In an effort to make as many of my friends jealous as possible I am going away again.
This time, after having taking 10 days to escape the nightmare that is now Heathrow airport, I am heading off for another expedition. I am going to scale the mountain of unattended baggage, encounter the hairy hands of the body searcher and try and decipher the lost rules of what to take for hand luggage (if indeed anything). It may take some time and I am instructing hubby to send out search parties if there is no sight of me by the 7th of September (ready to report on my 7 month update on my back!).
Given my brief visit to home, I have lulled the cats into a false sense of security *1 and checked that hubby still has food in the freezer and enough petrol in the car to get to the supermarket. I have also washed everything that I took away with me last week since I need it again next week*2. I have caught up on my (eeeek, how many??) messages in my in-box, taxed and insured the car and even tried to catch up on my sleep. In the midst of it all, I even remembered my (faithful) readership and updated my blog. So, bear with me, I’ll be back….
*1 Hooray, mummy’s home, we can get fussed during the day….
oh, miaouw!, 
she’s gone again…
*2 Now there’s something I don’t understand.
- You go away
- Everything fits in your suitcase
- You wear your clothes and they get (slightly) dirty
- On the way home, your suitcase will not shut.
What is that about? I mean, just how big is dirt, when it is attached to clothes?
One final thing, I just checked the weather forecast for where I am going (umm that’ll be Heathrow won’t it?). It’s due to be 35ºC in the day (nice and warm) and 27ºC in the night (gasp!) and (wait for it) – a whopping 90% humidity at all times. Given the sporting activities that I’m supposed to be doing, I think I’m about to find out what it’ll be like to do them in a warm bath…..
Some time ago, hubby went out and when he came home he was a bit on the merry side having had a good evening with his mates at several pubs…need I say more. In he comes *1 discarding clothing and tripping over the coffee table. *2
Me: (Tapping rolling pin against leg*3) “You’re drunk!”
Hubby: “No I’m not although I will admit to not being sober.”
If anyone can tell me the difference, please put the answer on the back of a postage stamp and send it to me. Ta!*4
*1 Lurches? Staggers? – You decide…
*2 Actually he didn’t do this – I just thought he was going to at one point so have put it in for comic effect. Now please imagine he did and go back to where you were reading last.
*3 Of course, anyone who knows me will know that I’m not a great lover of using the rolling pin – not when I have to go out to the kitchen to fetch it anyway…Seriously, I was glad hubby had a good evening out – he works too hard earning enough money to keep me in the manner to which I would like to become accustomed and has had a pretty rough time of it over the past few months what with all the looking after me and the worry of me and the running around driving me everywhere (hey this is all me, me, me and I was supposed to be praising hubby!). Of course, I can’t be too mad at hubby for getting tipsy as I expect him to be just as laid back when I am finally allowed to drink copious quantities of alcohol and do my own staggering. OK OK, I know I stagger around enough without the booze but hey, stop being critical…
*4 I am hoping that this is a good way of getting free postage stamps as I think without the postcard they will be too small to go through the franking machine at the Post Office.
I just realised that this post is more footnote than post. I blame PTV myself for introducing me to the perils of HTML.
Some time ago, my physio set me up with a walking programme. She said it would trim my (ever expanding) waistline and hopefully get my little legs toddling a bit better.
“Off you go” she said, “today the first lamppost and tomorrow the world!” Of course she didn’t actually say this, what she really said was –“this week try and walk to the first lamppost and next week try and get to the second one.” Well, I’m not one to do things by halves and decided that since we live opposite a park I could do ‘today 1st tree’ and then by the next day I’d be walking to the other side of the park. This of course is a blatant lie – the first time I tried I only got as far as crossing the road and I am still nowhere near getting to the other side of the park. I get as far as the building that the council are renovating (coming on very nicely now) and to two trees just a little bit further on. I have ‘stuck’ at this for a few weeks and for the moment seemed to have reached my limit.
Well, where was I – oh yes, the title of the post was about the bench. One day I was getting to my ‘just a bit further’ two trees and I looked up (I normally watch my feet when I walk, it seems to make them work better) and I saw a bench. I’m sure I saw it, in fact, I know I did. It was on the big bend, just out of my reach and I thought tomorrow, I will try and get to it (and then I thought, I can sit down, groaning with pleasure at taking the weight off). So, the next day, I rushed (
don’t laugh, it’s not nice to mock the afflicted), to the two trees and looked up. The bench was gone – I couldn’t see it anywhere and so I blamed the whole thing on a surfeit of drugs (or indeed the opposite) and tried to forget the whole thing.
That evening, hubby, who walks to the station through the park said, “I see they’re preparing the ground for a bench on the big bend”. “That’s right” I said, “I saw the bench yesterday”. Hubby said nothing, just looked at me very oddly (as he often does in fact) and I put the whole thing down to a deja vue moment (or indeed some kind of interesting hallucination) and that (as they say ) was that.
