On locks, cars and murder in mind

I think I will start with the murder in mind just to get it off my chest! My car has a dent in the rear wing. It is around the size and shape a city tank (Shogun type thing) would make if someone were to reverse out of a space and crush my rear wing with their bumper. I am hopping mad and the b*stards didn’t even leave a note to say sorry. It’s not the end of the world as it should push out ok, but it means stripping all the lining out the boot and removing some bits a pieces and why? All ‘cos some a**e can’t drive properly. There! I’ve said it…I shall now move on with dignity.

My little car had to go in to the garage last week as the key will no longer unlock the driver’s door. It’s been sticky for a while and has now finally given up the ghost. The only thing is, that the lock itself works fine, its just the key barrel that is broken. So, since the door unlocks and locks ok from the inside, then that is what has to be done- the only problem is, that it’s a bit of a palaver for me!

Imagine the scene – you unlock the car from the passenger side^*1 and climb in. Now the fun starts. Do you:

• A) Try to climb over to the driver’s side? With the kind of motor control I have in my legs? Unlikely!
• B) Sit in the passenger side and lean across to unlock the driver’s door from the inside? Ummm, slight problem here, I don’t lean too well owing to the fact I have a ‘rod up my a*se’ (as the expression goes amongst my friends)
• C) Climb into the car, kneel on the passenger seat, lean forward and unlock the door from the inside? Yes, correct!

OK, so with the door unlocked, I then have to climb out of the car, walk around the outside and climb in the driver’s side to get going. This has been going on for a few weeks now as my car is 25 years old and the lock is a special order…I suspect it is coming from Japan – by slow boat…..or is that China? Anyway, it’s coming very slowly, wherever it is coming from so I am having to manage.

Now, locking the door is no problem as I can lock the door when it is open and just slam it shut, which is exactly what I did the other night when I came home. The only thing odd about the other night is that I did have to park on the opposite side of the road to our house. But I didn’t really think anything about that, until the following morning when I went out to the car. You see, opposite our house is the gate to the park and right outside the gate are some railings designed to stop small children from hurtling out of the gate all excited after playing in the park and running headfirst into the nearest passing truck. So, I had parked right by the railings…very close to the railings….close enough that you could barely pass a hand between the door mirror and the railings…the passenger door mirror that is. That would be the same passenger door that I have to unlock, climb inside blah blah blah, to unlock the driver’s door….are you getting a mental image of this?? I only have 2 doors in my car too…and the boot of course. So, minor problem here, how do you get in to the car, through the passenger door, in order to open the driver’s door so that you can go out for the day?

In the end it was hubby to the rescue, as I was all for opening the boot (trunk), climbing inside by dropping the back of the rear seat and getting into the car that way. I was even wondering if I could use a strong magnet to operate the electric sunroof switch through the window, but hubby decided to demonstrate that a man of a certain age, provided he is still lithe and limber can in fact, climb through a gap smaller than any individual part of him. It was impressive !!

^*1 Which thankfully has a keyhole on the passenger side, unlike hubby’s last car.

More things you shouldn’t do post op (Episode X)

Now, of course you may have already got the impression from me that I am a little bit of a stubborn person who likes to just get on with things without asking for help. I of course would not agree – I just do what I do, but there you go.

Anyway, the other day I took it into my head to clean the bedroom top to bottom, moving all (small) moveable objects and not only cleaning under the bed, but moving all the junk under there too so that I could even clean under it instead of around it (novel eh?). At some stage in all of this I realised that whatever I did with the Hoover I couldn’t get to the bit in the middle under the bed from either side and so I got the hose out, with the cat hair removing tool and got down on my stomach and wriggled under the bed.
Something I should mention at this point is that I have always slept on my stomach – my whole life – until the surgery. Since the surgery I cannot sleep or lie on my stomach, it’s not comfortable and if I do it for too long I lock up and can’t move. If my physio wants me to do this she props my stomach and head to make it easier to get me back up but I never thought of this when I started wriggling under the bed.

