlingo with Bill on Saturday as well. Bill suggested that I speak to Motability in the meantime to discuss the possibility of grants.
So a guy called Phil came with a Berlingo on Friday. At first glance it seems pretty similar to the Renault Kangoo, but when actually driving it felt different - better acceleration, less like a van and more like a car, a bit quieter, a bit more refined. I went the same route on this test-drive as I had done on Tuesday. This time there were no flat tyres, but at almost the exact same spot that Bill and I had got the flat tyre, we got caught up in the almost immediate aftermath of a crash between a car and a small truck, probably because the road works cones were out again and someone wasn't paying attention. Thankfully the accident didn't look too awful, but several police cars and an ambulance quickly arrived on scene. We got through the backed-up traffic eventually and continued on with the test-drive without any more events, but it hadn't been a very quick journey. Anyway, the upshot was that I preferred the Berlingo to the Kangoo, although I didn't like the ramp provided by this converter company as is didn't fold so blocked most of the view out of the back windscreen. Oh, and this conversion company said that they can't'/don't do powered ramps, so that kind of rules them out of the picture. Not that I mind very much, because Bill's company is local and I like supporting local business.
Bill came back on Saturday with his Berlingo, which also had three back seats as opposed to only the one in the car that Phil had brought. Phil had said that the XTR Berlingo (top of the range one that he brought) only came with the one back seat, but one of the things that had originally attracted me to the Berlingo was the possibility of having all three back seats if I wasn't taking Taz. Well, Bill and I worked out that it would be possible for me to get Taz into the boot of the car and still have two back seats up and able to be used as I wouldn't need any leg space for the wheelchair as I won't be travelling in Taz. This is a huge advantage. Also, if the hospital could adapt the fitting of the control panel on Taz so that it swings sideways or slides out of its current position, then I'd be able to have all three back seats of the Berlingo available for passangers or for luggage storage whilst still having Taz in the boot. It was a tight squeeze, but Taz fit snuggly and safely, and it would mean that on a long journey I could put luggage on the back seats and have really easy access to Taz at any service stations I stop at. Bill also said that they could fit a bit of carpet onto the ramp for me to stop the metal ramp tapping against the metal back of the wheelchair.
The Berlingo Bill brought on Saturday was a VTR, so the model down from what Phil had brought, but also the model that I'd most likely get funding for as the XTR has an extra £700 advance payment. Having said that, Bill said that his company are providing the VTR Plus at no extra cost until the end of March, and that has a few little extras which would be nice.
For once, the test-drive went ahead with no dramas - crashes or flat tyres or anything else - and I enjoyed the drive of the Berlingo again. I think I'm also beginning to get a bit more used to the idea of needing a WAV, so am beginning to be able to enjoy the process of choosing the car. I've pretty much made up my mind that the Berlingo is the car for me at this time, so the next step is to apply for grants.
I spoke to the grants department at Motability on Friday afternoon, at first, after an initial basic assessment, being told that I wouldn't qualify for financial assistance. I thought I had explained what I needed, but I obviously wasn't clear enough, because the woman doing the assessment seemed to think that I was asking for assistance for a vehicle that would allow me to drive from my wheelchair. I don't need that, and I'm not suprised that I don't qualify for financial help for a 'Drive-from' WAV. After questionining my eligibility for a grant, and working out the misunderstanding, the woman did another initial assessment that indicated that I would most likely be eligible for financial help, although she couldn't give me a definitive answer. I still have to make the official application, and she sent me the application forms straight away.
I've spent some of today filling in the grant application form, and printing off some of the required accompanying evidence, although I still need to get a letter from my GP and then sort some of the other paperwork. However, once that's done then I'm pretty much ready to send the forms in, and Bill said that Motability are currently getting through applications quite quickly, so he reckons that I could be getting delivery of my new car by early/mid may. Obviously I can't place an order for the car until I know what funding I have, but things are now getting sorted and a resurgence of my independence is in sight.
On Tuesday I tried the Renault Kangoo. The guy from the conversion company - Bill - took the car round the back of the house where my wheelchair access is and I met him in Taz. He showed me how the ramp worked, and although it was light enough as it was power-assisted, I think it will be too much with the POTS because the bending and standing affects blood pressure, which I don't maintain well at all. It was quickly decided that I'd need to apply for a grant to cover the cost of a powered ramp (£1200), so that was a very useful thing to discover and discuss. When the ramp was in place I steered the chair up it and into the car, and then secured it down. All very easy, especially as I don't need to be in the chair once I'm in the car so I can reverse the chair up the ramp without actually sitting in it, and there's loads of space for the chair both on the ramp and in the car.