The next day I walked to the two trees again – looked up and saw the bench – but this time, it was not on the side of the path, but nestled up in the trees. It looked very menacing. I don’t know how it got there, or how it moved by itself*1 but I found myself mentally calling it Christine and despite my tired little legs, I didn’t want to sit on it at all….
I shall see where it is when I go to the park tomorrow, but if you don’t hear from me, call Stephen King, he has a lot of experience of this kind of thing…
*1 Logic tells me that due to a shift in light or some-such, the bench has always been in the trees but not always visible due to minute changes in angle and seeing it through the bushes etc. It never was on the bend, it was just an optical illusion etc etc – even so, I am glad they shut the park gates at night. It may be able to move around but I doubt it can climb over the railings….
I shall be away for a little while doing exciting things with my life. Having discovered that supermarket trolleys are interesting to cope with I thought I’d try out some airport ones just for a comparison test*1 and will report back when I escape the maze of Heathrow airport. I anticipate that this will be in approximately 10 days time. In the meantime, hubby will be cat sitting and earning enough money so that I can gad about around the world at much expense*2. If you want details of my trip, hubby will have a URL for those of you who ask….for everyone else – see you soon!
*1This will have an added frisson since I am taking my wheelchair too!
*2 although not strictly his!
I just realised I haven’t made a list on my blog recently and so in order to preserve my sanity *1 here’s one. It’s a list of things you really shouldn’t do whilst recovering from spinal surgery – not that I’ve tried them or anything – oh no, everyone knows that I would never try to do too much or anything at all like that…- Getting down on your hands and knees to wash the kitchen floor is not advisable. The floor can stay dirty or, if you are clever, you can flick cat food all over it and hopefully the cats will wash it for you.
- Trying to put on your sandal whist stood on one leg will result in you crashing to the floor. It makes a very loud noise when the floor is wooden and any cat in the vicinity is unlikely to come out from under the bed for some hours.
- Shopping for food for a party for 40 people with a supermarket trolley is interesting. Things to note:
- All supermarket trolleys have wonky wheels
- All supermarket car parks run downhill in the wrong direction
- Yanking a supermarket trolley is fun with no ribs (not!)
- Supermarket trolleys are too deep to reach the things in the bottom – even when you’ve been surgically stretched. Remember, you can’t bend either.
- Baskets full of wet laundry are hard to balance when you are walking with two sticks. They’re heavy too. I think maybe we need a new laundry fairy as ours is still sipping margaritas!
- Forget coughing, or sneezing. If you want to do either, umm, well, just don’t.
- Don’t tell your friends that it only hurts when you poke it here – if it hurts, don’t poke it!
- Driving very fast over dips in the road at speed will make you feel like your rod is
- a. Trying to escape through your throat…
- .....Closely followed by…
- b. trying to escape through your a**e
I'm sure there are many other things that could be added to this list, but I will stop here for now. I'm open to suggestions tho'....*1 and I know some of you think I’m nuts and just merely tolerate this part of my personality. BMB & K, you can stop laughing; BUF, thanks for being an addict too!
I didn’t tell you, did I, that we went away last week? Well, we did, hubby, me and the cats took a short break away with friends, A&T*1 in order to get some R& R after hubby’s party.
We piled into the car (hubby’s new big and boring one that I gave him 
) with the cats ‘basketed’ on the back seat. It wasn’t too long before we were on to unfamiliar roads and ‘Bugalugs’*2 started to chirrup, burble and miaow.
Me: “Can you see, why’s he making such a fuss? Is he OK?”
Hubby: (turning round to check and seeing said cat sat up in basket apparently unworried) “He’s fine – I suspect he’s trying to help me navigate by sonar!”
Well, navigating goes on for a while and finally hubby says those words that no driver likes to hear from their navigator*3 – “I don’t know where we are...”
“OK”, says I, “We just came through Tincling, there’s a signpost to Rincling off to the left and Crincling off to the right (or something like that, all these weird local names confuse me) and there’s a yellow car ahead in the distance.” “Well, that yellow car pins it down,” says hubby, “we are currently 12 miles from our destination*4 and by the time you catch up with the yellow car, we will be 8 miles away!”. D’you know, I have no idea how he does it, but with directions like these we still managed to find our cottage just fine. (Well we managed to find a country cottage and they gave us the key so I’m assuming it was the right one!)
So, there we were in an idyllic country setting in exactly the kind of place where (as hubby says) you might expect the boon to keep his docks. The cottage was several hundred years old (and with several hundred years worth of woodworm damage too) and was very ‘chocolate box’ even down to the ancient open hearth and range with bread oven. The lure of an open chimney was just too much for one of our cats who went up it to investigate and came down in a cloud of soot! I wouldn’t have minded, but then, finding the taste of soot far too distasteful to clean off her paws, tramped through the whole cottage marking every white surface including (horror of horrors) a white duvet cover. I just hope the cottage owner doesn’t read this blog – I was going to blame it on mice, or a visiting rabbit or something (or even A&T) *5
*2 this is not hubby – this is hubby’s pet name for one of the cats.
*3 there are people out there who should be really horrified at this….
*4 I don’t call him Tom-tom either…
*5 OJ guys – I have to pay you back for making me lose my cherry after all!