So, there I am with my little feet sticking out the side of the bed - on my stomach with the Hoover hose in my hand. I find I can’t figure out how to get back out again as my left leg is refusing to take instructions and my spine is stiffening into a rod of iron (or should that be steel?) which is being bent the wrong way. It is at this point that the Hoover finds an errant shoelace within inches of its current position, sucks it up and that wraps itself around some kind of internal doings and the motor starts to strain under the load. To make matters worse, smoke starts to pour out from the region of the motor and even flailing my arm around I can only just get fingertips to the Hoover body but not the on/off switch! The cat (who has been hiding under the bed because of the Hoover noise) comes up to me to investigate the gnashing of teeth and licks my nose….(yup, that was helpful I’m sure)

Anyway, somehow I wriggle out in a type of rolling fashion (Lara Croft would’ve been proud of me!) heaving myself forward by grabbing the chest of drawers and hit the Hoover button. Smoke stops and I heave a big sigh of relief…

…and that was it for me for the day!

Big question is, what will I do next time this job needs doing? Do you think I will ask hubby?

Ah, bending…I forgot

I was reading the forum the other day and I noticed something about bending and how we should all bend from the knees when we pick stuff up. Well, I just can’t do this – never have been able to and probably never will be able to – I simply don’t have the motor control function to be able to push up from the floor once my legs are bent. This obviously has nothing to do with the scoliosis, but everything to do with my spina bifida.

So, picture the scene – my surgeon fuses my spine down to L5 and leaves L5/S1 joint free – he tells me that it will be good for me to have at least one moveable joint but I am told not to overstress it in any way shape or form because it is already arthritic and worn. Making matters worse is that due to my rotation and stuff, he had to put a wedge of metal in between L4 and L5 (1.5” high on one side) which means that the rigidity of this places extra stress on that ole L5/S1 joint. Hmmm, no stress eh? What shall I do? Be good? Me? I think not!

I started after surgery with all good intentions and because of it had loads of problems putting on my socks and shoes but now all that has changed. It’s true I can put my left sock and shoe on by bending my foot into my lap but my right one just won’t bend in that direction (more effects of spina bifida I’m afraid making my right hip largely inflexible^*1) – so, what do I do - do I ask hubby or someone to put my sock and shoe on? ^*2 No, mostly I just bend at the waist until I can get to my foot. I stretch and stretch and I reach – now does this count as stressing my joint?

I dunno, but I do know that I’ve stretched it all so much that I can now touch my toes – I don’t really think I should be doing that now, do you?

^*1 Something along the lines of it only bending in one useful direction .... I used to however dislocate it easily enough if I tried to push it any other way (though as I'm sure you'll understand when I say I haven't tried for a while). In fact, as a teenager (and possibly when a trifle drunk so my memory is a little hazy) I think I offered to do this in an attempt to amuse people.....!
^*2 In fact I do ask this if I am having a bad morning - sometimes pride will only make up for so much pain and effort.

I am a bad blog mama...

I admit it - I am a very bad blog mama who has not done any recent updates. It's true, I haven't and why? Well, life has just been a bit busy and I forgot, Okay? Yep, I admit it, I forgot......

So, I have made another new Year's Resolution (did you ever wonder that every day is the start of a new year?) - I will not leave you hanging on for weeks at a time - what do you mean, you don't hang on my every word...oh gosh, darn ...(etc etc)

Anyway, I will try and post something a little more meaningful in the wondering line over the next few days...and if I can't do that, I'll see if I can come up with something warped!

Actually, it was kind of odd today, since I subscribe to my own RSS feed (yeah I know that's vain) and it told me that I had two new posts - uh? How come? It was wrong though - it was just two old posts and I suppose RSS is now clever enough to know that I only skimmed them, and didn't read them at all........

This touched me...

This was posted on one of the forums and I really wanted to quote it – it’s just that I have felt like this so often, that I though it was something really worth sharing…

"I know other people have told me it takes a year or 18 months to feel normal again.

