Prunes, glorious prunes...

Wallace and Gromit fest on g.o.l.d. on Good Friday evening. Go On Laugh Daily? That's... such a bad name for a channel. They clearly just made it fit. And it doesn't. Like my terrible Html-menace post wordplay. Except it was more crash than play. Switched over to BBC One now for more Wallace and Gromit wonder. A Matter of Loaf and Death. Now that's wordplay! Brilliant. I'd be so delighted if Bob ever became something like that. With all copyrights still mine and all the correct legal stuff in place.......

Today was a lot like that Sunday, a few weeks ago: woke up with no pain, a few hours went by, "Ooh", I thought, "has it finally settled down? Finally??" Went to get ready, in the bathroom and... oh look, it's the floor again. We've got some rather nice floor coverings here and one has to get right down there to really appreciate them. Looking down at them will not do anymore. But no, Mirena is still having a good old dance in there or hitting nerves or y'know, somethin'. A foxtrot, I think. Definitely not a waltz. I am so utterly desperate for *thinks of doctor name. Tries to not seem like she's copying Alright Tit but makes up names for people, too* Award-winning Consultant (he is, so that fits) to help me. I know I've said that before but this is not acceptable. I don't understand how they could tell me this is OK. Meh. Rant stops here. For now...

I'm really starting to dread my hospital appointment next Wednesday. Emotionally, today I feel all right, again. Am currently watching an old Red Dwarf, after the "Brand New" one. It was disappointing. An old one has followed and is laugh-out-loud funny. Not belly-aching, but chuckle-out-loud, at least. I think I watch a lot of comedy programmes. I like documentaries and dramas (I shan't mention The Wire at this point... bugger...) but I watch comedy stuff because - duh - it makes me laugh. I'm talking about the good stuff now, not unintentionally laughable broadcasts like Hollyoaks or Eastenders. No East Londoner I know speaks like that. It's a damnable insult!

When people ask me how I am, I'm often inclined to say "I'm fine", or "Not so bad", or "Good, thanks". But that is sort of lying, isn't it... Isn't it? I'm not all right, I'm really not OK and haven't been for months, so saying I am, feels wrong. At the same time, I don't necessarily want that many people to know what's wrong (at least, to know as much as I do) or what happens to me each... I was going to put "month" but actually, it's whenever it feckin' likes.
But then, if I say, "not so bad" or, "no change", usually, the asker wants to know what's wrong, if they don't already. And if I say, "I'd rather not" or, "Ohh that's not interesting", they become offended. This is not the rule for everyone by any means. It gets annoying and boring (I'm sorry but it does) having to explain what I've had done and what it is and what it's for and how it's meant to work and why it hurts... But, I have been very fortunate to have some friends and others who have been wonderful in letting me talk to them, in detail, about what happens. They've been invaluable: Lu (no, not me) and Kaye, in particular. Effing brilliant women, they are.

There are several troubles which accompany staying at home a lot and not being able to do much, I have discovered. eBay is one such trouble. Jeans, recently discontinued Avon products that are very good indeed, belts (I'd only find any "OK" belts in my local town, not the one I'm in, and as I can't get there, eBay is the place), notVelcro, yarn, knitting needles - all of these have been terrific from there. Terrific but I sort of forget these cost money and, while I don't go insane with spending, it does add up. Have to reign in all £13.74 of it. Or whatever it was. And it's always fun to look forward to: a package or a parcel. I always thought Good Friday was a holiday but "they" keep changing things. I got another parcel today. This was good. Maybe my jeans (getting size 10 long legged jeans to fit is not easy; 30ins will not do) will get here tomorrow, Saturday. Family round on Sunday for dinner. Busy times! They won’t be on the menu. But good food will be, no doubt. Hopefully, by then, I'll feel less queasy. American but EW.

The only thing I HAVE to buy - this is my law - is the new doves album, Kingdom Of Rust.

Overall, then, less a Good Friday, more a Gut Friday. And I don't even really speak German. Well, I know "nacht gut" and "das ist nacht gut". Some was learned from my Ma from her school days and the other bits from my Manchester-based German friend, Madeleine. I shall always think of her name and remember Bagpuss and his toy friends. Sorry, M...

Walking with yo Mumma. Or something...