It seems hard to believe that 6 months ago I was sitting on a hospital bed waiting to go down to the operating theatre and less than 24 hours later (ahead of all expectations) I was out of intensive care and back in the same ward. OK it’s true, I was flat on my back and feeling rather groggy, but the operation was over and had been a great success.
So, here I am 6 months on and I feel pretty great. I’d be lying if I said that I am completely healed (so I won’t) and it’s true I’m still getting some pain from my rib removal site (but maybe wouldn’t do if I was a bit kinder to my body), but mostly I feel, well, great actually. Just recently I’ve been feeling fitter than I have for years too – my lung function had decreased so gradually I had no idea it wasn’t perfect, until they made a bit more space in me for my lungs to work properly. You wouldn’t believe how much fun breathing is these days!!
Of course I'm sure that there will be those people who tell you that since I now use 2 sticks to walk outside that things are worse, but my major lurching limp has gone so in fact I think my walking is much better – and anyway, my physio says 2 sticks or none, so it looks like I’ve been doing it all wrong for the last few years anyway. There will also be people who say that because I am now using my wheelchair more, this means that things are worse but in reality, I am just being more sensible! So – all you pessimists out there – don’t listen to yourselves, listen to me instead – things are so much better for me it isn’t true!
So, as updates go, in many ways there’s nothing to report except that life is good – and oh yes, am I happy I had it done? Well, I have an amazing (nearly) straight body and I am wearing clothes I would have felt uncomfortable in before. My pain levels have much decreased and my surgeon has given me the kind of future I feared I might never have.
You bet I’m glad I had it done! 
*1 Including those that have actually crossed the road
I have a nice new car. Actually, that statement doesn’t really say it at all as in fact the car is most definitely not new, it is actually very old, its just finally come to me (just like it was always meant to).
Now, you have to realise that I like cars. I mean I really like cars, really, really like them. I always liked cars, right from when I was little and (although I know its not a very girlie thing to do) I thought there was nothing better than getting out in the garage with my daddy and taking the car to pieces. Of course the being with my (fabulous) dad might have had something to do with it, but it left me with a love of the things. Long car journeys were filled with spotting different makes and models and I almost managed to completely fill my I-Spy car number plates. I can even remember most of the makes and models that my parents owned, let alone the ones that hubby and I have had.
When hubby and I got married, we couldn’t afford a second car and this went on for years. At one point we found ourselves with a 2+2 sports coupe which I had bought from a young lad up the road and as our only car, it was used for everything - even deliveries for hubby’s job. It just wasn’t big enough and finally we got a big car for hubby but I kept ‘my’ Deidre for some time until she fell to pieces with rust. Ever since, I have fancied another one or possibly an ‘upgrade’ to the ones they made a year later (which had a bigger engine among other things). You don’t see them very often, most of them have long since died, but there I was idly browsing through Ebay (classic auto*) and I saw one*1 and it looked perfect (to me!).
Hubby came home that night and said “I’ve been thinking we might get a second car again” – which I took as fate! There was one slight problem, it was on the far edge of the country, right around where if you kept going, you’d have to stop driving and start sailing! 
This is where PTV and his lovely wife came into my fiendish plan - I asked PTV to go and check it out for me as there is no-one whose opinion I value more when it comes to cars*2 and he sent me a text which said simply “Buy it!” – so I did (well truthfully, he did, and then he checked it out some more, and then he got the tyres done and so on – so I owe him big time…!). Anyway, he and his lovely wife came down to ours for hubby’s birthday party and they drove it down for me. These are seriously good friends, aren’t they? Everyone please, big round of applause.
Anyway, since hubby’s birthday was one of those significant ones (the ones that end in a big fat O) - he complained that it was his birthday, but I got a car. I gave him my (big but boring) car in exchange, what more does he want??
*1I do this whilst listening to canned musack on those hideous automated phone services. I sit there and look at the Cobras, Vipers and Ponies (for the uninitiated these are cars, not animals) and dream about empty roads and being able to reach the pedals.
*2This is the absolute truth.
Hubby and I just threw a party to celebrate(?) his coming of age, or of becoming half the age of an antique or something like that…
It was great and loads of our really close friends came to visit – the first time I have seen many of them since my operation. I am so grateful for them all turning up but even more so to them all for washing up, clearing up and generally tidying up whilst I sat there perched on a stool. Apparently I was supposed to be ‘giving directions’*1, but I know it was all done to help me out and I am really eternally grateful. Now in best Oscars tradition I would like to thank ummm, well everyone. There are a few ‘special’ people out there – the B.U.F. *2 for one and my (soon to be famous) author friend for another, but to single them out would be unfair, when I saw lots more than two pairs of dishpan hands. Anyway (she says wiping a tear from the corner of her eye 
) thank you everyone – you not only made the party special by your presence, but made it easy on me too. Thank you!
*1 And just how complicated is it to load a dishwasher that I need to give instructions?
*2 I’ll tell you another time…
BTW, all that sitting around watching other people work, has made me very tired and I am off to sleep for a week so blogging is going to temporarily cease….