BUT -- what I suspect is, the tough part for me is realizing that I will probably need to make peace with some PERMANENT changes in how I live my life -- for instance, I don't see what I will ever again be charging around the back yard with a wheelbarrow full of mulch, or shoveling snow off the driveway. Of course, I could no longer do that in the last couple of years before my surgery anyway.

On the OTHER hand -- (are you getting whiplash following this?) -- the reality is, I would have become increasingly disabled had I NOT had the surgery. A fused spine is not natural, and it is limiting. But so is severe scoliosis. The hardest part about this condition, for me, is ACCEPTING the fact that EITHER WAY, with or without a fused spine, my back will never be "normal.""

Thanks girl for expressing this so well…I owe you.

OMG 2 years today!

Well, this is it – I reached a whole two years since my surgery for my scoliosis – so what has changed for me?

Firstly, I no longer check in on the scoliosis forums (http://www.scoliosis-support.org/ and http://www.scoliosis.org/forum/) every day – I still try to do so every week, as I hope that maybe I can help someone going through what I have been through. Experience is a wonderful thing and I cannot thank enough the people who had been there and done that (and helped me by using their experience) but also those people like Ly & Kat who went through it all with me (Kat just one day away). All these people all over the world helped me get through something that seemed very overwhelming at the time and I really hope that I can return the favour.

Now I am so far post op, you might wonder whether or not my scoliosis still has any impact on my life, but I have to say that yes, it does. Firstly (and this is something that my physio reminded me of the other day) I still have two curves of over 30 degrees. This is the kind of curvature that many people start asking questions about surgery and whether to do it or not due to the impact on their lives and so, despite externally looking straight as a die, I still have all that going on inside and it's the kind of thing that would make a difference to anyone’s life. The external straightness though is wonderful – having gone from such a pronounced list to one side with a big rotation to barely rotated and with my head firmly over my middle, I am delighted. I cannot believe the work that my surgeon did to get me like this – I had a stiff, middle aged, scoliotic spine with an old spina bifida repair (with associated nerve complications) and a cracked vertebrae and he had all that to work around. So, maybe I don’t have as great a correction as some of the pictures you see, but I think he worked wonders. For me it means I am firmly held (screwed and rodded) in a position that my internal organs are no longer under threat and that’s the way it will stay until I am (hopefully) a very old lady!

So, pleased with correction? Check! What else? Hmm, I guess I should tackle the pain issue as that is the main reason for surgery for many people. Now, you have to remember that with all the above going on in my back my surgeon told me that he was not operating on me to help with my pain. If I got pain relief it would be a bonus, but I had a 75 degree lumbar curve that was progressing at more than 5 degrees per year. That was his main concern. Well, the pain thing is hard to explain – the pain I had before surgery has pretty much gone – but, to be replaced by something different. I used to have a real grinding constant pain in my lower back and lived with it 24/7. That pain, I still get, but it comes and goes infrequently. I have some times when I am pretty much pain free, although not many. Mostly the pain I get is much more brutal than it used to be, left centre back, although it can be higher or lower (by brutal I mean it will wake me from sleep or force me to sit or lie down). So, yes, in that way the pain is worse, but the flip side is that I take painkillers for it and it responds well to the pills. They are quite strong (stronger than I used to take) but they work and so I suppose the pain is better in a funny kind of way.

Three other quick issues on pain – firstly, I used to get a lot of muscle spasm in the areas compressed by my spine. In the past I have had treatment on this but it would always go straight back to being really tight. With my reduced curves, this is much better and treatment (massage) seems to be reducing it further as any loosening off that the masseur does doesn’t immediately flip back into spasm. Highly recommended!
Secondly the nerve pain – most of you know I came out of hospital with a hypersensitive patch on my leg and some areas of numbness. The nerve pain is much better and although I am still taking Gabapentin, I am now down to 600mg per day (from 2400). I am thinking of trying to drop it again – I hope in time that the nerves will settle down completely and I can stop with the orange pills, but until then I shall settle for a steady improvement.
Thirdly (and this is an issue that I know lots of post surgery people get) the pain from the incision (and especially where the ribs came from) is an issue in a way. If I do too much, that side will still swell slightly and complain. The answer really is not to do too much but hey, this is me we’re talking about! Ah yes, and another related thing – I still have no feeling at all in my stomach below my rib cage on the left hand side. It’s very weird – especially if someone strokes your tummy!

