I was talking to someone I know recently (SL *1) and she told me a story that I just had to share. I quizzed her too about how real it was, I didn't want this to be a story that someone told someone that told someone and turned out to be something that anyone could disprove with a simple Snopes search! Anyway, she assured me it was real and I can't find it on Snopes, so let's just go with it.
SL works with a lot of athletes and one of the people she knows is a marathon runner. The marathon runner (BMR*2) is a blind man which although not common, is more common than you might think. Let's face it, you only need to watch any Paralympic athletics event to realise that there are events for all kinds of distances for blind runners. I must admit, I always feel sorry for their partners (they have a partner who guides them) - I mean, the partner always has to cross the line second and I'm sure I'd find that really frustrating. Can you imagine me (assuming I could run at all) seeing the line and putting a sprint on in order to beat my own partner...only to realise I'd just disqualified us both...oops!
Anyway BMR went into town with his guide dog to buy a new pair of shorts for running. He went into the shop and found a really good assistant who found him the shorts, described the colour and pattern to him and he had a good feel to see if they were what he wanted - something loose and silky to keep him cool. He decided to buy them, reached into his pocket and discovered that he had forgotten his wallet and so arranged to leave the shorts there with the assistant (so that she could keep them behind the counter) until the following day when he could get back into town.
The next day he and the dog were back. They went into the shop and he found an assistant (not the same one). He explained that he was collecting the shorts and the girl said she would check behind the counter. She did but they weren't there. She asked the other assistants but they knew nothing about it either. She asked the manager - no luck there too and so Jane (name changed to protect the innocent) was blamed as she had been on duty the day before, but wasn't there on this day. The girls then tried to find which shorts he wanted (bearing in mind of course the fact that being blind, he had never seen them).
"They're blue", he said, "Blue, short and silky" - "Blue?", they questioned. "Are you sure? I don't know if we have any blue ones in our silky models." He assured them that he had been told they were blue. They were mystified. He went on to try and pin them down further "They are very soft and satiny...ideal for keeping you cool...you need that you know when you are running..." "Running?" they asked... "Yes, running", he said, "I'm a marathon runner". They huddled together and started whispering and he couldn't quite make out what they were saying. Eventually they came back to him. "Um..., we think you may be in the wrong shop". "Wrong shop? But this is where my dog brought me yesterday and he's really good about these things..." "Well, maybe he's having an off day...you see, this is Ann Summers, the sports shop is next door...!"
*1 Ski Lady
*2Blind marathon runner
Monday, March 21, 2011
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
Five years fixed...
An anniversary just passed me by...it swam by me while I was getting on with life and even when PTV wished me a happy anniversary, it didn't quite impact on me. It's only now, 20 days later that it somehow hit me.
I think today had something to do with it. Today, I went to give a talk to the Women's Guild - a talk entitled "Nothing is Impossible". Now many of the ladies there were elderly, several of them were, apparently, deaf and some of them looked like they'd be unlikely to last the hour. In fact, the lady who booked me was so vague about the location of the hall (it was, she said, at the bottom of the hill...you know the one, well, it's there) that I was concerned about the possibility of her being senile. Considering that the talk was in a town I rarely visit, telling me that it was at the bottom of a hill that she didn't know the name of, in the church hall, she didn't know the name of, was not exactly, well ... precise and when I spoke to her husband (yes really!) he wasn't a lot better! Anyway, I digress (as per usual) - I was really going to mention the talk...and the anniversary...and why they are linked.
I got to the hall (still don't know the name of it) and by dint of trying every door on the street that looked like they might go into a church hall (the first two were locked!) I found it with (almost) no trouble and with ten minutes to spare. I did the talk, none of the ladies fell asleep (amazing - maybe I did something right?) and they laughed in all the right places. At the end, I was surrounded by a little gaggle of women, all wanting to say something or to pat me on the arm and one of them even pinched my cheek in a grandmotherly way (or possibly a great-grandmotherly way). I was a hit!
The thing is (and this is where the anniversary comes in), in my talk, I spoke about my scoliosis surgery. I also spoke about my spina bifida and a whole heap of other stuff, but it suddenly hit me what PTV was saying...good golly gosh and all that, but it's 5 years since my back was stuffed full of metal - that's FIVE YEARS!!! Blimey...
After five years, I have a failed bone graft at the top of my fusion and I have days (like last weekend) where I get seriously grumpy with the amount of pain I still get. On the other hand, as I told the ladies today, I am so straight compared to the way I was, I can breathe evenly and strongly and my stomach is no longer squashed up under my diaphragm. Yes, I'm awaiting more surgery and yes, I use my wheelchair more these days, but all in all I don't regret having my surgery for an instant. There I was today, showing those little old ladies my x-rays and how my curve was progressing over those last two years before my surgery and I realised just how lucky I have been in my life. I've been lucky to have a great surgeon and supportive friends and family and a (more or less) straight body.
Happy 5 year anniversary me...I think I'll go and buy myself a tree...
I think today had something to do with it. Today, I went to give a talk to the Women's Guild - a talk entitled "Nothing is Impossible". Now many of the ladies there were elderly, several of them were, apparently, deaf and some of them looked like they'd be unlikely to last the hour. In fact, the lady who booked me was so vague about the location of the hall (it was, she said, at the bottom of the hill...you know the one, well, it's there) that I was concerned about the possibility of her being senile. Considering that the talk was in a town I rarely visit, telling me that it was at the bottom of a hill that she didn't know the name of, in the church hall, she didn't know the name of, was not exactly, well ... precise and when I spoke to her husband (yes really!) he wasn't a lot better! Anyway, I digress (as per usual) - I was really going to mention the talk...and the anniversary...and why they are linked.
I got to the hall (still don't know the name of it) and by dint of trying every door on the street that looked like they might go into a church hall (the first two were locked!) I found it with (almost) no trouble and with ten minutes to spare. I did the talk, none of the ladies fell asleep (amazing - maybe I did something right?) and they laughed in all the right places. At the end, I was surrounded by a little gaggle of women, all wanting to say something or to pat me on the arm and one of them even pinched my cheek in a grandmotherly way (or possibly a great-grandmotherly way). I was a hit!
The thing is (and this is where the anniversary comes in), in my talk, I spoke about my scoliosis surgery. I also spoke about my spina bifida and a whole heap of other stuff, but it suddenly hit me what PTV was saying...good golly gosh and all that, but it's 5 years since my back was stuffed full of metal - that's FIVE YEARS!!! Blimey...
After five years, I have a failed bone graft at the top of my fusion and I have days (like last weekend) where I get seriously grumpy with the amount of pain I still get. On the other hand, as I told the ladies today, I am so straight compared to the way I was, I can breathe evenly and strongly and my stomach is no longer squashed up under my diaphragm. Yes, I'm awaiting more surgery and yes, I use my wheelchair more these days, but all in all I don't regret having my surgery for an instant. There I was today, showing those little old ladies my x-rays and how my curve was progressing over those last two years before my surgery and I realised just how lucky I have been in my life. I've been lucky to have a great surgeon and supportive friends and family and a (more or less) straight body.
Happy 5 year anniversary me...I think I'll go and buy myself a tree...
Friday, February 18, 2011
Whoa we're going to Las Vegas!
Now we were going to Las Vegas with PTV & HLW and we got to check in where the lady was very nice.
"You'll be wanting extra leg room" she said, looking at me. Now I thought that was odd for two reasons:
A) I am very short - less than 5ft tall in fact and
B) I was sat in my chair anyway, so I have no idea how she could tell.
Anyway, I nodded and agreed that I did indeed need extra legroom, since I thought that PTV and hubby would both lynch me if I didn't agree to it!
We got on the plane and there we were, in that very first row with the bulkhead in front of you. They are the seats with the cute little pull up TV screens that get caught behind your legs and the tables in the arm of your chair. You know the ones - they always catch in your sleeve on the way out, or you break a nail trying to get them out or something. Still, it's all exciting stuff, cos there aren't many seats like it on the plane and you get various different gadgety things to play with and try to break.
One of the unusual things is the sort of flap down area in front of you and when they brought the drinks around, HLW tried to flap it down to use it as a table. She was discouraged from doing so by the steward type person (they have special names these days don't they - so trolley dolly won't do?) - "Oh no madam, that's not a table" they said before moving on the next person.
HLW turned to me - "Well, what is it?" - I started to try and explain it was something to do with small children and completely failed to remember the official name for it that (it's a carry cot support I remembered too late). I said that you put small children on it and then - having a bit of a silly moment - suggested that you then folded it back up into place until you reached your destination.