There's someone who I've never met, who lives 'across the pond' and spends her time baking what look to be the most fabulous cakes. She has hummingbirds in her garden (of which I am supremely jealous). She has two boys, is almost the same age as me and likes lighthouses and the sea. You see, I've never met her, but I feel I know her very well. She encouraged me before I went in for my surgery and since. Well, it's her turn now and I just wanted to wish her lots of good wishes. If you feel like offering your own luck or prayers, please do so as I want her to recover as well as me. One day maybe we'll even meet up and compare scars....
Good Luck Ly!!!!
I recently bought an epilator from a well known TV shopping channel. I did this because I get a money back guarantee and I figured that if it hurt like f**k (which I thought it probably would) I could send it back. Oh yes, and on the subject of sending it back – what do they do with used personal items like that? Best not to go there I think…
Anyway, I got it out of the box and it looked at me for a week or so while I built up courage to use it – after all, these things are pulling your hair out by the roots and this one is an ‘all over body’ model so not for use on just your legs. In fact, if it was for use on just your legs, I wouldn’t have bought it, as I have no hair on my legs. Yes, that’s right – no hair on my legs – never have had – something to do with my wonky wiring I guess. Actually it is no longer strictly true that I have no hair on my legs, as since the operation (and only since the operation), I have had a patch about the size of the palm of my hand, growing on my left shin. Weird huh? Anyway, you may be wondering why I would want such a device if I have no hair on my legs – well, it’s my pits you see – long and lustrous ain’t in it*1 – I even have to take a razor on a weeks holiday with me (and use it twice). It’s a pain and so is epilating under your arms as I discovered today (I am sat here at my keyboard with my arms stuck out at right angles as far away from my body as possible typing this with my nose *2). The hair under my arms grows so fast, that that, coupled with my impossibly long arms and my constant desire to dye my hair red, makes me wonder just how closely I am related to an orang utan - especially based on this recent picture of me!
So, I bet you are all wondering just how it worked out and so I thought I’d give you all a little review. I started off with the patch of hair on my leg – hey I thought, this is great, doesn’t hurt at all…completely overlooking the fact that I can’t actually feel anything on that bit of skin anyway so it wasn’t really a fair test on which to base a ‘whole body decision’. Bravely I went from there to my underarms. That was ummm…different! You know that thing where you don’t want to touch something horrid (like rotting seaweed at the beach or stinging nettles found at the back of the flower bed) and you just kind of dab at it quickly – well, that’s what I did and boy does that bring tears to your eyes. What you have to do is pull the skin taut, grit your teeth and get in there. Once you’re going it’s not too bad – uncomfortable yes, but not as bad as getting a tattoo – and it gets easier the more you do (probably ‘cos there’s less hair to pull out). So there you go – I did the other side too and my bikini line (not too bad but like it says in the instructions trim it first girls and boys) and now I can’t wait to use my new torture device on other people (
)
OK, final note – just in case I have made you all so excited at the prospect of using one of these things (you may actually like pain after all) – was it worth it? Well, so far, I’d say yes – I have impossibly smooth pits (like I’ve always dreamed of) and if it is true that you only have to do it every 6-8 weeks then it’s masochism for me all the way…
*1 This is actuslly a bit of an exaggeration and I've been told a million times not to do that...
*2 This of course is a lie. In fact, I have no residual soreness…I was just trying to be funny.
I read somewhere on one of the forums I belong to about someone complaining about being stuck in a suit of armour. Well, maybe they didn’t say they were actually stuck; I think perhaps it was just something to describe how their body felt. Anyway, despite searching the archives, I haven’t been able to find the particular post again so I can remember what version of it I like, I guess.
The thread writer explained that it was something to do with a strange sensation around their ribcage that they had after having had their ribs removed for anterior surgery. The memory of the thread only stayed with me as it seemed some kind of odd comparison – I mean how many people actually get to wear suits of armour these days. I suppose its possible she belonged to some kind of medieval re-enacting society but surely as a ‘girlie’ she wouldn’t be trying on the armour (unless it was like this). Anyway, you can imagine that with a brain like mine (you must be getting an idea of how I am just a little bit odd by now) – the mental picture stayed with me of this poor woman trapped in her suit of armour.
Many moons have gone by since that post, but I find myself thinking about it a lot recently. In fact, I have good reason to, as the area around my ribcage is starting to feel quite odd. Now it may be all the bending and stretching I’m doing and all the lifting my arm up (darn sports again!) but it feels umm not unlike you would imagine a suit of armour if it were a bit tight. It’s something like a one sided corset – maybe something like half of this *1 . BTW, please don’t look at this picture if you are
- a) underage..... or
- b) have never learned about the birds and the bees and fetish wear.
The suit of armour description is sounding better all the time – I can’t go round telling people it feels like I have a tight rubber corset where my ribs used to be – they’d think I was mad*2! It’s not a bit like telling them I feel like I’m wearing a suit of armour – I’m sure they’d think that was all quite normal after all…
*1Torture v. thickening waist??–ummm, pass the chocolate please…
*2…der. You don’t get it – read it and this again – quickly and in sequence thank you!