Wow, this is a long post, isn’t it? I don’t know what else to cover really – my walking is coming on (at least I can get further) although the sticks are a constant – maybe that’s why I can get further? Of course, the bonus with them is that they do stop me falling over as I still have rubbish balance. What else? Ah yes, I get very stiff at night – I always used to but through muscle spasm - this feels different from that, but still I need my bed leaver in the mornings for sure!

Apart from all of that I am fit, healthy and happy. I think I feel far fitter than I ever would have done without the surgery – I know that it has changed my life in many ways. I think too that I may just be a little more sensible but I think everyone else thinks I’m just as stubborn in my own way.

Scoliosis surgery for me felt like a gamble on my future. “Better the devil you know” I used to think, but there comes a point when the odds are stacked against you if you decide to do nothing. Maybe my progression would have suddenly stopped (and then waited like a time bomb inside me) – who knows? But anyway, I made the decision, took the plunge and gambled on the surgery. - I think it paid off, don’t you?

I shall post another update next time I see my surgeon (scheduled for February, but with the NHS, it’ll probably be July) and then another update in about 6 months time. Check back soon!

Blooming call centres...!

I know I told you that we bought a new car – which was funny in itself – you see we live quite close to a big river and the only bridge is about 20 minutes away - I know, that’s not funny but let me get to it…So, I went onto Autotrader (is that advertising?) and started looking through all cars within a 40 mile radius trying to find the right one at the right price. There, it said – we have the perfect car for you – 36 miles away! Wonderful I thought – phoned the garage and made an appointment to view the car then programmed the garage postcode into the sat nav. Tim (that’s my Tom-tom’s^*1… name) said you will reach your destination in 1.5 hours! 1.5 hours I squeaked – how come? 76 miles he said (actually he doesn’t actually talk to me like that, I just squeaked a bit when I looked at the little map thingie) – turns out that yes, the car was 36 miles away, but only as the crow flies – I after all, not having an amphibious car, have to make an inconvenient detour over the bridge!

Anyway, long story short (if I can!) – I went down, looked at the car, arranged to buy it and then to pick it up a week later (time to transfer funds into the bank, garage to MOT it etc). One week later I called the bank – got through to a call centre, punched in lots of numbers including 2 security codes at appropriate points and finally got to talk to a person:

Me: “I shall be using a debit card too buy a car tomorrow”
Somewhere in New Delhi: “Oh, fine but that might trigger a security alert because of the sum of money involved”
Me: “Um, that’s why I’m calling, so that you can make sure that doesn’t happen”
Somewhere in New Delhi: “But security is very important – you wouldn’t want someone stealing your card and making a big purchase, would you?”
Me: “Um, no, but then I wouldn’t really expect them to steal my card, and having had to torture me to find out my security codes, then call you up and tell you in advance that they were going to steal money from my account…!”
Somewhere in New Delhi: “I see your point, but there is nothing we can do – the purchase may or may not go through depending on security”

…at this point I am fairly exasperated – especially since I can see myself driving the 36, sorry 76 miles to pick up the car and the payment being refused. So, I ask what I can do (politely of course) if payment is refused.

Somewhere in New Delhi: “I can give you this 0900 phone number which we will charge you at enormous expense per minute (I am putting words in her mouth here but it was a premium rate number) in case it is refused”
Me: “and what will they do?”
Somewhere in New Delhi: “Oh, they will just ask you for your security codes that you had to give to get to me and since that verifies who you are you can then tell them that you are using your debit card to buy a car”

Click……...................................

Oh, yes, and in case you are wondering – I did not trigger a security alert despite the fact that I spent £2500 on a debit card only authorised for £300 per day. This banking stuff confuses me….

^*1In for a penny n for a pound – if I’m going to advertise I may as well do it twice in one blog entry!