"That's right", interjected hubby helpfully, "it's a panini machine for babies!". HLW looked at him, with a vaguely shocked expression....for all of about 2 seconds! Trouble is, I'm never going to be able to remember the correct name for it ever again. I just know that somehow I'm always going to think of it as a baby panini machine....
"You'll be wanting extra leg room" she said, looking at me. Now I thought that was odd for two reasons:
A) I am very short - less than 5ft tall in fact and
B) I was sat in my chair anyway, so I have no idea how she could tell.
Anyway, I nodded and agreed that I did indeed need extra legroom, since I thought that PTV and hubby would both lynch me if I didn't agree to it!
We got on the plane and there we were, in that very first row with the bulkhead in front of you. They are the seats with the cute little pull up TV screens that get caught behind your legs and the tables in the arm of your chair. You know the ones - they always catch in your sleeve on the way out, or you break a nail trying to get them out or something. Still, it's all exciting stuff, cos there aren't many seats like it on the plane and you get various different gadgety things to play with and try to break.
One of the unusual things is the sort of flap down area in front of you and when they brought the drinks around, HLW tried to flap it down to use it as a table. She was discouraged from doing so by the steward type person (they have special names these days don't they - so trolley dolly won't do?) - "Oh no madam, that's not a table" they said before moving on the next person.
HLW turned to me - "Well, what is it?" - I started to try and explain it was something to do with small children and completely failed to remember the official name for it that (it's a carry cot support I remembered too late). I said that you put small children on it and then - having a bit of a silly moment - suggested that you then folded it back up into place until you reached your destination.
"That's right", interjected hubby helpfully, "it's a panini machine for babies!". HLW looked at him, with a vaguely shocked expression....for all of about 2 seconds! Trouble is, I'm never going to be able to remember the correct name for it ever again. I just know that somehow I'm always going to think of it as a baby panini machine....
Thursday, February 03, 2011
That's two lessons...
A little while ago, I bought some shampoo - a fact that I am sure you are all really interested in! Seriously, I bought this shampoo, used it once or twice, decided that my hair did not bounce or swish *1 but instead left it looking pretty dull and lifeless *2 and left in in the bathroom for the bottle to go dusty. Have you ever noticed that? It normally happens with the smellies that Aunty Thingy gave you for Christmas - you leave them in the packet for ages, thinking that Lavender, Honey & Lilac is not quite your thing - and eventually (usually when the packet is really dusty), you run out of whatever it is you normally use, rip open the pack in desperation (sneezing from the dust in the process), pour it in your bath, wrinkle your nose from the smell (thank goodness you can't smell too much from all that sneezing!) and then make sure you top up on your favourite next time you go shopping. Poor Aunty Thingy's bottle sits on the side of the bath, unloved and unwanted and just gets grubbier and dustier as the years go by...until maybe you move house, or in my case, until my mother comes to visit and I rush around the house trying to clean everything in a frenzy!
So, my mother was coming and I found the dusty shampoo bottle. I grabbed it with determination and took it downstairs while trying to decide what to do with it. I wondered, is it wasteful to pour it down the sink? - at least that way I can recycle the bottle - and so the decision was made! I poured the whole bottle down the sink. Actually, I poured it into the sink because the washing up bowl was in the way, but you get the idea. I then ran the tap (bet you're all riveted by this story huh?) and sloshed the foamy stuff round a bit. I then looked at my sink...it was absolutely gleaming. All that money on kitchen cleansers and my sink never came up that shiny...if I'd have thought it would be that good, I would used it a bit more sparingly!
Ah well, at least I learned two useful things:
1. Shampoo makes great sink cleaner
2. Never pour the whole bottle of something away before testing it on an inconspicuous surface of something first - you never know what will happen!
*1 It's actually unlikely to do this anyway, since I have such short hair, but it is what all the adverts claim!
*2 As I understand it, exactly what shampoo is not supposed to do.
So, my mother was coming and I found the dusty shampoo bottle. I grabbed it with determination and took it downstairs while trying to decide what to do with it. I wondered, is it wasteful to pour it down the sink? - at least that way I can recycle the bottle - and so the decision was made! I poured the whole bottle down the sink. Actually, I poured it into the sink because the washing up bowl was in the way, but you get the idea. I then ran the tap (bet you're all riveted by this story huh?) and sloshed the foamy stuff round a bit. I then looked at my sink...it was absolutely gleaming. All that money on kitchen cleansers and my sink never came up that shiny...if I'd have thought it would be that good, I would used it a bit more sparingly!
Ah well, at least I learned two useful things:
1. Shampoo makes great sink cleaner
2. Never pour the whole bottle of something away before testing it on an inconspicuous surface of something first - you never know what will happen!
*1 It's actually unlikely to do this anyway, since I have such short hair, but it is what all the adverts claim!
*2 As I understand it, exactly what shampoo is not supposed to do.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Sad news
Our Christmas was a little different, as the MIL had been pretty poorly and had to cancel at the last minute so we had my family over on Christmas day and just the BIL and partner on Boxing Day. It was nice and I have a great photo of the BIL peering inside an Addict-A puzzle ball and using a torch to see what to do next. It was one of those quiet, but Nice (with a capital N) Christmases.
I think at that stage none of us realised what was to come so soon after, although I guess some of the signs were there...
My MIL was diagnosed with breast cancer early last year - they treated it with tablets and TBH, it didn't change physically too much from first diagnosis. I think my MIL always saw it a little like a time bomb and feared that her days were numbered, but she carried on with life in much the way she always had. Later in the year, she had some (unrelated) problems with breathing and that affected her dramatically - even talking on the phone was a struggle and it was the reason that she hadn't been able to come Boxing Day. The doctors were looking into it, she had hospital appointments to go to and they were trying different medication. Through it all, she quietly struggled and my FIL and BIL did everything they could to make life easier for her. She carried on, being there for us all, a central point who everyone moved around - albeit at varying distances.
I guess my news for not writing, is that my MIL, the quiet lady in the corner, died last week. It was all very sudden - taken in to hospital with a chest infection one day and expected to be out in a few days, to dying of pneumonia the following day. We were there with her and just before the end, she opened her eyes and saw hubby (her eldest son) and looked so surprised to see him. She closed her eyes again and passed in just a few minutes. In common with so many other people, it seems that my MIL was just waiting until she had her family with her.
I know that I will miss her. Its not that we spent lots of time together, or talked for hours on the phone; we didn't even really have that much in common apart from hubby, but she was lovely. She was kind and nice and generous and lovely and kind and nice. Yes, I know I am repeating myself, but these were her qualities and I don't know if anyone could ever say anything bad about her - I just don't think she had a bad fibre in her body - she was NICE in the real, old-fashioned sense on the word and I think she deserves to have all capital letters!
Margaret
1928-2011
Will be greatly missed by all her family and friends.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Happy Christmas to You....
I wanted to wish you all a happy Christmas and a peaceful and prosperous New Year.
At this time of year too, we should remember the nativity story.
Enjoy the link.
At this time of year too, we should remember the nativity story.
Enjoy the link.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Cold Hands, Warm Heart
I have had cold hands a lot recently - and I am absolutely delighted to report this to you!
Now, I'm sure that you are wondering just what on earth I am going on about (no change there then), as most people aren't actually too happy having cold anything, and that includes fingers. Me, I'm happy, because I have Raynaud's disease (also called Raynaud's syndrome). Now again, I guess there are people out there who are wondering if I've lost my marbles as plainly Raynaud's is no fun at all but don't worry, I'll get to that...in time!
Around 3 years ago (or maybe even more), I started to have problems with my hands in the cold. My fingers would go absolutely white - nails and all and they really looked odd - kind of like some of the victims' skin in episodes of CSI. This is a not good look - especially when it's your own fingers. This could happen to one finger, many fingers, or just part of a finger - there never seemed to be any rhyme or reason to it and it just looks really, really odd.
For sure, cold triggered it, but for me, rapid changes in temperature are much more important and touching cold wet metal is just the worst thing in the world. That means pushing a wheelchair in the rain without gloves is definitely not recommended! Of course, gloves are the first thing that people talk about with Raynaud's and many folks are very ready with advice - usually based around their own experiences. I've actually had quite a few women say to me that they too have Raynaud's - "Oh yes, I have very cold hands you know, I always wear gloves /feel cold etc etc", but it's hard to get across to them that it's not just cold hands. Those white fingers have no blood in them - yes, that's right, no blood - that's why they're white - it's because the blood vessels supplying them shut down. When I first heard that, I couldn't bring myself to believe it and so stuck a pin in my own white finger - well, guess what, it didn't bleed at all! What's even more freaky, is that about 20 minutes later when my finger turned blue and then red as the blood came back, it started bleeding then. The red and blue stage is really painful too - simple cold hands are a doddle to cope with by comparison.