Today I went swimming for the first time since my op. It was great! Now before I go on, I should explain what kind of a swimmer I am – you see swimming is not really something that I do, it’s more what I am really. I’m sure any attempt to explain it will sound just like mystical claptrap, but I was born to swim, you see. I go to the pool and I watch other people struggle up and down the lanes and its obviously hard work for them. Well, and I don’t wish to make all you puffing and panting types jealous, it’s not like that for me. I just get in the water and I swim – if don’t go in for months I can jump in and swim a mile. You see, I could swim before I could walk and swimming is just who I am! Mystical, maybe, claptrap, almost certainly, but there you go.
Well, enough of all that, back to where I was. Today I went swimming for the first time since my op nearly 6 months ago. I was given the all clear to do so about 3 weeks ago but life got in the way and I just didn’t get round to going to the pool. TBH, I was a bit scared – what if I could no longer do this wonderful thing that I’ve been able to do all my life? What if my metalwork stopped me from floating? What if my scar pulled too much to do front crawl? *1 So many questions….
Anyway, I got in the water and did 25 lengths. It was fine apart from a few things. This is what I learnt:
- My legs no longer seem to work in the water. This is odd but not completely unexpected. When I was a kid they never did very much at all and then I learned to roll my hips to get them to work – since I no longer twist in the back I can no longer roll the hips. Ergo, legs don’t work. OK, odd, but at least you’re more streamlined!
- Pushing off from the edge hurts my back. This is not really true – it’s only if you hit the wrong angle (which is most of them). By the end of my time in the pool I’d found a way round this.
- Men in the Jacuzzi are very nice at rescuing your walking sticks when you drop them whilst trying to find your glasses. I don’t think this is because I was in a bathing suit and that they thought I was beautiful. More likely they were mesmerised by my wobbling thighs.
- Despite not using my legs I did 25 lengths in 12 minutes. This would put my mile at 36 minutes. When I was young I could do a sub 30min mile without breathing heavily or even thinking about it and it has been my dream to get back to that. Just before my op I did it in 30 minutes and 50 seconds which I thought was pretty good (especially considering my advanced years!) – 36 minutes would be fine and dandy (as a start!)
- Fat ladies who have just come out of aqua aerobics and who are taking the opportunity to stand in the centre of the pool and gossip, occupy an awful lot of space and get in your way.
Well that’s it really, I went, I swam and I showered, I came home. It was nice…
*1 I don’t do breaststroke, it involves moving your legs in some completely stupid way – goodness knows what kind of an idiot invented it!!.
Please note there are no smilies in this post because I am trying to cut down...
Well, how things have changed in the last few months for me…
Me and the BMB *1 were supposed to be going away together for a few days – yup *2, we were running away without hubby. Umm, just before you get any ideas, hubby knew and was happy about it and no, we do not have that kind of marriage…
Anyway, back to where I was. Me and the BMB were supposed to be going away last Wednesday and because of my delicate medical state (yeah, right!) the BMB was supposed to be driving. Tuesday he rang me:
Me “You packed, ‘n’ ready to go?”
BMB, “Um there’s a bit of a problem” *3
Me “You’re not backing out are you?”
BMB “Gawd no, it’s just that the brakes on the car are shagged and we have no transport”
Me “Ah, looks like I’m driving then – heck, I’ve been driving for 2 weeks now, I bet I can just jump in the car and go right across the country – it’ll be fun…” 
So anyway (I say that a lot, don’t I) – long story short (difficult for me but I will try my best) – we headed off in the car and I drove. Secretly, I think the BMB was terrified – especially after I told him I couldn’t twist any longer to check if the way was clear to overtake or to turn out of steeply angled junctions. Since I drive the car like a dodgem too (I only have two speeds in a car, ram foot on pedal and go fast or ram foot on brake and stop), I imagine his poor knuckles were white for about half the trip until he realised that I hadn’t actually forgotten how to do it and wasn’t really going to kill us both! I didn’t though and we got there fine – even if I did find it pretty tiring.
Once there, we met up with a whole bunch of friends and decided it would be a really fun idea to sit out in the baking sun for several days and see how easy it is to get sunstroke. Actually there’s a reason for this as many of you will know, as I am involved in sport at a pretty high level, and this trip was all about getting back into competition. It went great – the BMB ran around helping everyone out like some kind of blue arsed fly and was hugely loved by everyone for it. I (after not doing any training at all for 5 months) had a fab time and came away really happy with a silver medal too!
So, in all this, what of my back? Well, considering everything it was mostly OK. After the driving there, the 4 days of sitting out in the sun without any shade 
for the hottest 4 days this year, all the exercise, catching up with a bunch of mates and the driving home (phew!) I got though it all. I did learn some stuff though – stretching too much hurts your scar and where your ribs should be. Doing too much exercise makes your back ache and when it does I end up dragging my leg around like its attached to a ball and chain (or maybe like I’m walking through glue – oh yes, or even quicksand…). But despite all this it was superb.