I know, I know, it’s been ages…..

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?

How do you cope when you lose one of your best friends?

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.

So, what else do you like ironed?

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.

Cough, ow, cough ow....

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!

Happy Christmas

A VERY HAPPY CHRISTMAS

AND A HAPPY AND HEALTHY NEW YEAR

TO YOU ALL!!!



Don't worry - I'll be back in the New Year with more Wonderings from the (rather less) Warped Woman.

Wine boxes and duvets

I got to wondering after my last entry, if there are so many ways to empty a wine box, then how many ways are there to change a duvet cover? I used to be one of those who held on to the duvet corners and cover corners and stood up with my arms held high above my head and (hopefully) the cover would drop down over me and the duvet in one easy action. The problem with this is that if you have rubbish balance, you usually fall over in the process, the cover and the duvet both conspire to roll you into some kind of knot and then you end up in a major panic ‘cos you can’t find a way out. So, unsurprisingly I gave up doing it that way….

These days I am much more sensible, although unless I remember to shut the bedroom door, I get a lot of cat related help. Bugalugs in particular (no, I keep telling you, that’s one of the cats, not hubby!) loves freshly ironed sheets and as soon as a fresh sheet goes on he’s on the bed rolling over and over as if to say “you didn’t iron it properly mum – look at me, I’ll help!”. I do love him, but fresh, furry sheets are not really the thing, are they?

When it comes to changing the duvet cover he is even more helpful, wriggling inside the cover then getting a good grip on the corner of the duvet as it goes into the cover. Now, once he has that grip, he calls his sister and then she will get in there with him. That’s it, one of them under the duvet and one on top, both inside the cover – it’s usually at this point that they forget that they are supposed to be helping and they start to squabble over which of them wants which bit of duvet and a minor scuffle ensues. Now this usually involves trying to turn the duvet into some kind of a sausage shape that they can hide inside and swipe at each other …and me, if I am fiendish enough to want to get them out!

At this point, I usually give up, go downstairs, pour myself a very stiff drink (or at least a glass out of the aforementioned box) and then rattle the cat crunchy box. As soon as they arrive I try and rush out the room before they notice and get the door shut really quick so that I can go back to un-knotting the duvet in peace – something that will take another 45 minutes…

I don’t know, and people ask me what I do all day….

Wine boxes – empty or not?

We often have a wine box on the go in this house – I often like a glass and it saves me being forced into drinking a whole bottle in one go (of course apart from when the BUF is here – its almost compulsory then!).

Well, the FNG^*1 was here and the conversation turned to wine (I don’t know how… how does alcohol ever get into a conversation?) and the subject of wine boxes came up. I mentioned that there was a glass left in ours and then another one once I had worked my magic to get the last glass out. This involves doing a kind of mouth to mouth thing to the valve and blowing into the box. You then open the cardboard top and as you turn the tap you squeeze the bag – the extra air pressure forces out the last few drops. I call this my ‘blowing up the bag’ trick and it works every time!

Now I thought the FNG would be horrified that I was so impolite (mind he knows me so he’d hardly be shocked) but he went on to tell me that he too has a trick for emptying the bag. It’s not quite so uncouth as my version (and probably a lot more manly) – as he just opens the top of the box, takes the bag out and cuts the corner off with a pair of scissors – boring but effective!

I have since discovered that many of my friends (even the ones who have enough money that they don’t need to be grubbing around for the last glass in the box) have their own tricks for getting it out. I sometimes wonder why we all bother though – it’s the last glass, it’s the oldest and it usually doesn’t actually taste that great!

^*1Friday night guy

The mystery of food groups

Since I travel a bit with big groups of people I get the chance to look at lots of peoples eating habits (some more disgusting than others) and it never ceases to amaze me at they way people eat.