Ma had her first walk out of the house yesterday. We reverse our mother-child relationship roles sometimes, and yesterday was one of those occasions. It was my cousin-in-law's birthday today and she felt guilty for not having sent him a card so wanted to walk to the shops to buy one. As a normal short walk, this is fine but post-operation it would have been too much for a first walk. So, I had to tell her NO. She accepted I was right and opted, instead, for a shorter walk to the post-box, with me in tow. My thought was that I'd chaperone her but she ended up waiting for me to catch up. It was bloody painful but I am glad I went. Adventure these days is a trip to the Morrisons pharmacy to get my co-dydramol. Or out into the garden to take macro-esque photos of the plants and flowers. It was a thoroughly lovely walk, my first such outing for weeks. It was a supremely delightful Spring day, with everything one could want, walk-wise - warm Sunshine, birds singing, daffodils and tulips and forget-me-nots (a bad joke pun is so tempting at this point, but I shall refrain) bobbing their floral heads in the refreshing breeze... I fell asleep when I got back. Twice. Obviously, I had pushed myself too far, I'm clearly not cut out for such extreme sports.

Mum's now had so many flowers delivered, by hand and by post, that we've had to hunt all the so-old-they're-at-the-back-of-the-cupboard vases. Currently, from where I'm sitting, I can see only 10 of the floral gifts so far. The newest bundle of scented gorgeousness to match my Ma's utter wonderfulness was from me. Freesias. Thirty stems of them. With flowers on the top; just stems would be a bit rubbish and that would not do. They're her favourite flowers and I didn't want to order them until I saw she was OK, which was when she came home, last Thursday. When I came down this mor-... afternoon (I told you the walk done me in, like) I was so desperate to get my tablets down me, I hadn't noticed the freesias in a vase occupying the only available space for a vase. Mum had got my orange juice and cup with teabag in (no sugar, mind) ready for me, filled the kettle... Then she looked at me when I'd sat down to take my tablets. And she said "Thank-you" and that I'd made her cry. Again. I hoped she'd be pleased with them! Honestly, some people. They are stunning flowers, though. She liked my note, too, about hoping they weren't too squashed. And my hoping other things weren't too squashed...

I still wish I could do more to help her. It's strange - today has been really terrible for pain, I've had so much and more than enough and it seems the codeine can't be bothered to work anymore, likewise mefenamic acid (Ponstan). But, despite this shocking inner (seemingly) ripping-apart-of-my-womb-and-other-lady-bits feeling and all the other agonies that have gone with it today, I'm feeling about 30% better, emotionally, than I did a couple of days ago. This confuses me. Admittedly, it doesn't take much. Although, there were a few tears earlier when the kicks were a bit too much, it's been an all right day: today was Sunny; I watched Just Good Friends, again (it's really good. Shame I was too young at the time it was first broadcast to watch it); I sort of helped Mum unload the dishwasher (she, one-handed; I, leaning on said dishwasher handing her a plate at a time, sometimes two. I know! Team work. Yeah!!) and we had lovely hugs. One-sided hugs, i.e. her right side.

Oh, and Ma got another "Get Well Soon" card. Running out of space for those, too. She is AMAZING. I don't think she realises how wonderful she is, she doesn't understand how highly she is regarded by so many people. She might have a bit more faith in that fact now that she's had so many bouquets of flowers and visitors (not bouquets of visitors...), cards and calls, emails and hugs. She's wonderful. She's my Mum and I'm so proud of her for so many reasons. She's one of the most inspirational people I know: my Dad is the other one. I only hope I can, one day, be as brilliant as she is.

The post with no name. Oh wait...

...I just want to say that I'm not always as depressing and/or depressed as the previous 2 or 3 posts may indicate. Physical discomfort and pains take their toll, and after three months of solid and mostly unforgiving jabs and kicks emanating from my uterus, I can start to crack.


That is all.

No title? Um...

My time at home seems to be split three ways, between being asleep, being on the sofa with both legs up on a foot stool (very comfortable) and being on the floor. The long-awaited hospital appointment is next week. And I still haven't had a letter from them regarding a pelvic scan. That I've already had one at a different - and my local - hospital, surely isn't the point. Is it? I'm not particularly looking forward to it. If it's anything like the last one, I'll get no definitive answer. I'll likely be another patient, who'll be seen in another 4-6 weeks, to give it a chance to "settle down". I shall, at this point, reiterate that I am not doing this blog to complain. In this instance, however, I am. This is because the times I've been told to [sic] "give it more time" would make me rich, if only the ones saying it had given me a pound each time they said it... I'm not, because they haven't but... the point is this: Mirena is not going to settle down. These pains are not going to stop in a few weeks.

