Tag Archives: Pride

Happy New September

I’ve bought a new diary and planner. Does anyone else start their year in September rather than January?

You’d think after 10 years I’d be much better at this blogging lark, but low and behold! It’s been another 5 months since I last put digital pen to digital paper. It’s been a busy one and yet another emotional rollercoaster. Buckle up, we’re gonna recap!

In March I was due to have a fourth diathermy laser treatment for my HHT. If you’re new to the blog, you can read all about my superhuman ability to bleed from my nose and mouth at any given moment, here.

I had recently had covid, again you can read about that particular shit show here. And despite knowing this and the fact my PCR test showed positive, I was invited onto the theatre ward. I turned up, mentally and physically prepared for another general anesthetic, only to be told it was a non-starter. It’s difficult all this surgery stuff.

I have to make sure I have adequate time off work. I have to make sure the kids are looked after for a couple of days because the operation wipes me out for a good 48 hours. I have to make sure my mental health is ready to deal with the fact this particular surgery holds very little hope of being 100% successful. To have all of that in order and then be held in a corridor like a leper was pretty crap, to say the least.

My mental health bounced. I lost confidence in my work, having to turn my camera off during meetings all the time, and beginning to feel myself pull away from wanting to go out and do stuff that usually makes me happy.

I referred myself to Talk Liverpool and after a 7-week wait, I was able to access a bunch of online modules to help me improve my mental health and wellbeing. I found some of the coping mechanisms relatively helpful but I really needed to talk to someone. Sadly, this didn’t happen, other than one phone call in which I was told I was ‘showing improvement’ and therefore referred back to my GP. I felt a bit bamboozled by it all really and not at all ‘improved’.

In May I buggered off to Portugal for four days R&R. I only had one nosebleed during that time which is hella surprising (aeroplane aircon, humidity, increased alcohol intake etc) and so I looked at villas and realised very quickly that I had no option but to return home. Damn it!

July was a whirlwind. I started a new job, my boy turned 8 and my mum flew us to Spain for a 14-day family endurance test, I mean holiday!

I’ve never been to mainland Spain in August before. This one warrants it’s own blog post. Sit tight for ‘Benidorm Bitches’ in the coming days.

I’ve had the fourth diathermy laser surgery. It didn’t go well. I came around in recovery and suffered 4-days worth of ‘ocular distortion’. Apparently, this occurs when you don’t fully close your eyes during a GA. On top of not being able to see straight, my nose was back to bleeding again as before, just four days post-surgery.

I’m currently awaiting a clinic review appointment and I can’t lie, I feel really down about it all. I’m back to daily journalling and trying to find a little joy in each day to keep my spirits up.

So here I am. My nose is still goosed, my vascular system is constantly trying to make my life more difficult and I SERIOUSLY need to lose some weight.

On the positive side – my bloody brilliant daughter smashed her GCSE’s and has already started her A Level programme. My middle wonder got a full bill of health in her recent HHT clinic, won a local and national art competition, and has become a fantastic little swimmer. What about the boy wonder I hear you cry? Well, he continues to amaze us all. He learned how to play chess in about 8 minutes flat, has learned how to swim (forward roll, backward roll and handstand in the pool) this summer AND he has enjoyed his first visit to Liverpool PRIDE.

This is what keeps you going, isn’t it? The little things. The smiles, and hugs and daft kitchen dances and good news and seeing friends and family and date nights and lovely dinners and hobnobs and coffee in bed on weekend mornings.

September is the start of a new academic year and for me a chance to renew the promises I made to myself in January. If you’ve any advice or great hacks for staying positive, being more disciplined or limiting those crappy times to maybe just an hour, or half a day when it all seems overwhelming, hit me up on the contact page.

Here’s to ‘keeping on’. Happy New Year.

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Cake & Balloons

Ever had one of those nights where you’re so messed up you think your nose has fallen off, you can’t stop hysterically laughing while devouring Cadbury Dairy Milk and watching Waking the Dead because that Trevor Eve is a solid 10 for an older man..?

That’s pretty much exactly what I was doing 12 years ago today, in fact right now, I was telling my anaesthetist, Michael Moneypenny (no word of a lie, that’s his name) to keep it down while he was putting a freakishly large needle into my spine to curb the crippling pain I was experiencing while attempting to give birth to my eldest daughter.

Ellie One

I was 11 days overdue, had been subjected to the most god-awful induction earlier that day and despite 12 hours of labour, the kid just didn’t want to come out. Typical obstetrics of 12 years ago…’Here, lie down flat, get comfy, you’re going to be here for a while’. As opposed to move your wobbly ass, get moving and let gravity/nature bring that little curly haired whopper out.

I was indeed there for a while, a further 12 hours as it goes. From a quiet, darkened room at 06:25……just me, my hubs, my mum and the most knackered looking junior doctor ever, to blazing strip lights, spot lights, may as well been car headlights for all I knew, a registrar, two midwives, a consultant, the blurry-eyed junior doctor, Moneypenny and what dignity I had left and 10 minutes and the clinical version of a Dyson later……Ellie was born.

 

Ellie Three

Picture Credit: Matt Bowen Photography

 

She looked like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, which isn’t too far from the truth I suppose. First thing she did was poop in the scales. Never lived that one down since. 8lbs 11oz, with a superman curl on her forehead (she’s still got it too) the kid with the cerulean eyes changed my life forever.

Ellie Five

I’ve barely spent more than a few days away from her since that tumultuous first morning, and she generally still causes a riot wherever she goes. She’s generous and loving, witty and smart mouthed, almost a little too smart at times, I know, chip off the old block. She doesn’t know when to shut up (gets that from her dad) she gives the best hugs, she can twerk like a champ and can speak Japanese with surprisingly fluency (providing its the lyrics to a RWBY song).

She can quote Ghostbusters beginning to end, she adores Bill Murray, she’s a budding artist, song-writer and digital genius. Yet she can’t make toast, boil a kettle or locate the iron. I’ve still some work to do.

Ellie Four

She’s also 6ft 9′ (slight exaggeration), wearing women’s size 8 clothes, the biggest stationery nerd going and has the biggest, curliest mop of hair that even Side Show Bob would be jealous of. Having just started high school, Elle (Smelly Ellie, Elles, Crap Bag, Curly Witch, Elspeth) is working out where she fits in the world all over again, and she’s doing it in her own sweet time.

She’s my greatest achievement and whether she’s still causing a riot or peacefully going about her way, I’m confident that she’s going to change the world.

Happy Birthday Ellie, love Mum x

 

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