There was one odd thing and it only happened with the BMB – I found that when I look up at him look up at a certain angle I go all dizzy. First of all I though that maybe it was because he was so handsome or something*4, but now I think it’s because he is so tall. When I started PT I was getting lots of these spells and my physio told me that told me that this would happen (no, not that I would come over all unnecessary at tall men, don’t be silly), but the dizzy spells. She said that because I had spent so many years with my head held oddly to compensate for the balance of my spine, it had to readjust for the new position. At first I got dizzy going upstairs and although I put it down to altitude sickness, it did get better if I didn’t look up to see where I was going. Over the past few months, the spells have got much better, but I’d better learn fast not to look up at tall men on my right hand side - unless I want to be known as the girl who swoons at the feet of tall stangers…!
*1 See earlier postings.
*2 Certain people may find this funny…
*3 Lots of ‘sorries’ followed this bit.
*4 I have to say this or he will be hurt.
You have to wonder sometimes about why people use different ring-tones on their mobile phone. Is it their favourite record (I admit to having tried this but heavy metal just doesn’t sound the same …grin ) or is it just what’s fashionable like the Crazy Frog thing? (And despite what people think of me I am not so annoying that I ever tried that!). Well, I’ll tell you what I use and why. The simple ‘why’ is that all the things that came on my phone were really, really awful except one. I have a Motorola phone *1 and they’re quite common *2 so imagine (and this is true, believe me) – all those people who can’t be a*sed to download anything new try all the ring-tones that come with the phone. They too find that they are all really, really awful except one – so they use that one. Result? Phone rings in Tesco and twenty people all start digging in their handbags and pockets…
Anyway, back to me – ‘cos this is my blog and I can write about me in it if I want. I use the Mission Impossible theme – corny huh? Well, it represents the fact that I almost never get to it in time to answer it – that’s where the Mission Impossible bit comes in. Is it buried in the bowels of my handbag, amongst discarded sweet wrappers, a purse, a swiss army knife, keys, a tape measure, a nail file (why? When I have a swiss army knife), a lipstick (again why? Have you ever seen me wearing it?) and a dozen other things that may or may not belong to me? Or, is it simply in the lounge when I am in the kitchen? (I am so slow that I could be beaten in a race to get to it by a tortoise riding on the back of a slug!) If it is in the lounge, there is every likelihood that it could be under the sofa*3 where the cats have probably tried to hide it in order to muffle the irritating ring-tone. It could be just about anywhere in fact…
You see…what and why……
BTW, I do know someone very close to me who has a very normal ring-tone for their everyday calls but uses the special ring-tone of the Addams Family just for the mother in law….
*1I have a pink V3 – I love it and this does not make me a poser or chav – I just like it – OK? 
*2 Yes, you’re right, pink V3’s aren’t that common – but it seems that Motorola use pretty much the same ringtones for all their phone models.
*3 If you don't get this link, here's a hint - look at the pictures.
Actually, I’m lying, I’m not 5 months today, I will be 5 months tomorrow – but that’s Saturday. You may be thinking that the Internet is still there on a Saturday, but I won’t be. Not that I’ll be away or anything but as I’ve mentioned before – I’m a weekday blogger!
So, at 5 months, how do I feel? Well pretty darn good actually. I would be lying if I said I didn’t have any pain because I do, but some of that is caused by the arthritis I have at the base of my spine, and the operation was never going to make that go away! I am still getting pain from my ribs (or lack of them). The ‘phantom’ ones in particular really play me up – of course, it may also have something to do with the fact that my chest drain was really close to this area and my diaphragm got sliced in two as well. Thinking about that – I’m assuming it will take a long time before coughing and sneezing doesn’t result in a string of expletives! 
I’m also getting some pain in my left hip – I had such a big sideshift that my right leg used to take all my weight. Now my left one has to do some of the work and it whinges from time to time…Oh yes, and I still have the dead thigh thing – looks like I’m stuck with it. (Not to worry, it’ll be handy at party times when we don’t have anywhere suitable to play ‘pin the tail on the donkey’). Thankfully, the feeling is starting to come back around my scar and at the rate it’s going I think I should be able to feel my podgy tummy properly by Christmas! Seriously the tummy is not as podgy as it was, just still a bit swollen over my ribs –“still have some fullness there” as my surgeon nicely(?) put it!
So, to drugs 
- no, not that type (!) – the ones I’m supposed to take, what of them? Well, my standard painkillers are down to about the same as they were before the op – I’m taking less of them at a slightly higher dose. I am managing to steadily decrease them at the moment so watch this space. The news on the nerve pain is not so hot. I recently went to my doctor and said I wanted to reduce the dose, as since I had no nerve pain whilst on them I thought this meant I was fixed. She thought it odd that someone wanted to get off their medication (our surgery is in that kind of area *1) but decided to humour me. I reduced my dosage by one tablet and the pain came back – not badly, but enough for me to realise I wasn’t ‘fixed’. I’m staying on current levels for another month and will have another go. Can’t be helped, but it’s my only piece of bad news so that’s pretty good I think.