This started out as an occasional problem, but over time, gradually got worse. I reached the point where I could be somewhere hot but going into air conditioning would trigger it; I couldn't take food out of the freezer without wearing oven gloves; walking in between the chiller cabinets in the supermarket was torture; peeling the potatoes had to be done under a running warm tap and I dreaded those summer showers which drop the ambient air temperature by a degree or so. In the end, I went to see my doctor as it was just affecting my quality of life so much...you just don't realise how wearing it can be when it's such a year round problem - you can't wear gloves all year round, just in case, after all.
Anyway, my doctor was really helpful and suggested medication - a drug called niphedipine, but there was a drawback - once I started taking it, I would have to take it forever. It's actually a drug that lowers your blood pressure (not ideal if like me, you have lowish blood pressure to start with) and so I didn't immediately agree to it, but I think there comes a point where you feel you are reaching the end of your tether with something. About 6 months later, after a particularly bad attack, where I lost several fingers for several hours (yes really!), I went back to the doctor and started taking the drugs. I continued to get attacks for a bit, but they got less and less over time, as my body adjusted to the tablets.
All of which, leads me to now. This winter has been the coldest for many years, we've had snow and minus lots in temperature and the cold has gone on day after day after day. There have been days when I've gone out and forgotten my gloves; I've thrown a snowball with my bare hands and I've opened my car door without pulling my sleeve down over my fingers. I've done all of these things without an attack and I can't tell you how good that is. What seems all the more amazing to me is that my hands actually get cold before warming up again. So, I guess that means that studies now apply to me - since I now have cold hands, then I maybe I really do have a warm heart.
One last thing, in case you are wondering about the reason for this post (apart from me being happy!) - it's just that if anyone is out there Googling Raynaud's, then maybe they will come across this post, maybe they will tap on their keyboard with their dead white fingers and just maybe make a note of the drug. Maybe they will go to their doctors and then, just maybe, they will be helped too....That's all...
Now, I'm sure that you are wondering just what on earth I am going on about (no change there then), as most people aren't actually too happy having cold anything, and that includes fingers. Me, I'm happy, because I have Raynaud's disease (also called Raynaud's syndrome). Now again, I guess there are people out there who are wondering if I've lost my marbles as plainly Raynaud's is no fun at all but don't worry, I'll get to that...in time!
Around 3 years ago (or maybe even more), I started to have problems with my hands in the cold. My fingers would go absolutely white - nails and all and they really looked odd - kind of like some of the victims' skin in episodes of CSI. This is a not good look - especially when it's your own fingers. This could happen to one finger, many fingers, or just part of a finger - there never seemed to be any rhyme or reason to it and it just looks really, really odd.
For sure, cold triggered it, but for me, rapid changes in temperature are much more important and touching cold wet metal is just the worst thing in the world. That means pushing a wheelchair in the rain without gloves is definitely not recommended! Of course, gloves are the first thing that people talk about with Raynaud's and many folks are very ready with advice - usually based around their own experiences. I've actually had quite a few women say to me that they too have Raynaud's - "Oh yes, I have very cold hands you know, I always wear gloves /feel cold etc etc", but it's hard to get across to them that it's not just cold hands. Those white fingers have no blood in them - yes, that's right, no blood - that's why they're white - it's because the blood vessels supplying them shut down. When I first heard that, I couldn't bring myself to believe it and so stuck a pin in my own white finger - well, guess what, it didn't bleed at all! What's even more freaky, is that about 20 minutes later when my finger turned blue and then red as the blood came back, it started bleeding then. The red and blue stage is really painful too - simple cold hands are a doddle to cope with by comparison.
This started out as an occasional problem, but over time, gradually got worse. I reached the point where I could be somewhere hot but going into air conditioning would trigger it; I couldn't take food out of the freezer without wearing oven gloves; walking in between the chiller cabinets in the supermarket was torture; peeling the potatoes had to be done under a running warm tap and I dreaded those summer showers which drop the ambient air temperature by a degree or so. In the end, I went to see my doctor as it was just affecting my quality of life so much...you just don't realise how wearing it can be when it's such a year round problem - you can't wear gloves all year round, just in case, after all.
Anyway, my doctor was really helpful and suggested medication - a drug called niphedipine, but there was a drawback - once I started taking it, I would have to take it forever. It's actually a drug that lowers your blood pressure (not ideal if like me, you have lowish blood pressure to start with) and so I didn't immediately agree to it, but I think there comes a point where you feel you are reaching the end of your tether with something. About 6 months later, after a particularly bad attack, where I lost several fingers for several hours (yes really!), I went back to the doctor and started taking the drugs. I continued to get attacks for a bit, but they got less and less over time, as my body adjusted to the tablets.
All of which, leads me to now. This winter has been the coldest for many years, we've had snow and minus lots in temperature and the cold has gone on day after day after day. There have been days when I've gone out and forgotten my gloves; I've thrown a snowball with my bare hands and I've opened my car door without pulling my sleeve down over my fingers. I've done all of these things without an attack and I can't tell you how good that is. What seems all the more amazing to me is that my hands actually get cold before warming up again. So, I guess that means that studies now apply to me - since I now have cold hands, then I maybe I really do have a warm heart.
One last thing, in case you are wondering about the reason for this post (apart from me being happy!) - it's just that if anyone is out there Googling Raynaud's, then maybe they will come across this post, maybe they will tap on their keyboard with their dead white fingers and just maybe make a note of the drug. Maybe they will go to their doctors and then, just maybe, they will be helped too....That's all...
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Van Gogh was an archer!
Not long ago, I was asked to give a talk to a school assembly - which is always a slightly daunting thing to do. It doesn't matter why you go to talk to the children, they always seem to have their own agenda and this never shows up until you get to the 'any questions' section.
You say your bit to them and then ask if they want to say anything to you, or ask any questions and with kids, being kids, there is always a forest of hands that go up. I admit, that I am always delighted when they ask questions about my disability - kids just don't seem to have those adult hang ups and they just come straight out and call a spade a spade. You do get some odd things asked sometimes though - I had one little boy once who asked me how fast I could run - which was sort of strange since I was sat in a wheelchair in front of him. I think he just didn't see the chair at all, he just saw me as an adult, who happened to be sat down.
Some kids put their hands up just to tell you stuff that is completely unrelated to anything that has gone before - things like "my dad is taller than Billy's dad", and you wonder why they choose that moment to tell you...
On this occasion, after a few questions about after-school clubs (one of which is an archery club), a little girl put her hand up and asked very seriously "Van Gogh wasn't a very good archer was he?" I have to be honest, that question kind of threw me rather, but I just had to know more and so (just as seriously), I asked her why she had asked. "Well," she said, "he can't have been very good if he shot his own ear off!" I was still a bit curious (actually a lot curious) and so (trying hard to keep a straight face), I asked her how she thought he could have shot his own ear off. "Well," she said, "Mr Jones said Van Gogh was an archer and he lost his ear, so I think he must have pulled the string on the bow too far back and caught it behind his ear, pulling it off!". "Hmm", I said, "Who is Mr Jones?" - "He's our art teacher", she replied. "Ah!", I said, "Did Mr Jones perhaps say Van Gogh was an artist, not an archer?" The little girl stopped and considered for a bit...."Yes, maybe that was it...but then how did he lose his ear?"
At that another forest of hands went up - all the kids wanted to know the gruesome details of how Van Gogh lost his ear...did he really cut it off? Did he send it to his girlfriend? Was there lots of blood? Has it been pickled for us all to see? Ah, kids, you just never know what they will come up with next...
You say your bit to them and then ask if they want to say anything to you, or ask any questions and with kids, being kids, there is always a forest of hands that go up. I admit, that I am always delighted when they ask questions about my disability - kids just don't seem to have those adult hang ups and they just come straight out and call a spade a spade. You do get some odd things asked sometimes though - I had one little boy once who asked me how fast I could run - which was sort of strange since I was sat in a wheelchair in front of him. I think he just didn't see the chair at all, he just saw me as an adult, who happened to be sat down.