Time for the test-drive itself and all started smoothly enough, but a few minutes down the dual carriageway I could hear a kind of clicky flappy sound that I mentioned to Bill. He said he'd run over something in my street when he was driving the car round the back, and had hoped he'd avoided getting a flat tyre, but now he wasn't so sure. Only minutes later, whilst caught up in the middle of a load of road works, the car was bouncing and making a pflp pflp pflp noise. Yup, we had a flat tyre. I pulled in amongst the road work cones, Bill got out, confirmed the flat tyre, and proceeded to get out the canister of foam stuff that is supposed to fill a flat tyre until you can get to a garage for a new one. It seems that most new cars don't come with a spare wheel these days, and this was certainly the case with the Kangoo. Unfortunately, it turned out that the canister didn't have enough foam in it to fill the Kangoo tyre either, so it seemed like we were a bit stuck. The guys doing the road works (actually, they were gathering the cones in) reversed their truck up the road, parked behind us, and came to see if they could help, having thought that they might be able to change the tyre for us, but of course with no tyre to change they were left just standing looking at the flat tyre that was now partly filled with foam.
The two road works men and Bill stood around for a bit looking at the floppy tyre, and wondering what to do. Bill then decided to phone his office, which is attached to the garage where they actually make the converted cars they sell. It's only a few miles away from where we'd broken down, so he asked if someone could come along with a new wheel and fit it to the car. However, the road work men needed to get on with collecting the cones in, so I had to move the car with it's flappy tyre a little way down the road into a bus stop. This rather annoyed a bus driver a little later on who thought I'd just parked there for fun.
We waited for what seemed like ages, but it gave me the opportunity to think of questions about the car, try out the radio, discuss grant applications, have a little peek around the car (in a very limited kind of way as I wasn't about to get out and walk amongst the traffic), and then get bored of waiting. Eventually the bloke from the converters garage arrived with the new wheel and a car-jack. Bill got out of the car whilst I stayed in it and got tipped up sideways while the garage bloke got the car-jack into place. This was not the most relaxing situation to be in as I was, by then, being tipped towards the traffic moving speedily past me at rather close quarters as the cones had now all been removed and speed restrictions lifted. I don't recommend finding yourself in this position if you can help it.
At last the wheel was changed and we could continue on with the test-drive, which only lasted another fifteen minutes or so, but it had taken over an hour and ten minutes to do a twenty five minute (if that) drive by the time we got back. We sorted Taz, getting him out of the car, and I came back in the flat while Bill drove the car back round to the front. Just as I was parking Taz back up in the living room I realised that while we were out, the cat had weirdly pooed on the living room floor. He never does that, and there doesn't seem to have been any reason for him to do so this time either, but it really was not what I needed to come back to. I swiftly cleared that up and then opened the front door for Bill to come in so we could both have a well-deserved cup of tea while we filled in the Motability assessment form.
Although I was due to test-drive a Citroen Berlingo with a different converter company on Friday, I arranged to do one in a Berlingo with Bill on Saturday as well. Bill suggested that I speak to Motability in the meantime to discuss the possibility of grants.
So a guy called Phil came with a Berlingo on Friday. At first glance it seems pretty similar to the Renault Kangoo, but when actually driving it felt different - better acceleration, less like a van and more like a car, a bit quieter, a bit more refined. I went the same route on this test-drive as I had done on Tuesday. This time there were no flat tyres, but at almost the exact same spot that Bill and I had got the flat tyre, we got caught up in the almost immediate aftermath of a crash between a car and a small truck, probably because the road works cones were out again and someone wasn't paying attention. Thankfully the accident didn't look too awful, but several police cars and an ambulance quickly arrived on scene. We got through the backed-up traffic eventually and continued on with the test-drive without any more events, but it hadn't been a very quick journey. Anyway, the upshot was that I preferred the Berlingo to the Kangoo, although I didn't like the ramp provided by this converter company as is didn't fold so blocked most of the view out of the back windscreen. Oh, and this conversion company said that they can't'/don't do powered ramps, so that kind of rules them out of the picture. Not that I mind very much, because Bill's company is local and I like supporting local business.