For myself, I eat quite normally I think, but I always save my favourite mouthful for last – and I never eat the last few chips (french fries) on my plate. ^*1. Hubby always puts a bit of everything on his fork – not for him eating all his peas first (or whatever)! The VNSO does exactly that though , he eats in food groups - but I have a sneaky feeling that he too saves the best for last. Someone else I know just shovels everything in until they get hamster cheeks and then if whatever food they have stored in their hamster pouches turns out to be bony, then they just do the old spittoon thing with the stuff that’s indigestible (Yew!)!

In addition to that you have all the stuff that we do, or don’t eat – the stuff we like and dislike. For myself, there are probably more foods that I won’t eat because I dislike the texture than those that I dislike the taste. EO is the same (but worse than me) as she doesn’t like grainy food, squeaky food or rubbery food. Hey, I’m with her on the rubbery – oh yes, and I can’t abide jelly – fine with ice cream, but on meat? Ack!

Isn’t it all very weird?

^*1I blame my mother for this, always telling me that I couldn’t get up from the table until I had cleared my plate even if I hated it. She also used the ‘think of all the starving children in India’ thing on me and I was forever telling her to ‘pack it up in a box and send it to them’…I was precocious, even as a 5 year old!

Selective hearing I guess…

We were in bed recently and hubby was apologising for not doing something that I hadn’t asked him to do (how bizarre is that?) and I mentioned that I hadn’t asked him to do it.

“Ah” he said “but I want to help you – I don’t think I do enough to help” …

…which anyone who has followed this blog from the early days will know is patently not the case.

“But I didn’t ask you to do it” I said “So that’s fine – if I’d have wanted you to do it I would have asked and then if you hadn’t done it I’d then have had reason to complain”

“You never complain” said he…

…which again is patently not the case……

I’m guessing here that he doesn’t realise that I complain all the time, its just that once a man has been married for more than 5 years his hearing starts to go (but only in a very selective kind of way^*1 as mention of food, alcohol and hobbies all elicit a response^*2) – so how would he know whether I complain or not?

^*1 like any time I am talking?
^*2 actually, spending money also elicits a response, just not the same kind…(OJ - dear!)!

Groaning, moaning and complaining…

So, last weekend, PTV and HLW and YS^*1 came down to stay and we all went to a car rally special stage which took place inside the Millenium Stadium in Cardiff. It was a pretty good evening all in all and I think everyone enjoyed themselves – lots of smoke and the occasional car running into the (plastic) barriers – you can’t complain at that.

For me, the only thing that marred the evening was a (not so) small child who was sat up on the back of the seat behind – his parents decided to leave before us and as he tried to get up to go, he slid down off the back of the seat extending both feet straight out in front of him. Whomp! Straight in the middle of my back! My first thought was ‘OMG, what if he bent my rod, I’ll be stuck in this position’ before I decided that really no great harm had been done apart from a bit of soreness. He, in typical uncouth youth fashion didn’t even stop to say sorry or to see if I was alright. Anyway, without wishing to sound too crabby about how I felt about his (complete lack of) manners, I just hope he gets acne when he reaches his teenage year, that’s all I can say!!

Anyway, I woke up the next day stiff (expected after so long on one seat) but mostly OK. By Monday I was feeling a bit bruised. By Monday night I couldn’t lean back against a hard chair I was feeling so tender and on Tuesday I took an hour to get out of bed. Wednesday I was getting grumpy as it wasn’t improving and Thursday I felt like I was getting there…. Today I am still sore but its now liveable with so…..

…I shall add that to the list of things I have discovered you shouldn’t do with a rod in your back^*2 like:

• Fall backwards out of your wheelchair at speed.
• Sit over the rear axle of a vehicle on a road with pot holes.
• Endure more than 1 hour of turbulence in an aircraft
• Get kicked in the back with both feet by a ten year old

…now they never told me those things in the hospital along with no white water rafting and no roller coasters – I must remember to enlighten them!

^*1Youngest son ^*3
*2 An expression commonly heard by my close friends which goes “You try doing that with a rod up you’re a*se!”
^*3 They also have ES (Eldest son), who has left home (see PTV’s blog) and MD (middle daughter) who is a star in her own right.