Some kids put their hands up just to tell you stuff that is completely unrelated to anything that has gone before - things like "my dad is taller than Billy's dad", and you wonder why they choose that moment to tell you...
On this occasion, after a few questions about after-school clubs (one of which is an archery club), a little girl put her hand up and asked very seriously "Van Gogh wasn't a very good archer was he?" I have to be honest, that question kind of threw me rather, but I just had to know more and so (just as seriously), I asked her why she had asked. "Well," she said, "he can't have been very good if he shot his own ear off!" I was still a bit curious (actually a lot curious) and so (trying hard to keep a straight face), I asked her how she thought he could have shot his own ear off. "Well," she said, "Mr Jones said Van Gogh was an archer and he lost his ear, so I think he must have pulled the string on the bow too far back and caught it behind his ear, pulling it off!". "Hmm", I said, "Who is Mr Jones?" - "He's our art teacher", she replied. "Ah!", I said, "Did Mr Jones perhaps say Van Gogh was an artist, not an archer?" The little girl stopped and considered for a bit...."Yes, maybe that was it...but then how did he lose his ear?"
At that another forest of hands went up - all the kids wanted to know the gruesome details of how Van Gogh lost his ear...did he really cut it off? Did he send it to his girlfriend? Was there lots of blood? Has it been pickled for us all to see? Ah, kids, you just never know what they will come up with next...
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Where did the bucket come from?
Yesterday I was back in hospital for another procedure on my back - just like I was a couple of months back. This is variously referred to by the staff as 'an operation' or 'just injections', depending on how experienced and/or jaded they are. Anyway, since the last lot seem to have possibly, maybe, made some small semblance of a difference to my back, my surgeon was keen to repeat them. Of course, it could just be that he earns his money that way, although I would prefer to think that he has my best interests at heart, rather than just being on PPC*1.
My original admission paperwork said I was having a general anaesthetic, but when I got down to theatre the anaesthetist had a quick chat with me, glossing quickly over that option before trying to find out how close to screaming I was, therefore determining whether I needed a sedative. Mind, I don't suppose he had any left from his own personal use - he was one of those tall, thin men, with a long, thin, sad face who really, honestly and truly at one point said to me "It must be wonderful to be so positive!". He was a barrel of laughs, I can tell you, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought it was a good profession for him, as his job was normally spent dealing with people who are asleep!
Anyway, having been sliced in half in the past and at various points in my life been diced and stitched back up, I wasn't really too freaked by the whole operating theatre thing (yawn, been there, done that...) so I didn't have a sedative either and it was done under local. Given that the procedure involves needles and they are (brace yourself here) large(!), you need several more needles to give you an appropriate amount of local anaesthetic. Interestingly the variable sensation on my back made the local injections completely painful or completely painless, depending on where they were sited - my surgeon seemed to think this was some kind of game - "can you feel this? can you feel that?" - which I was hugely amused by - not!
The needle needs to go into your disc space (or in my case the place where my discs should be!), and so placement needs to be precise. Inserting the needle into your spinal cord is not exactly a desirable outcome! To this end, they use x-rays to find out where they need to be - all the staff are there with their lead aprons and shields and there's me, face down on the bed, with my arse hanging out of my gown (quite literally), getting zapped every few seconds. I was too tired last night to see if I was glowing in the dark, but I wouldn't be surprised and I'm sure I will tick very loudly if anyone sticks a Geiger counter next to me for some time to come. To be fair, they do have a special placement tool, to get them more or less in the right area - it's called a coat hanger! Yep, I'm not kidding - it's a metal coat hanger with the hook straightened - they lie it on your back, x-ray you - the coat hanger shows up on the x-ray pointing to the disc space and after they've shuffled it around a bit, they draw around the end with a felt tip pen, and that gives them their insertion point. It's actually really funny to be lying there listening to needle, check, lignocaine, check, coat hanger, check....
I then got to watch the whole thing on the x-Ray screen, like a series of stop motion images and local or no local, that needle hurts like a bugger when it hit the right spot. Personally I feel that the right spot was one that would hurt less, but I am assuming that my surgeon is not simply a sadist who likes to get his pleasure in strange ways and he did assure me that he was doing the right thing! Anyway, I now have an extra layer of 'stuff' in my joints which hopefully will cut down my pain levels and give the treated joints a little more stability. They treated T8/9, and L5/S1 which are quite a way apart and means that most of my back kicked up a fuss...
All of which leads to how I feel today, which is pretty sore...much like I've been hit around my back with a bucket in fact...
*1 Pay-per-cut, as opposed to Pay-per-click.
My original admission paperwork said I was having a general anaesthetic, but when I got down to theatre the anaesthetist had a quick chat with me, glossing quickly over that option before trying to find out how close to screaming I was, therefore determining whether I needed a sedative. Mind, I don't suppose he had any left from his own personal use - he was one of those tall, thin men, with a long, thin, sad face who really, honestly and truly at one point said to me "It must be wonderful to be so positive!". He was a barrel of laughs, I can tell you, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought it was a good profession for him, as his job was normally spent dealing with people who are asleep!
Anyway, having been sliced in half in the past and at various points in my life been diced and stitched back up, I wasn't really too freaked by the whole operating theatre thing (yawn, been there, done that...) so I didn't have a sedative either and it was done under local. Given that the procedure involves needles and they are (brace yourself here) large(!), you need several more needles to give you an appropriate amount of local anaesthetic. Interestingly the variable sensation on my back made the local injections completely painful or completely painless, depending on where they were sited - my surgeon seemed to think this was some kind of game - "can you feel this? can you feel that?" - which I was hugely amused by - not!
The needle needs to go into your disc space (or in my case the place where my discs should be!), and so placement needs to be precise. Inserting the needle into your spinal cord is not exactly a desirable outcome! To this end, they use x-rays to find out where they need to be - all the staff are there with their lead aprons and shields and there's me, face down on the bed, with my arse hanging out of my gown (quite literally), getting zapped every few seconds. I was too tired last night to see if I was glowing in the dark, but I wouldn't be surprised and I'm sure I will tick very loudly if anyone sticks a Geiger counter next to me for some time to come. To be fair, they do have a special placement tool, to get them more or less in the right area - it's called a coat hanger! Yep, I'm not kidding - it's a metal coat hanger with the hook straightened - they lie it on your back, x-ray you - the coat hanger shows up on the x-ray pointing to the disc space and after they've shuffled it around a bit, they draw around the end with a felt tip pen, and that gives them their insertion point. It's actually really funny to be lying there listening to needle, check, lignocaine, check, coat hanger, check....
I then got to watch the whole thing on the x-Ray screen, like a series of stop motion images and local or no local, that needle hurts like a bugger when it hit the right spot. Personally I feel that the right spot was one that would hurt less, but I am assuming that my surgeon is not simply a sadist who likes to get his pleasure in strange ways and he did assure me that he was doing the right thing! Anyway, I now have an extra layer of 'stuff' in my joints which hopefully will cut down my pain levels and give the treated joints a little more stability. They treated T8/9, and L5/S1 which are quite a way apart and means that most of my back kicked up a fuss...
All of which leads to how I feel today, which is pretty sore...much like I've been hit around my back with a bucket in fact...
*1 Pay-per-cut, as opposed to Pay-per-click.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Officially weird
Hubby and I were going out the other day and we started talking about dropping in at a supermarket on the way home.
"Is that the green one?", I asked, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for a supermarket to be defined by a colour, and thus ensued a strange conversation about the various colours of supermarkets. In fact, in my mind Asda is green (I think most people would agree with this one), Sainsburys, orange; Tesco is blue and Morrisons is yellow. Spar is red and that's the way it's always been.
After a bit of discussion, I came to realise that on the whole, these colours equate to the dominant colour of the logo, and have nothing at all to do with the writing and in fact, I think Tesco is blue just because that's the colour of clubcards*1. It's odd, but I've always thought of things as being a colour first before anything - the pink house, not number 12 or the green petrol station, not BP. After colour, then I think about shape, so I can tell you about a software icon (it's orange and looks like a Z) before I could tell you what the package is called in most cases (and certainly before I can spell it!)