Bill came back on Saturday with his Berlingo, which also had three back seats as opposed to only the one in the car that Phil had brought. Phil had said that the XTR Berlingo (top of the range one that he brought) only came with the one back seat, but one of the things that had originally attracted me to the Berlingo was the possibility of having all three back seats if I wasn't taking Taz. Well, Bill and I worked out that it would be possible for me to get Taz into the boot of the car and still have two back seats up and able to be used as I wouldn't need any leg space for the wheelchair as I won't be travelling in Taz. This is a huge advantage. Also, if the hospital could adapt the fitting of the control panel on Taz so that it swings sideways or slides out of its current position, then I'd be able to have all three back seats of the Berlingo available for passangers or for luggage storage whilst still having Taz in the boot. It was a tight squeeze, but Taz fit snuggly and safely, and it would mean that on a long journey I could put luggage on the back seats and have really easy access to Taz at any service stations I stop at. Bill also said that they could fit a bit of carpet onto the ramp for me to stop the metal ramp tapping against the metal back of the wheelchair.
The Berlingo Bill brought on Saturday was a VTR, so the model down from what Phil had brought, but also the model that I'd most likely get funding for as the XTR has an extra £700 advance payment. Having said that, Bill said that his company are providing the VTR Plus at no extra cost until the end of March, and that has a few little extras which would be nice.
For once, the test-drive went ahead with no dramas - crashes or flat tyres or anything else - and I enjoyed the drive of the Berlingo again. I think I'm also beginning to get a bit more used to the idea of needing a WAV, so am beginning to be able to enjoy the process of choosing the car. I've pretty much made up my mind that the Berlingo is the car for me at this time, so the next step is to apply for grants.
I spoke to the grants department at Motability on Friday afternoon, at first, after an initial basic assessment, being told that I wouldn't qualify for financial assistance. I thought I had explained what I needed, but I obviously wasn't clear enough, because the woman doing the assessment seemed to think that I was asking for assistance for a vehicle that would allow me to drive from my wheelchair. I don't need that, and I'm not suprised that I don't qualify for financial help for a 'Drive-from' WAV. After questionining my eligibility for a grant, and working out the misunderstanding, the woman did another initial assessment that indicated that I would most likely be eligible for financial help, although she couldn't give me a definitive answer. I still have to make the official application, and she sent me the application forms straight away.
I've spent some of today filling in the grant application form, and printing off some of the required accompanying evidence, although I still need to get a letter from my GP and then sort some of the other paperwork. However, once that's done then I'm pretty much ready to send the forms in, and Bill said that Motability are currently getting through applications quite quickly, so he reckons that I could be getting delivery of my new car by early/mid may. Obviously I can't place an order for the car until I know what funding I have, but things are now getting sorted and a resurgence of my independence is in sight.
Tuesday, 21 February 2012
Home again, home again, jiggety jig
I made my escape on Tuesday last week, but haven't got around to posting until now because I've been getting my bearings again and settling back in. It takes a surprising amount of energy to come out of hospital, especially after two admissions in such quick succession, and no real respite of any kind in between. Hmmm, come to think of it I should probably retitle this post as 'Home again, home again, floppety flop.'
It's good to be home. It's good to be surrounded by my own belongings and to have the cat give me cuddles and purrs. It's good to have my own space and not have an institutional timetable running my life. It's something of a relief too not to know what my blood pressure is, or my temperature, or my oxygen saturations, or my respiration rate, and it's good not to have to score my pain on a scale of 0-10. Instead, I live in blissful ignorance of all these things and get on with what I can of living. The only trouble being that I'm completely knackered and not completely well. In fact I was back at the GP's on Friday, and in a bid to stave off a resurgance of the bugs he's throwing another week's course of antibiotics at them. I think they're working, and I'm feeling less lurgified than I was at the end of last week.