The perils of not reading the packet

I saw DG last week and she was asking my advice on how to tie a toga since she had been invited to a toga party. Well, my only efforts at such things have mostly been back in my student days and then only in a mad drunken moment so I wasn’t really too much help. I muttered something about wrapping a sheet around you like a towel, pinning it to your underwear (just in case!) and chucking the excess fabric up and over your shoulder so that you look delightful and Roman like – completely unruffled by your experiences of pinning, wrapping and generally getting in a knot. Anyway, DG seemed pretty happy with the response and went away muttering things like “buy a sheet” and “make sure I’ve got safety pins….”

I went home and so did she (opposite sides of the country) and then on the day of the party I received a frantic text:

“Help! Disaster! I bought a fitted sheet!”

Ah, DG, always bound to surprise and amuse you, just when you least expect it.

BTW, just in case anyone out there has found this blog because they really do want to tie a toga – this is how you do it.

A case of mistaken bovine identity…

Following on with a very tenuous link (you’ll see why later) from my last entry I thought I’d tell you a little tale from when hubby and I were on our recent holiday….

One day we hired a car – the island was only about 10 miles by 11 miles and so we figured we could probably see most of it (!) with one day’s car hire. Hubby drove and we set off to visit the famous local harbour and then went off to explore the interior of the island. We started driving up this hill, crested the top and then swooped down the other side following the bend in the road^*1. I saw something in a field on the right hand side of the road and as we passed it I looked at hubby, he looked at me and he said “What’s an…?” “…Elephant?” we both burst out….”doing in the middle of a field in the Caribbean…!” !!!

That was it, we were both certain that there was a small elephant – something about young elephant size, in the field, behind the hedge. How bizarre and random is that?

Well, we had to stop and double check, I mean, it was just so odd that we both thought and said the same thing at the same time….Anyway, hubby stops the car, grabs his camera and trots back up the road. What does he find? Well, by the time he got back to the ‘elephant’ it had lifted up its head and was idly chewing the cud, regarding curiously this odd tourist charging up the road towards it. You see, it was a cow, a grey and rather wrinkly cow whose head had been down at feet level and who had rather broad shoulders that looked like the ears of a small elephant….

…I guess you had to be there, but it was funny……

^*1 Plainly following the road is a good idea….

A byword on being an optimist

I was out a little while ago and met an old friend. Now I’d been out all day and so had taken my chair and as I pushed along next to her going down the street she mentioned that it was the first time she had ever actually seen me using my wheelchair. I responded by saying that that was because we normally just met in coffee shops where you could park outside and I didn’t have too far to walk. “I’m really lucky”, I said, “I have the best of both worlds really, being able to walk but having the chair when I want it”.

“You’re not lucky”, she said, “as you have to use the chair”.
“But I don’t have to...” I protested
“Yes you do” she said. “You have to use it today because you couldn’t cope with being on your feet all day”
“But I can manage without it”
“No you can’t”, she said firmly.
“I can!”
“OK, let’s say you can. Could you manage without it today and then go home and cook tea?”
“I’d manage somehow” (At this point I’m getting a bit shirty)
“OK then, can you manage without it, cook tea and then do the hoovering?”
“I’m sure I’d cope somehow” I said sullenly....
“OK, can you do all that and then do the ironing afterwards?”
“Sure – I’m sure I could” I said (but without too much conviction).
“Ah, but could you do all that and then get out of bed the next morning?”
“Um, no?”

“That’s what I mean”, she said. “You see, I can do that just fine and be fine tomorrow – therefore I think that I am lucky but you are not” ^*1

Well, maybe she’s right, maybe I do need it, rather than just wanting it to make my life easier, but despite all that, I still think I am lucky to have the choice. You see, (and I’m sure my surgeon will be able to confirm this) if you cut me in half I’ll have optimist printed right through, just like a stick of rock.

^*1This makes the poor woman sound like a right cow when it wasn’t that kind of conversation (and went on for much longer in a much gentler fashion). She was not being nasty (she is a friend after all) but she is really quite well known for calling a spade a bloody shovel…