Even odder, is that when I read, I look for shapes of words,*2 rather than reading them aloud in my head. It can be handy, recognising shapes of sections in a book - if you forget who a character is, you might know that you first meet them about halfway through, on a facing page in a paragraph shaped a certain way. All this I find completely normal and hubby does not - hubby thinks I am distinctly weird! He reads words first - he recognises cars by reading the badge on the back rather than knowing the shape of the body and hears voices in his head when he reads books. I think this is weird, but then I guess anyone with voices in their head has to be a little odd ;-)
We got to wondering then why this is. Is this just a similar thing to Synesthesia where you see sounds as colours like Duke Ellington (or even colours as sound, like David Hockney)? Or is the colour thing and the shape thing completely unconnected? Hubby reckoned that maybe it was the way you were taught to read - whether if you learned a, bu, cu, (a,b,c), then you would read 'properly' (his way), but if you learned cat, sat, mat, then you would just recognise the shape of the word and that was 'just plain weird'! He seemed to be suggesting that whoever taught me to read did it all wrong.
I hotly protested that my brother taught me to read before I went to school and asked hubby if he was being so mean as to suggest that my brother was weird.
"I rest my case" he said triumphantly!
Well, I call that cheeky in the extreme and as my brother and I outnumber him 2 to 1, I think we'll go with hearing voices in your head as being more strange than seeing things!
*1 A rewards card for the store
*2 An odd thing about doing this is that some words look very similar - one I always have problems with is Shopfitters, which I somehow always read as Shoplifters. Always thought it was a strange business to run and not one you'd necessarily want to advertise!
"Is that the green one?", I asked, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for a supermarket to be defined by a colour, and thus ensued a strange conversation about the various colours of supermarkets. In fact, in my mind Asda is green (I think most people would agree with this one), Sainsburys, orange; Tesco is blue and Morrisons is yellow. Spar is red and that's the way it's always been.
After a bit of discussion, I came to realise that on the whole, these colours equate to the dominant colour of the logo, and have nothing at all to do with the writing and in fact, I think Tesco is blue just because that's the colour of clubcards*1. It's odd, but I've always thought of things as being a colour first before anything - the pink house, not number 12 or the green petrol station, not BP. After colour, then I think about shape, so I can tell you about a software icon (it's orange and looks like a Z) before I could tell you what the package is called in most cases (and certainly before I can spell it!)
Even odder, is that when I read, I look for shapes of words,*2 rather than reading them aloud in my head. It can be handy, recognising shapes of sections in a book - if you forget who a character is, you might know that you first meet them about halfway through, on a facing page in a paragraph shaped a certain way. All this I find completely normal and hubby does not - hubby thinks I am distinctly weird! He reads words first - he recognises cars by reading the badge on the back rather than knowing the shape of the body and hears voices in his head when he reads books. I think this is weird, but then I guess anyone with voices in their head has to be a little odd ;-)
We got to wondering then why this is. Is this just a similar thing to Synesthesia where you see sounds as colours like Duke Ellington (or even colours as sound, like David Hockney)? Or is the colour thing and the shape thing completely unconnected? Hubby reckoned that maybe it was the way you were taught to read - whether if you learned a, bu, cu, (a,b,c), then you would read 'properly' (his way), but if you learned cat, sat, mat, then you would just recognise the shape of the word and that was 'just plain weird'! He seemed to be suggesting that whoever taught me to read did it all wrong.
I hotly protested that my brother taught me to read before I went to school and asked hubby if he was being so mean as to suggest that my brother was weird.
"I rest my case" he said triumphantly!
Well, I call that cheeky in the extreme and as my brother and I outnumber him 2 to 1, I think we'll go with hearing voices in your head as being more strange than seeing things!
*1 A rewards card for the store
*2 An odd thing about doing this is that some words look very similar - one I always have problems with is Shopfitters, which I somehow always read as Shoplifters. Always thought it was a strange business to run and not one you'd necessarily want to advertise!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Is twenty thousand a lot?
I started something called a counter (hey, let's be precise and give them the credit, it's Statcounter ) not long after I started my blog. I'm not really sure why I decided on a counter, but I think it's because at the time (partly thanks to PTV) I decided to find out a bit about HTML and was adding all kinds of things to my blog. At the time, templates were, well ...yawn... and gadgets were unheard of - all of which makes it sound like I have been blogging forever, which is blatantly untrue. Anyway, because of this, a little bit of html went a long way in making your blog look a bit brighter and I was just curious about the mysteries of the 'stuff' behind webpages and so sought out my own gadgets (and colour changes!). Its strange that templates are now so good and blogger has changed so much, as the 5 years since I started don't seem so long ago, or does it? Hmmm, 5 years ago I don't think anyone had a touchscreen phone and the iPad was not even a twinkle in Steve Jobs eye...Ummm, maybe the pace of change is extraordinary after all, especially when it involves the Internet!
Anyway (I do say that a lot, don't I?) - despite changes, surgery, stuff and yet more stuff (all of the 'stuff' that makes up life in fact), time has ticked on and my counter has been ticking all the while. Statcounter told me this week that I have had 20,000+ hits which I thought was extraordinary. Does that actually mean that more than 20,000 people have taken it upon themselves to read my drivel? Maybe it means that I have lots of faithful friends who keep coming back, just to make me make me feel good? Maybe someone has me on RSS and I get a hit every time they turn there computer on? I don't know, but I was quite excited by the clicking round of that magic number...
I told hubby (in the way that only an optimist can) how excited I was by my enormous following...and he replied ( in the way that only a pessimist can) - "ah well, but that is over 5 years"...
...Hmmm, 4,000 a year...I'll settle for that :-)...
....and I'm still excited, either way....
Thursday, November 04, 2010
Of swedes and stuff
I mentioned swedes in a recent post and said that I really didn't like them (I suspect the word I used, was hate, in fact) and it's true, I don't like them. In fact, I don't like swedes, turnips or parsnips either and to me they all taste pretty much the same. They aren't exactly the same, but they are all close enough in flavour for me to consider them all in the same breath - swede, turnip, parsnip - nasty bitter things all.
Now, I am sure that there are lots of you out there going bitter? Bitter? What the heck is this girl going on about, but yes, bitter, that's what they taste like to me. In fact, when I was a small child, my mother painted some stuff on my fingernails to stop me biting them (Nil-bite it was called - but other products are available) and that was horrid and bitter and swede, turnip and parsnip taste like that to me.
As a small child my mother would mash the white ones in with potatoes and the orange one in with carrots in an effort to disguise them but it never worked. Why she bothered after a while I don't know, but maybe it was some new and curious game to see if she could fool my taste buds...and she never could! When I first got married the FIL was convinced that with parsnips it was because no one had ever cooked them for me properly by 'removing the hearts' and so one Christmas he did just that for me...and they tasted exactly the same - horrid!
Hubby thinks that maybe it's genetic - like a phenylthiocarbamidem (PCT) taste experiment which some people can taste and some can't. I've got no evidence to prove or disprove it and I can't find anything on the Internet- actually that's wrong, I can find lots of stuff on the Internet, just nothing about this! It does make you wonder though.....
Now, I am sure that there are lots of you out there going bitter? Bitter? What the heck is this girl going on about, but yes, bitter, that's what they taste like to me. In fact, when I was a small child, my mother painted some stuff on my fingernails to stop me biting them (Nil-bite it was called - but other products are available) and that was horrid and bitter and swede, turnip and parsnip taste like that to me.
As a small child my mother would mash the white ones in with potatoes and the orange one in with carrots in an effort to disguise them but it never worked. Why she bothered after a while I don't know, but maybe it was some new and curious game to see if she could fool my taste buds...and she never could! When I first got married the FIL was convinced that with parsnips it was because no one had ever cooked them for me properly by 'removing the hearts' and so one Christmas he did just that for me...and they tasted exactly the same - horrid!
Hubby thinks that maybe it's genetic - like a phenylthiocarbamidem (PCT) taste experiment which some people can taste and some can't. I've got no evidence to prove or disprove it and I can't find anything on the Internet- actually that's wrong, I can find lots of stuff on the Internet, just nothing about this! It does make you wonder though.....
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
It's my blogiversary!
I was just trying to find an early entry on my blog and I realised that it's my blogiversary!!
It's 5 years since I started my blog in a life where I was facing major surgery and an uncertain future. Many things have changed since then (including much of the content of my blog!) but despite the prospect of more surgery, I don't feel that same uncertainty about the years to come. We can none of us know what is going to happen to us in our lives, but I just look forward in the most positive way I can. For me it's not so hard, as I'm naturally a glass half full kind of person, but to be honest, life is actually pretty good at the moment. Hubby is well, my mother's arm is out of plaster and mending; the MIL, FIL & BIL are all ticking along in their normal way and my brother's life seems to be moving forward positively. We're getting to see the BUF & VNSO soon, as well as PTV & HLW and Christmas is coming -yay! (I am still a big kid when it comes to Christmas!) - after Christmas we have an exciting trip planned too...