My major problems with heartburn have definitely improved. I’m still having some attacks, but they are much less frequent and definitely less painful. I’ve been told that it can take up to a year for everything to settle into its new place so there’s still time for this to improve even more. I no longer seem to have any problems swallowing which is just great. My digestion is back to normal (mostly) – the only odd thing is the habit my stomach has of gurgling madly when I first lie down in bed at night. Hubby has gone from laughing at it to (now he’s used to it) telling me he’s finding it soothing – “rather like whale song” he says!
Apart from all of this stuff, I feel really well in myself. Of course, we’ve had a fair bit of sun lately and I love sunny weather. Having my restrictions lifted has meant that I can go out in the car and also get out and potter in the garden – something I really enjoy. It all means I’m much less frustrated with not being able (or allowed) to do anything.
An odd upside (I think) that I didn’t expect is the fact that I have had to buy so many new clothes. I thought I might like to (as different styles would now fit), but I never expected to have to replace all my trousers *2. It seems that enough of your lumbar spine is below your waistband to make a difference and your waistband just simply doesn’t end up being, well, where it used to be! For me, I have decided to have a bit of a new look – I am growing my hair (yes really) to a longer short style and have even bought a t-shirt recently which has flowers on it instead of a slogan. Give me another year or so and people will accuse me of growing up!
Anyway, I know this is a long post but I guess these update ones will be. The next back one will be on or around the 8th of August. Then, I shall be 6 months post op – can you believe it?
*1 Here in Wales, everything is bilingual – Welsh*3 and English. The signs in our surgery are in about 17 languages whereas in our old one (way over in Wooly West Wales*4) you were lucky sometimes to find the English sign!
*2 L. and all the other friends in US, you’d call these pants – over here pants are what go under your trousers (if you get my drift). An aside on this subject (just to save any embarrassment) is that in the good ole US of A, what you call a fanny means something very different over here. Over here it’s a – well, I can’t say, I’m too much of a lady, but it’s something that little girls have one of, and little boys don’t! Oh, and on a similar note, a gem for my Australian readers – if you want to seal a parcel, don’t ask for Durex in the UK – you’ll just get a well know prophylactic. I used this nice long word so I didn’t have to use any rude words, but if you don’t know what one of those is, please look here – don’t Google it – heaven knows what you’ll come up with…..
*3 Learn it here, with Colin and Cumberland!
*4Have you noticed how often www crops up - spooky eh? I wonder if it's something to do with the mice myself....
I thought I’d start with some fun – and absolutely no poetry – guaranteed! And oh yes, this does have an American flavour, but why not?
Then, there’s the gadgets weblog. I always knew that there were things missing from my life, I just never realised that they were a computer rear view mirror and a pancake maker that imprints Jesus’s face on everything I cook! Well, it’s important that you too know about these things….BTW, there are serious items here too – it’s not all fun and games you know!
The next site that I drop into from time to time is The Apothecaries drawer. This is just an amazing website full of – well, I don’t know what really, just lots of stuff. It calls itself an eclectic and sceptical look at topics near the triple point of science arts and culture. I keep going back to the blog in particular (even though it’s not updated that often) - I don’t think I’ve scratched the surface of it, but it is just stuffed full of amazing , well, stuff. It was here that I came across the work of Rob Gonsalves . This man has some incredibly Escher-like touches – some of the stuff is just brilliant – very surreal and totally amazing.
This one is being added to my links page - Clothing ideas for people with back irregularities
Oh yes, and on the subject of eclectic stuff – OK, so I didn’t actually say that my links were eclectic, but you must have guessed by now…anyway, I just love this blog by, and called Paper Lily. It’s comment on design really, but good (or simply unusual) design comes into so many of our everyday items and mostly we just ignore it. I think it’s good to stop and look at the beauty of a colander once in a while…..
Whilst I have been unable to do anything (you don’t know why? Keep up, keep up…), I have watched a certain amount of daytime TV. I’ve still chosen what I wanted to watch rather than just leaving the box on all day and I am still unaware how many soaps there are on every day. Maybe they all have soporific theme tunes or something – that might explain it. Anyway, I have noticed that there are a large number of cookery/DIY/Gardening shows on along with the normal daytime stuff and after I woke up the other morning, having had one of those really bizarre dreams in which the world as you know it is completely weird and you’re married to your high school teacher who is an alien or some other such rubbish *1 and it occurred to me that I had, overnight, come up with the perfect daytime TV show. It goes something like this…
The show has two contestants who have to choose a house in the country and then break into it – outlining its security weaknesses. Once inside, they have to identify any valuables and then auction them in order to fund a complete makeover of every room in the house, including the kitchen. As soon as the kitchen is finished, they have to cook a meal and invite 6 perfect strangers, picked randomly out of the phone book to come to dinner. They then must re-plan and plant the front garden in such a way that the presenters of the programme can identify it easily in order to bring the contestants back to the studio. Backstage in the studio will be the owners of the house that has just been broken into and completely remodelled on a pittance. They are invited to meet the contestants. (Any abuse hurled at this point will only add to the general excitement of the show). The winner is the person who manages to complete the task in just one day and it will be broadcast in real time over 24 single hour episodes. Kergchung, kergchung…….*2
*1Actually in my dream, the house was full of things that weren’t my cats but looked like them. In reality they were man-eating monsters that had disguised themselves as cats (how they did the size change I have no idea because when they were monsters they were man sized not cat sized – I mean, cat sized man eating monsters wouldn’t be too bad, umm unless there were thousands of them of course). I would have killed them all but I couldn’t tell them apart and didn’t want to kill my own cats (they were cunning enough to never appear at the same time). I ran away (yeah right) at one point and was cornered by the back door (which wasn’t my back door, even though it was my house – in fact it seemed to be in my lounge?) and when one of them tapped me on the shoulder I screamed so loud I woke myself up. 
