I know it’s been ages since I updated my blog. One way or another I just seem to have had too much on my plate and TBH I’ve been feeling a bit down.
On other stuff, life is the same old same old with a few exceptions as we don’t have the same old car. Actually, that’s not true as my car (which at 25 years old this year is definitely old) is sitting outside the house waiting for me to jump in and rev it up down the road. I love my car….did I ever tell you that? Anyway, we decided to trade hubby’s car in – it was something to do with the fact that the last time it went in for a service the mechanic said:
“If I’d have found what I found before I did the service, I wouldn’t have bothered. My advice is to get well out of it and buy a new car!”…
…and so we did…
…well, of course it’s not new exactly (what are we made of money?) but it’s very nice and very, very, very (can I say that again?) comfy. At 6 years old and with 61,000 on the clock we thought it was quite good value and so we bought it. It wasn’t until we got it home and were looking through the service book that we noticed something under the ‘Optional Extras’ section and so peered closely at the handwriting – “Engine” it said, fitted at 49,000 miles. Ummm, good value turns into great value, when your engine has only done 12,000 miles - which is nothing for a Toyota. Even better though was the fact that I wondered what it was doing in that section of the book – I wouldn’t really have thought that an engine was exactly an optional extra in a car, would you?
So, just how do you do that?
Shortly after I had my surgery, one of my very best friends became ill – initially they thought she had gallstones but in the end it turned out to be much more than that and pancreatic cancer ended her life yesterday after a long struggle to keep it at bay.
She was one of those special friends who touch your life in the way that few people do. I think sometimes that the relationships that women have with other women are among the most intense that you have- from the ‘best friends’ you make in school to the most fraught mother daughter relationship. For myself, I didn’t really have much in the way of friends though my school days – there was one person who, like me, was bullied and so we just kind of stuck together, but apart from that, it wasn’t until I got into adulthood that I discovered the joys of having best friends who are women. There are conversations you have and things that you share with other women that you wouldn’t sometimes even share with your husband. Girlie talk if you like, but you end up sharing wine, laughter and happy times and along the way all the tough times get shared too. Well, this friend was one of those …
…I remember when we met she was so tall and slim and pretty and better at stuff than me and I so wanted to hate her but I couldn’t because she was so nice. We got chatting and something just clicked between us – something that never happened to me before or since in quite the same way. We lived miles apart but single handedly kept the phone company going with long calls about…well, everything! We met up when we could, went on holiday together and did all of those things you only do with special people. She was also one of the most selfless people that I have ever known – always putting everyone else before herself and wanting to make them happy. It doesn’t matter how much I try and explain all of this, but we had a special bond and I will miss her dreadfully.
So goodbye sweetheart – you will always be in my heart.
Going back and re-reading a post at the end of last year (which involved freshly ironed sheets and pussy cats I think) I was reminded of when we moved into our new house. Of course 7 years ago it was new*1 and now we are well settled and it isn’t new at all but just occasionally stuff happens in your life which makes you reflect on the past few years and so you do…
When we moved in, the removal men said to us “you’re not thinking of sleeping in there are you?” The house was – well – how can I put this politely – um – grubby. That’s a lie, it wasn’t grubby, it was filthy – had fleas and smelt of cat pee and dead mice (at least that’s what I think it was – anyway, at least you get the picture). We bought it intending to do it up and its surprising how quickly you can get rid of smells by throwing out all the carpets, liberally applying bleach to every surface and giving it a fresh coat of paint!
One of the things that needed doing was the kitchen (you knew I’d get round to the ironing eventually, didn’t you?) and so for a little while after we moved in, we had no kitchen and therefore no washing machine. I was very lucky, with the new house within a few miles of the MIL, when she offered to take in my laundry (bless, how nice is that?). Well, apart from the fact that there are some things that you’d rather wash by hand than let the MIL (or anyone else for that matter) see, she took all the washing. There were one or two hiccups in that I have a lot of cotton stuff and she has a lot of synthetics so a slightly too-hot wash meant I ended up with a substantial number of crop tops (just as they were coming into fashion so how lucky is that?) – but apart from that it was a godsend. One thing that I was surprised by though was the fact that she irons everything. Now when I was growing up, my mother did sheets, duvet covers, tea towels and school shirts (my dad didn’t have the kind of suit job that needed button up shirts) and just about nothing else. The MIL does everything, right down to the socks, bras and pants. I do pretty much the same as my mother with the addition of hubby’s shirts, polo shirts and some t-shirts (ones with embroidered designs especially). HLW does all the shirts and stuff but doesn’t do the sheets (biggish family means she’d be forever ironing) so we all seem to be different. It got me to wondering, what does everyone else do? And why? Do we really just follow on from what our parents do, or what?
Strange isn’t it, this wondering brain of mine…
*1…to us of course as the place was actually built in 1896 and although I sometimes feel old, its never quite that old.
So, I have not been blogging because I have had a cough and a cold. This is quite unusual for me because I am normally disgustingly healthy and whenever hubby gets the lurgy, I look at it, try it out for 24 hours and then shrug it off. This time? Nope, didn't happen, I got a sore throat on the 30th of December and its only now that I'm starting to really feel better. That's not right at all!
What's worse (and they never tell you this before surgery) is that this is the first time I have had a cough since I was sliced and diced (nearly two years ago now OMG!). It's only when you cough and try and strain your diaphragm that you realise that taking out a couple of ribs and chopping your diaphragm in half leaves you with scar tissue and other non stretchy creaky stiff bits. Its these bits that hurt when you cough - well, that's just not cricket really is it? Mind, I suppose that's just as well, I never did think much of this idea of running around and yes, I know that cricket is mostly standing around, but a cricket ball hurts if you try and catch it. Much too much like hard work - so no thankyou!
Anyway, I shall be writing more on the subject of the two years when it gets to 2 years (watch this space at the beginning of Feb ) but something weird did occur to me just the other day...You see, when I went in for my pre-op assessment, my curve had increased 12 degrees in the two years leading up to then and I was told that in a very short space of timeI wouldn't be able to sit in a chair with arms, my torso would be so far shifted to the right. In fact, just a few days before going into hospital hubby and I went to the cinema and I couldn't get comfortable - whatever I did the arm of the seat was sticking in my side and in the end it got so bad that hubby took his jacket and tried to cushion me with it so I could get through the film. I don't remember what the film was - which I think says nothing for the quality of the film but a lot for how uncomfortable I was.
So, wind the clock forward to now - another 12 degrees would have put me at an 87 degree lumbar curve - a chair with arms really would be a problem...isn't the prospect of that frightening - especially when you consider the fact that I was in 2 minds whether to get the surgery or not ! It was that statement in fact, at my pre-op, that probably had the biggest impact on how I felt going in to the surgery and whether or not I felt I was making the right decision.
Well, now, with the benefit of hindsight, I am so glad that I had it done. I go to the cinema and can't believe that I don't touch either arm (unless I want to) - and yes, its true that the cough is a pain in the - er, ribcage, but hey - it's worth it!