Of course, somewhere in this I also have to fit in a teeny bit of work on my back, which is almost, but not quite where I came in 5 years ago. More meccano in my back will wait for a bit, but I will be getting a bit of maintenance by my surgeon next week. It will at least give me something else to blog about!
I do wonder sometimes - 5 years eh? Will I still be doing this in another 5 years? More to the point, will you still be reading it?
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Bananas are not the only fruit
This is a curious thing, but I have wondered about it for some time, so here goes, I am going to share...
I have achalasia - I am sure many of you know this by now and I had surgery (a heller myotomy in case you are interested) in early 2009 to treat this condition. I think achalasia is a condition and not a disease, since it is a situation where your gullet doesn't work properly and the normal knock on implication is that the valve at the top of your stomach won't open to let food pass. As an aside, I don't really know what are conditions, what are diseases and what are merely complaints, but there you go, you could fill a book with stuff I don't know! Achalasia varies a bit in how bad it can be, but in my instance, the nerves to my oesophagus just don't work at all so I have no opening of the valve at the top of my stomach and no peristalsis (the squeezing action that pushes food down), past the initial swallow in my throat. The surgery opened the valve (so now it doesn't close) and my gullet acts like a drainpipe which I just shove food through. There is no cure for achalasia, but the surgery treats the worst symptom and I am very happy with the result that I have had. I eat fairly normally and most things are fine and nice to eat (unless they are swede or turnip - both of which I hate!).
The odd thing is, that there are some foods, which I still cannot eat at all. Now I understand that before I had the valve opened, anything lumpy was going to be a problem, but now, if a food is well cooked or soft, I don't see that there should be an issue. So, why is it that when I cooked sweet and sour chicken, I swallowed it and it just sat there, just below my throat and refused to budge? Copious quantities of water (ok, I own up, it was wine!) and it went down. Maybe it's the sour bit that does it? I understand lettuce leaves (low gravitational coefficient) and not chewing your toast properly (too lumpy) but I just didn't get the sweet and sour thing at all.
Odder still is fruit. Especially 'big' fruit. I don't really mean melons here...but apples for example. Apples are just awful! Raw apples are simply impossible and even stewed can be an issue if not mushy enough. Pineapple, orange, melon and pears - all a problem to a greater or lesser degree. Strawberries, raspberries, grapes, blueberries and prunes - all fine - but then they are little. The odd one out in this whole equation, is the banana - comes under the category of a 'big' fruit, swallows like a small fruit. So what's that about? And why fruit? Why apples especially? And even odder is that my surgeon particularly asked me about apples and if I had a problem with them. They are considered to be one of the defining questions towards helping with an achalasia diagnosis. All of which is kind of OK I guess, but I just wonder why...what is it about the humble apple which makes it such an issue? And in that bunny hopping brain way that I have, I wonder if that's what the all problem was with Snow White - that apple she had wasn't poisoned at all, she just had achalasia!
I have achalasia - I am sure many of you know this by now and I had surgery (a heller myotomy in case you are interested) in early 2009 to treat this condition. I think achalasia is a condition and not a disease, since it is a situation where your gullet doesn't work properly and the normal knock on implication is that the valve at the top of your stomach won't open to let food pass. As an aside, I don't really know what are conditions, what are diseases and what are merely complaints, but there you go, you could fill a book with stuff I don't know! Achalasia varies a bit in how bad it can be, but in my instance, the nerves to my oesophagus just don't work at all so I have no opening of the valve at the top of my stomach and no peristalsis (the squeezing action that pushes food down), past the initial swallow in my throat. The surgery opened the valve (so now it doesn't close) and my gullet acts like a drainpipe which I just shove food through. There is no cure for achalasia, but the surgery treats the worst symptom and I am very happy with the result that I have had. I eat fairly normally and most things are fine and nice to eat (unless they are swede or turnip - both of which I hate!).
The odd thing is, that there are some foods, which I still cannot eat at all. Now I understand that before I had the valve opened, anything lumpy was going to be a problem, but now, if a food is well cooked or soft, I don't see that there should be an issue. So, why is it that when I cooked sweet and sour chicken, I swallowed it and it just sat there, just below my throat and refused to budge? Copious quantities of water (ok, I own up, it was wine!) and it went down. Maybe it's the sour bit that does it? I understand lettuce leaves (low gravitational coefficient) and not chewing your toast properly (too lumpy) but I just didn't get the sweet and sour thing at all.
Odder still is fruit. Especially 'big' fruit. I don't really mean melons here...but apples for example. Apples are just awful! Raw apples are simply impossible and even stewed can be an issue if not mushy enough. Pineapple, orange, melon and pears - all a problem to a greater or lesser degree. Strawberries, raspberries, grapes, blueberries and prunes - all fine - but then they are little. The odd one out in this whole equation, is the banana - comes under the category of a 'big' fruit, swallows like a small fruit. So what's that about? And why fruit? Why apples especially? And even odder is that my surgeon particularly asked me about apples and if I had a problem with them. They are considered to be one of the defining questions towards helping with an achalasia diagnosis. All of which is kind of OK I guess, but I just wonder why...what is it about the humble apple which makes it such an issue? And in that bunny hopping brain way that I have, I wonder if that's what the all problem was with Snow White - that apple she had wasn't poisoned at all, she just had achalasia!
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Sounds like good advice to me...
I have some great friends and occasionally they tell me stuff that is just so funny (of course, this may just be to me, so you may have to forgive me), that I feel compelled to share... Now, I appreciate that some of the stuff that I pass on, may, due to the very nature of it, be embarrassing to the person concerned and so in an effort to spare their blushes, I always use acronyms instead of their real names (as you may have noticed) and this time is no exception. I was wondering though (I am by now famous for this ) if in this instance if this was appropriate as my friend is foreign and the acronym I was going to use would have given away her country of origin and therefore (to other people in our group) her identity. I have therefore decided to call her my F*F *1
F*F lives in a part of the country quite close to a lake and one of her favourite pastimes is to go fishing there. Now F*F is a wheelchair user and lives independently along with 2 of the most lovely cats I have seen (apart from my own of course!) but I don't know if that has anything at all to do with her love of fishing - I think she just likes being active. I know, I know, some people would say fishing isn't very active, but believe me, in her case it is, as you will soon find out.
Anyway, she went fishing on this particular day and was lucky enough to catch two fish, which she was really happy about. She then discovered why hubby always says you should put your brakes on (not that he says it to her, he says it to me - all the time!) as she was parked on a little bridge (I think she meant jetty) on the edge of the lake - and it had a slight slope. In fact, it had a slight slope towards the water and in all the excitement of getting her fish, she didn't realise that she was rolling towards it...until it was too late and, as she put it "I get to take a unintentional bath in this lake"...
She went on to say:
"It was not so deep about 1 1/2 to 2 meter, but I get very wet. It was not so fun..."
- no kidding, I thought!
So, there she was, in the water, with her wheelchair and had to get back to shore. I'm guessing that wheelchairs don't float as well as people (I can check this with E2O who went in the river with hers once) and so it must have been quite a struggle to use her best lifesaving manoeuvres on an inanimate lump of metal. She says it didn't get any easier when she actually reached the shore too, as it was really slippery and covered with shingly stuff. Anyway, she managed it eventually (she's a real hero my friend!) and finally got back to the car. It was then she realised that she was soaking wet through and still needed to drive home and did not have anything dry to change into. She recounted this tale so well, I was in hysterics "You should have seen me", she said, "I looks very fun when I swim with the wheelchair"....
She did learn something from her adventure though and I shall put this in her own words....
"I shall have bath cloths on me next time when I shall fishing or brake my wheelchair very hard"
I think that's very good advice...don't you?
F*F lives in a part of the country quite close to a lake and one of her favourite pastimes is to go fishing there. Now F*F is a wheelchair user and lives independently along with 2 of the most lovely cats I have seen (apart from my own of course!) but I don't know if that has anything at all to do with her love of fishing - I think she just likes being active. I know, I know, some people would say fishing isn't very active, but believe me, in her case it is, as you will soon find out.
Anyway, she went fishing on this particular day and was lucky enough to catch two fish, which she was really happy about. She then discovered why hubby always says you should put your brakes on (not that he says it to her, he says it to me - all the time!) as she was parked on a little bridge (I think she meant jetty) on the edge of the lake - and it had a slight slope. In fact, it had a slight slope towards the water and in all the excitement of getting her fish, she didn't realise that she was rolling towards it...until it was too late and, as she put it "I get to take a unintentional bath in this lake"...