Despite all the pleasures of being back at home, I have to admit that I'm struggling a little emotionally. I think some of this is post-infection and the aftermath of pneumonia, but there's also the whole thing of getting my head around having been so poorly yet again. It's draining - emotionally and physically. I am completely worn out, and yet I'm trying to get on with what I can of living, so I'm back at university already (I went back on Thursday), and I've a fairly busy week this week with seeing family (my brother M and his family are coming up for a few days from tomorrow), as well as test-driving a couple of WAVs, sorting out missed hospital appointments, and trying to make time and find the energy for some writing. It's too much really, and today I have somewhat resembled a heap of misery and grumpiness for most of the day. Actually, I was doing okay first thing, at least I thought I was, although I could feel all the mess not too far below the surface and was trying to ignore it. Then my mum phoned to see how I was doing and all of a sudden I dissolved into tears and spent the next 45 minutes being a gibbering wreck on her. Most of the rest of the day has been much the same ever since, only it got a little worse when my carer didn't turn up this evening with no call. W came to the rescue, came round, and cheered me up just by being here, even though she had to bring her poorly guinea pig with her and he died while they were here :o( Very sad.
So yes, it's a bit of a mix and I'm rather lacking in jiggety jig, but all in all it is good to be home, and I'll work my way through the emotional debris somehow ... in time.
It's good to be home. It's good to be surrounded by my own belongings and to have the cat give me cuddles and purrs. It's good to have my own space and not have an institutional timetable running my life. It's something of a relief too not to know what my blood pressure is, or my temperature, or my oxygen saturations, or my respiration rate, and it's good not to have to score my pain on a scale of 0-10. Instead, I live in blissful ignorance of all these things and get on with what I can of living. The only trouble being that I'm completely knackered and not completely well. In fact I was back at the GP's on Friday, and in a bid to stave off a resurgance of the bugs he's throwing another week's course of antibiotics at them. I think they're working, and I'm feeling less lurgified than I was at the end of last week.
Despite all the pleasures of being back at home, I have to admit that I'm struggling a little emotionally. I think some of this is post-infection and the aftermath of pneumonia, but there's also the whole thing of getting my head around having been so poorly yet again. It's draining - emotionally and physically. I am completely worn out, and yet I'm trying to get on with what I can of living, so I'm back at university already (I went back on Thursday), and I've a fairly busy week this week with seeing family (my brother M and his family are coming up for a few days from tomorrow), as well as test-driving a couple of WAVs, sorting out missed hospital appointments, and trying to make time and find the energy for some writing. It's too much really, and today I have somewhat resembled a heap of misery and grumpiness for most of the day. Actually, I was doing okay first thing, at least I thought I was, although I could feel all the mess not too far below the surface and was trying to ignore it. Then my mum phoned to see how I was doing and all of a sudden I dissolved into tears and spent the next 45 minutes being a gibbering wreck on her. Most of the rest of the day has been much the same ever since, only it got a little worse when my carer didn't turn up this evening with no call. W came to the rescue, came round, and cheered me up just by being here, even though she had to bring her poorly guinea pig with her and he died while they were here :o( Very sad.
So yes, it's a bit of a mix and I'm rather lacking in jiggety jig, but all in all it is good to be home, and I'll work my way through the emotional debris somehow ... in time.
Tuesday, 14 February 2012
Getting out
There's a good chance that I'll be going home tomorrow! Hurrah! On Saturday the SHO suggested that I aim for home on Monday, but then the registrar came in and said that if I didn't feel ready for home on Monday then I mustn't go. I haven't felt ready so I haven't gone, and actually I started sneezing again yesterday :o( I am desperately hoping that this isn't the start of yet another infection that's going to make me bounce back again. Anyway, with this, and with general recovery, I wasn't right for home today, and when the reg saw me this morning he suggested tomorrow at the earliest. Then my consultant came round and he clearly didn't think today was a good day for me to go home, and even seemed slightly surprised at the suggestion of tomorrow, but I'm hopeful. Mind you, Dr H wants me to give another sputum sample before I go as he wasn't totally satisfied that the pneumonia bugs aren't creeping back from what he's seen that I'm coughing up. I know that if I'm not right tomorrow then I mustn't go home despite how desperate I am to do so, but I think I should be okay. I'm crossing everything.
I've been for a couple of trundles off the ward the last few evenings that W has been in. Twice we've done a circuit of the outside of the hospital buildings (still within the hospital grounds), but this evening we got up to mischief. This evening we went to the park across the road from the hospital, stopping on the way over at W's car where we picked up the fireworks we've been storing up since November :oD We'd bought the more expensive ones this year, and we could really tell the difference from the cheap ones we've had in the past. For starters they lit so much easier, but more importantly, the fireworks themselves were bigger, the bangs louder, and they were generally more impressive.