Gosh the brain is a strange thing….
*2 I’m an addict I’m afraid on this
I have decided to launch the all new P.W.S.B.K awards. PWSBK (pronounced pushbike *1) stands for “People Who Should Be Killed” and as an acronym is rather apt, since all the people nominated should not be allowed to drive anything with more than two wheels!
Let me present the first nominee and outline the position.
Hubby and I go shopping. I am using my wheelchair and need a wide space next to my car door so that I can easily get out of the chair and into the car. For this reason, we park in a disabled car parking space which is extra wide for easy access. Shopping is completed (along with coffee and cake) and we return to the car to find this:
The little runt of a car in the middle has just squeezed into the space that plainly isn't a space! Well, we did not key his car or smash his windows (as much as I wanted to). He is however the first nomination for this award. If you know who he is, please tell him that he is owed a knuckle sandwich…
BTW, if you have any nominations for crappy parking (of any description), please send me the photos. No- I am not publishing my e-mail address for all to see – if you know my e-mail address, great, send them to me – if not, leave me a comment and I’ll get back to you. I don’t think it would be too wise to say – "hey big world wide web – send me photos, any photos……"
*1 I’m Welsh – of course it’s pronounced like this!
Not long ago I went to the hairdresser for the first time since my surgery. (I would have gone before but between the very idea of bending my neck backwards over a sink whilst my head is pummelled*1 combined with the fact that up until then I felt like sh*t made me decide that I couldn’t face it.)
Anyway, my last haircut before surgery was not done by my regular ‘girl’ (I have no idea why they are all called girls, since some of them are ancient, but there you go) – instead the boss did it as my ‘girl’ was away. Consequently she didn’t know I was going into hospital and even if she had I probably wouldn’t have told her why. You see, I always tried to stand to make it look like I didn’t have any curves (apart from proper womanly ones of course) - I have no idea why I wanted to hide it, it’s not like I was ashamed that my back had gone off in its own direction (literally) but maybe I just wanted to look a bit more like a magazine model. Yep, me, the ex- 4ft 9” (now 4ft 11”) thinks that with enough make-up and the right clothes I could in fact look just like Elle McPherson (not!).
So, I went in for a nice cut and to get rid of my flowing (umm what I actually mean is unruly, greasy and straggly) locks. Now at this point you have to appreciate that I normally have short hair – but not short hair like most women my age. No, I have very short hair, in fact it’s just the kind of short hair that can look exactly like I have had a struggle with a lawnmower (though to be fair I think the lawnmower comes off worse) – it’s short and spiky (as long as I get it cut often enough) and sometimes I dye it with the brightest shade I have the courage to do. The Christmas before last I had lots of very red streaks – not auburn or ginger – really red red! I loved it and called it my Christmas hair – others were not so impressed (friends, mother etc) – hubby was cool about it, but then he usually is (he’s very laid back is hubby..). Anyway, at the risk of digressing some more, I left the hairdressers the same colour that I went in with and with not much cutting going on either! My ‘girl’ said “You should grow it, its over your ears now and it seems a waste – just think if it was long we could do all sorts of exciting things with it” – “Like cut it off?” I asked? Anyway, long story short, she won - so I am growing it to a length which most people seem to regard as short hair. In fact, now I’m a bit more used to it, I think I like it and there’s more of it to put streaks in too – seems a waste to spend all that money on just dying 2” of hair when you can do 5” for the same money after all!
Anyway, I have digressed enough about my hair; this was supposed to be about the hairdresser! I got there, walked in (with my two sticks) and sat down to have my hair washed. A conversation ensued:
My ‘girl’: ’“I haven’t seen you for ages”
Me: “I’ve been in hospital having an operation”
My ‘girl’: “Oh, did they straighten out your spine then? You look a lot less crooked.”
Rats! She had known all along and I thought I’d kept it hidden so well….
*1. Actually, you don’t get pummelled at our hairdressers, or at least not when J. is there. It’s like an orgasm in a hand basin when he washes your hair – there are ladies who don’t care who does their cutting as long as he does the washing. He even has very old ladies going weak at the knees and asking for him by name. I’m amazed his boyfriend doesn’t get jealous sometimes….