She went on to say:
"It was not so deep about 1 1/2 to 2 meter, but I get very wet. It was not so fun..."
- no kidding, I thought!
So, there she was, in the water, with her wheelchair and had to get back to shore. I'm guessing that wheelchairs don't float as well as people (I can check this with E2O who went in the river with hers once) and so it must have been quite a struggle to use her best lifesaving manoeuvres on an inanimate lump of metal. She says it didn't get any easier when she actually reached the shore too, as it was really slippery and covered with shingly stuff. Anyway, she managed it eventually (she's a real hero my friend!) and finally got back to the car. It was then she realised that she was soaking wet through and still needed to drive home and did not have anything dry to change into. She recounted this tale so well, I was in hysterics "You should have seen me", she said, "I looks very fun when I swim with the wheelchair"....
She did learn something from her adventure though and I shall put this in her own words....
"I shall have bath cloths on me next time when I shall fishing or brake my wheelchair very hard"
I think that's very good advice...don't you?
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Of backs and bones
Time has come to update all your scoliosis people who have been following me from the beginning ... what do you mean you only ever read my blog when your search engine throws up the word scoliosis - you naughty person! Anyway, this post is for you...
I am now heading towards 5 years post op (yes really!), and some things have stayed the same, some have got worse and some things have improved so I thought I'd try and put some stuff down about it all. I have to say that it's been prompted by recent hospital visits, but I will get to that in time...
First of all, if you are reading this in the pre-op stage and are wondering what your future holds, please don't expect to be pain free. Your back is a finely interwoven mesh of nerves, muscle and bone and screwing metalwork into it is never going to make it 'normal' - you may be lucky and your pain may improve, but the surgery is to straighten you up and hold you that way so that you don't end up your ear pressed against the window when you drive your car! Anyway, my experience has been just that, I am straight but not pain free and this is what I told my surgeon when I saw him earlier this summer.
He ordered a CT scan (I blogged about it a while back) and I duly had that done. The whammy came when I went back into see him for the results. I warn you right now, I am going to get a bit technical, so stick with me! He discovered that although it is normal to still have back pain after scoliosis surgery, my pain is not exactly normal when considered in relation to that. To start with, my fusion has failed at the top - between T9 & T10 there is no bone graft - on the CT, there's just a black space - "You see that?", said my surgeon, pointing with his pen, "Thats air that is."
I have to say, that this wasn't really what I wanted to hear, and thinking that in the very middle of my back, the only thing holding the bones together was 2 screws and a bit of metal (that I stressed to bits in Disney last year) didn't actually make my tummy feel any less wobbly... He then moved on...
"You see that...?" - he indicates another black space between L5 & S1*1 "You're supposed to have a disc in there*2 and it really looks very unstable. In a nutshell, your fusion needs extending - top and bottom - say 2 or 3 levels (vertebrae) at the top and we should really screw the bottom bit in to your pelvis."
Oh great, thinks I - that's an interesting start to a Thursday (at least I think it was a Thursday!) but at least it might go some way to explaining why my neurological symptoms have been a bit variable. Unstable joints, changeable neuro stuff - it all seemed to fit together. Ah...dear reader (I've always wanted to say that!), I hear you poor scoliosis people getting stressed at the nerve stuff...don't be, this is particular to me....! Anyway, he suggested going in to hospital and they would inject some kind of false joint jelly stuff in the gap at the bottom to see if it would help delay the bigger surgery for a bit. I saw him on the Thursday (I remember now, it was definitely a Thursday) and I was in the following Tuesday - not the treatment I am used to on the NHS I can tell you. He told me to go away and keep a pain diary and then see him again in a month - which is kind of where I am right now...
I go back and see him in a week or so. The big question is, is my back any better for it? Well, yes and no. Yes, I think it's better, but no I don't think what he did had much effect - I think that holiday in Turkey helped more. Do you think I could get him to prescribe regular sunshine all inclusive holidays on the NHS?
*1Technical speak for the very bottom of your back
*2 In fact, the only disc I have, below T8!
I am now heading towards 5 years post op (yes really!), and some things have stayed the same, some have got worse and some things have improved so I thought I'd try and put some stuff down about it all. I have to say that it's been prompted by recent hospital visits, but I will get to that in time...
First of all, if you are reading this in the pre-op stage and are wondering what your future holds, please don't expect to be pain free. Your back is a finely interwoven mesh of nerves, muscle and bone and screwing metalwork into it is never going to make it 'normal' - you may be lucky and your pain may improve, but the surgery is to straighten you up and hold you that way so that you don't end up your ear pressed against the window when you drive your car! Anyway, my experience has been just that, I am straight but not pain free and this is what I told my surgeon when I saw him earlier this summer.
He ordered a CT scan (I blogged about it a while back) and I duly had that done. The whammy came when I went back into see him for the results. I warn you right now, I am going to get a bit technical, so stick with me! He discovered that although it is normal to still have back pain after scoliosis surgery, my pain is not exactly normal when considered in relation to that. To start with, my fusion has failed at the top - between T9 & T10 there is no bone graft - on the CT, there's just a black space - "You see that?", said my surgeon, pointing with his pen, "Thats air that is."
I have to say, that this wasn't really what I wanted to hear, and thinking that in the very middle of my back, the only thing holding the bones together was 2 screws and a bit of metal (that I stressed to bits in Disney last year) didn't actually make my tummy feel any less wobbly... He then moved on...
"You see that...?" - he indicates another black space between L5 & S1*1 "You're supposed to have a disc in there*2 and it really looks very unstable. In a nutshell, your fusion needs extending - top and bottom - say 2 or 3 levels (vertebrae) at the top and we should really screw the bottom bit in to your pelvis."
Oh great, thinks I - that's an interesting start to a Thursday (at least I think it was a Thursday!) but at least it might go some way to explaining why my neurological symptoms have been a bit variable. Unstable joints, changeable neuro stuff - it all seemed to fit together. Ah...dear reader (I've always wanted to say that!), I hear you poor scoliosis people getting stressed at the nerve stuff...don't be, this is particular to me....! Anyway, he suggested going in to hospital and they would inject some kind of false joint jelly stuff in the gap at the bottom to see if it would help delay the bigger surgery for a bit. I saw him on the Thursday (I remember now, it was definitely a Thursday) and I was in the following Tuesday - not the treatment I am used to on the NHS I can tell you. He told me to go away and keep a pain diary and then see him again in a month - which is kind of where I am right now...
I go back and see him in a week or so. The big question is, is my back any better for it? Well, yes and no. Yes, I think it's better, but no I don't think what he did had much effect - I think that holiday in Turkey helped more. Do you think I could get him to prescribe regular sunshine all inclusive holidays on the NHS?
*1Technical speak for the very bottom of your back
*2 In fact, the only disc I have, below T8!
Thursday, October 07, 2010
Have I been busy or just lazy?
I was just looking at my blog and realised that I haven't done much in the way of updating for awhile - so, do you think I've been busy, or am I just lazy?
Of course, before we went was manic and since we've come back, merely busy, but there you go, that's why I haven't done any updating recently.
Monday, September 13, 2010
OMG I can hear you all shrieking!
Yes, here it is, a long overdue blog entry and in the best of the dog ate my homework traditions, I am going to tell you all why it's been so long since I updated.
The first thing is, that life has been ever so slightly hectic and although that is no excuse at all since everybody's life is hectic these days, it's my first excuse and I'm sticking to it. I do have second and third excuses planned too (so as not to disappoint you), but I shall start with the first one and move on.
My mother has been living with me recently...there, that's the truth of it and that simple statement explains a lot. Many of my friends by now will be nodding sagely and those of you who don't know her, will imagine anyway, that having your mother suddenly come to live with you, is bound to turn your life upside down a bit and they might think that its even more true, when your mother is 81.
Writing down that my mother is 81, makes it sound as if some doddery old lady has just moved in with us, dribbling down her front and spilling her tea, but it's not like that at all. It's even not like that when I tell you that she had a fall and so that's why she was here. Nope, my mother is not that kind of 81...my mother is the kind of 81 that...that...well...actually she's not like any kind of 81 in fact. I think I need an example...