We positioned ourselves at the far end of the field directly opposite the hospital, but down the path that runs by the side of the field so that we didn't have all the lights from the passing cars shining directly onto us. We then unpacked the first box of fireworks.
One by one, W set them off, and here are a few photos of some of them:
We, or rather W, soon learnt that she'd need to light the fireworks from a further distance than we've done with the cheaper ones in the past as we kept being hit by flying debris, but thankfully none of it was alight. I had visions of us returning to the ward saying, 'So erm, we've been up to mischief, and whilst I can still breathe, we've both got third degree burns. Anything you can do to help?' ;o) Thankfully, the only thing we came away with was the giggle for having been up to so much mischief whilst I'm still a hospital in-patient.
Before we were ready to set off back to the hospital we had one big box of 24 fireworks - one fuse to light and the whole lot went off in a storm. Here's W with the box just before taking it almost to the middle of the field.
It must have lasted only a matter of twenty seconds or so (if that), but it was spectacular.
There were more than a few boxes and cartons to tidy away afterwards, and as you see in the second picture below, the box from the set of 24 on one fuse wouldn't fit in the bin. We're wondering what on earth the council workers will think when they come across the dead fireworks box in the morning.
I wasn't sure whether or not I was going to tell the staff what W and I had been up to, thinking they might then blame any chest-tightness through the night on the fireworks. I left it a while, but have since told the nurse looking after the patients on my end of the ward what I did on my excursion off the ward. She thought it was great! She also said that they could hear the fireworks on the ward and the health care assistant had asked if that was fireworks she could hear. The nurse had apparently replied, 'I hope so, because otherwise it's a major gangland shooting going on!' I showed her some of the photos of my and W's antics this evening and as she left my room she said that I'd really cheered her up :o) The antics really cheered me up too :oD
I've been for a couple of trundles off the ward the last few evenings that W has been in. Twice we've done a circuit of the outside of the hospital buildings (still within the hospital grounds), but this evening we got up to mischief. This evening we went to the park across the road from the hospital, stopping on the way over at W's car where we picked up the fireworks we've been storing up since November :oD We'd bought the more expensive ones this year, and we could really tell the difference from the cheap ones we've had in the past. For starters they lit so much easier, but more importantly, the fireworks themselves were bigger, the bangs louder, and they were generally more impressive.
We positioned ourselves at the far end of the field directly opposite the hospital, but down the path that runs by the side of the field so that we didn't have all the lights from the passing cars shining directly onto us. We then unpacked the first box of fireworks.
One by one, W set them off, and here are a few photos of some of them:
We, or rather W, soon learnt that she'd need to light the fireworks from a further distance than we've done with the cheaper ones in the past as we kept being hit by flying debris, but thankfully none of it was alight. I had visions of us returning to the ward saying, 'So erm, we've been up to mischief, and whilst I can still breathe, we've both got third degree burns. Anything you can do to help?' ;o) Thankfully, the only thing we came away with was the giggle for having been up to so much mischief whilst I'm still a hospital in-patient.
Before we were ready to set off back to the hospital we had one big box of 24 fireworks - one fuse to light and the whole lot went off in a storm. Here's W with the box just before taking it almost to the middle of the field.
It must have lasted only a matter of twenty seconds or so (if that), but it was spectacular.
There were more than a few boxes and cartons to tidy away afterwards, and as you see in the second picture below, the box from the set of 24 on one fuse wouldn't fit in the bin. We're wondering what on earth the council workers will think when they come across the dead fireworks box in the morning.
I wasn't sure whether or not I was going to tell the staff what W and I had been up to, thinking they might then blame any chest-tightness through the night on the fireworks. I left it a while, but have since told the nurse looking after the patients on my end of the ward what I did on my excursion off the ward. She thought it was great! She also said that they could hear the fireworks on the ward and the health care assistant had asked if that was fireworks she could hear. The nurse had apparently replied, 'I hope so, because otherwise it's a major gangland shooting going on!' I showed her some of the photos of my and W's antics this evening and as she left my room she said that I'd really cheered her up :o) The antics really cheered me up too :oD
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