A couple of years ago (just before she turned 80), she went to Cuba and then she went to
China (coming home on the Trans Siberia Express and dropping in on Mongolia on the way to stay in a yurt) and then on to Canada. Apparently she wanted as many trips as possible before her travel insurance ran out at aged 80 and she had to buy a more expensive policy - so she decided to do countries beginning with the letter C (I think). I did actually point out to her at the time that doing one letter per year at aged 80 wasn't necessarily the best plan as by my reckoning she'd be about 104 by the time she got to Zaire, but she didn't seem too bothered by the idea that she might have to tote her zimmer frame out on safari with her - just as long as she could use it to rest her camera on.
She did take a little break this year, to go to Oberammergau - a bit out of order its true, but its only on once every 10 years and wasn't going to fall in sequence next time round either... I dunno, she seems to collect countries like some old ladies collect china ornaments. Most recently she has been collecting African Mediterranean countries Libya and Morocco spring to mind and (although not in Africa) is now talking of Nepal. I'm thinking this is just a way to revert back to working her way through the alphabet, at a slightly speedier rate...but who can tell...
Anyway, all of this is by way of explaining how she isn't your typical pensioner (if there is such a thing) but doesn't really explain how she came to be here, although it's true that she had a fall. Three weeks ago, on a Sunday morning, my mother called to say she'd fallen in the night and thought she'd broken her arm. In reality she fell down the stairs - all the way down the stairs, hit the wall at the bottom, turned the corner and landed on the quarry tile floor. She explained it as "rather like doing a slinky" ... which says it all really. She then got up, dusted herself down, climbed back up the stairs, and since it was 3.30 in the morning and she didn't want to bother anyone, she went back to bed. She called us at 9.30 and we picked her up and took her to hospital where they confirmed that it was, indeed, broken. So that was it, arm in a plaster and sling, right arm (and she's right handed) and it was back home with us...I haven't had time to do a thing since then.
Aha! I can hear you all say, but what about now - how come you have time to blog now? Well, the now is that she wanted to get home and so she went home with her arm in plaster just as soon as she felt able to cope (which was last Friday). She's doing fine (thanks for asking!) and hopefully will get the plaster off in another 2 weeks. At least one good thing has come out of all of this though, as given the steepness of the stairs versus the age of the lady equation, I think she can be fairly confident she doesn't have osteoporosis!
The first thing is, that life has been ever so slightly hectic and although that is no excuse at all since everybody's life is hectic these days, it's my first excuse and I'm sticking to it. I do have second and third excuses planned too (so as not to disappoint you), but I shall start with the first one and move on.
My mother has been living with me recently...there, that's the truth of it and that simple statement explains a lot. Many of my friends by now will be nodding sagely and those of you who don't know her, will imagine anyway, that having your mother suddenly come to live with you, is bound to turn your life upside down a bit and they might think that its even more true, when your mother is 81.
Writing down that my mother is 81, makes it sound as if some doddery old lady has just moved in with us, dribbling down her front and spilling her tea, but it's not like that at all. It's even not like that when I tell you that she had a fall and so that's why she was here. Nope, my mother is not that kind of 81...my mother is the kind of 81 that...that...well...actually she's not like any kind of 81 in fact. I think I need an example...
A couple of years ago (just before she turned 80), she went to Cuba and then she went to
China (coming home on the Trans Siberia Express and dropping in on Mongolia on the way to stay in a yurt) and then on to Canada. Apparently she wanted as many trips as possible before her travel insurance ran out at aged 80 and she had to buy a more expensive policy - so she decided to do countries beginning with the letter C (I think). I did actually point out to her at the time that doing one letter per year at aged 80 wasn't necessarily the best plan as by my reckoning she'd be about 104 by the time she got to Zaire, but she didn't seem too bothered by the idea that she might have to tote her zimmer frame out on safari with her - just as long as she could use it to rest her camera on.
She did take a little break this year, to go to Oberammergau - a bit out of order its true, but its only on once every 10 years and wasn't going to fall in sequence next time round either... I dunno, she seems to collect countries like some old ladies collect china ornaments. Most recently she has been collecting African Mediterranean countries Libya and Morocco spring to mind and (although not in Africa) is now talking of Nepal. I'm thinking this is just a way to revert back to working her way through the alphabet, at a slightly speedier rate...but who can tell...
Anyway, all of this is by way of explaining how she isn't your typical pensioner (if there is such a thing) but doesn't really explain how she came to be here, although it's true that she had a fall. Three weeks ago, on a Sunday morning, my mother called to say she'd fallen in the night and thought she'd broken her arm. In reality she fell down the stairs - all the way down the stairs, hit the wall at the bottom, turned the corner and landed on the quarry tile floor. She explained it as "rather like doing a slinky" ... which says it all really. She then got up, dusted herself down, climbed back up the stairs, and since it was 3.30 in the morning and she didn't want to bother anyone, she went back to bed. She called us at 9.30 and we picked her up and took her to hospital where they confirmed that it was, indeed, broken. So that was it, arm in a plaster and sling, right arm (and she's right handed) and it was back home with us...I haven't had time to do a thing since then.
Aha! I can hear you all say, but what about now - how come you have time to blog now? Well, the now is that she wanted to get home and so she went home with her arm in plaster just as soon as she felt able to cope (which was last Friday). She's doing fine (thanks for asking!) and hopefully will get the plaster off in another 2 weeks. At least one good thing has come out of all of this though, as given the steepness of the stairs versus the age of the lady equation, I think she can be fairly confident she doesn't have osteoporosis!
Friday, August 20, 2010
Bees in a lift.
You think you've heard it all, fish in the sea, birds in the sky, snakes on a plane...and then it happens, you've guessed it, you get bees in a lift!
There I was, minding my own business (I actually do this quite a lot - it's often safer) and was following my normal pattern of heading for my physio's office which is on the first floor. It's actually well into the bowels of the building too, and quite a long way to walk, so I tend to take my chair. Actually it's almost always simpler to do that anyway, because since they moved to the new treatment centre on the second floor, you have to go through the sports science department to get to the treatment room and so there's no waiting room. I just know that if I sit down to rest on one of those fancy exercise machines in that rehab gym, someone will probably shout at me and tell me to 'work harder' and 'stretch it out'! Waiting by simply standing around not really being an option (standing is just about the worst thing for my back), I take my chair - and all of this is just a complicated way of telling you why I always take the lift instead of the stairs!
So, this day, I got to the institute, went inside and found the lift had an out of order sign on it so went back to reception to find a member of staff to take me up in the service lift. Now, the service lift really is in the bowels of the building, it's dark, scary and full of spiders. The doors open on both sides but I've only ever seen the one side open - I think if they ever open the other side it will lead to a dark and gloomy land full of scary monsters where giant crabs roam the countryside and humans are hunted for their sweet meat...
Ugh!
Sorry - I'm back with you...
Anyway, the nice man (let's call him Bob*1), who took me up in the service lift told me that the other lift was out of order because it was full of bees. I don't think Bob really meant full - like crammed in, like how many students you can get in a telephone box or 'tell me sir, for first prize, how many bees can you fit in this lift?'- not that kind of full! I did wonder though, how the bees got there - I mean - did they form themselves into a man shaped mass to fool the automatic door opener and then follow the sign that says 'Bees this way' to get into the lift (pressing the button to call it with many little furry legs)? Or did they come down the lift shaft and if so, how? Is the shaft open at the top? And that's another thing, why were the bees there? I am assuming that it was not to see how many they could fit in there, and for sure, they weren't trying to find a quick way to the second floor, as that lift is the slowest lift in the whole world. It was donated for the use of the disabled, and everyone knows by now that disabled people can't go fast in lifts...or their eyeballs will explode....or something... Anyway, before I ask any more questions and ramble any more, the short story is that there had been a swarm and Bob said that they had to call in the fumigators to deal with it.
I thought this was actually quite sad, the fact that they killed them, but it reminded me of the FIL who had bees in his chimney. FIL and MIL called the council, who sent a man, who killed that swarm too. I wonder if this is why the bee population is declining? Are bees trying to set up home in completely inappropriate places all around the world and then getting murdered for their efforts?
Friday, August 06, 2010
Template Designer.
Now, I hit a few buttons and pressed save when I meant to cancel so my blog now looks like this...
...when I have chance I will see if I can do something better - I was getting bored with the old design anyway - at least that's what I am now telling myself after I saw all my hours of coding sliding away into the ether!
Yes...before you say it, I do have a backup ...its on an external HDD - I just don't know where that is right now...
By the way - to all of you who think I am the most organised person in the whole wide world - here is the proof of what goes on behind the scenes. I am like a little duck...serene in view - legs paddling furiously below the waterline!
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