Today, I ended up on the floor (as an attractive lump of person, huffing and puffing, groaning and moaning - and really not in a good way... - on the floor, cats walking by giving me shifty "what's she doing?" looks) a total of 5 times, each for at least 2 minutes. I only got up 4 times. OK, that's not true, but the rest is. It was 5 times.
The thing is... I understand people - family, friends and indeed strangers who take time to type and send comments and I do appreciate what they say and that they've said it - saying "chin up" and encouraging me to be confident about myself and to be more positive about things... but, as far as I'm aware, they don't understand what happens to me (and indeed, other women and girls), regarding the pain. Very few people have seen how I am when the pain hits. Pain is starting to annoy me now, the word, I mean. It's just not even close to the..... ugh, "pain".

What makes me particularly angry, is that I have had no definitive answer or proper explanation for what I feel each day, period or no period.
And the kidney pains? Something to do with blood going "the wrong way", therefore causing minor blockages in the tract, therefore causing pain.

Double you tee eff? I'm not bleeding, currently, so WHAT?


I've been patronised and had doctors condescend me, ignore me when I've asked them questions, been called "darling" by one. I didn't like her. Actually, she was the one who did all the aforementioned in the first sentence of this paragraph.
Another ignored me: nice doctor at the first appointment; mean doctor at the second appointment.

Sometimes, the way some doctors speak to you is so insulting, so very offensive. They assume you have no idea what you're talking about, that when you tell them how you feel, they're just words being spoken and you're just a name on a list. You go there, go to them because you need help, sometimes desperate for even a slight improvement but often, you get nothing. It's rude, insensitive and demeaning.


I shan't accept an "urgent" appointment, because that means waiting four weeks, potentially.

I shan't accept "Leave it a bit longer" because I can't do this anymore. I shall insist on Mirena being removed, forthwith. But not there, and then, in the room, because that isn't going to happen. So, not really forthwith. But, y'know... soon.

I want to know what's going on in there. Surely - and DO please correct me if I am wrong - something must be happening which shouldn't on account of all these feelings I get. I can feel the Mirena when I move, I can feel the agony (genuinely agony, not just a dramatic word for effect, I promise you) of it pressing on something in there. I need to know what's wrong with me. Tablets and painkillers can only do so much. I don't want more painkillers, I want to know what's wrong. I don't want to take all these codeine tablets for days and months on end.
To unavoidably use that horrid cliche, "for all I know", my innards could be badly damaged already and could be getting worse. I might be wrong, I understand that but if I am, TELL ME WHAT IS WRONG because, so far, it's NOT. GOOD. ENOUGH.


*Deep breath*


I think I have mastered the prune-to-codeine ratio. I'm currently at two prunes per dose, which is, effectively, a prune per tablet. Once opened, the prunes must be eaten within seven days. And have to be refrigerated once opened. I shall try. And they are.
My Mum got two MORE lots of flowers yesterday, another one today. In all, she has received 9 lots of "get well" bundles of kindness. And a good supply of cards. Between us, we're quite useless. She can't vacuum for stretching her wound, I can't do it for the movement causes immense ARGHHH. I can sort the dishwasher, though... plates are cheap to replace, aren't they? Matalan, Sainsbury's, other places, they do cheap plain kitchenalia. That's an eBay category. Ooh, eBay...

Html-menace: hell to my... lament? No, that's rubbish...

And so, I am in a mild (at times, lately, unbearable) state of depression. Many tears leaked from my eyes over the weekend just gone. I am still ever thankful for Olbas. I'm inclined to think "it" has been exacerbated by the "Mum situation". It's clearly not her fault and, therefore, I certainly don't blame her. It was obviously a shock, knowing my Mum had breast cancer, but I thought, "I can be strong, I have to do this. No tears... OK, maybe some, but not on show. Much." and it worked... for a while. Trying to fool myself into believing I'm all right and I'm not cracking again - as opposed to breaking and then falling apart, often in spectacular fashion - is harder done than said. Inevitably, this plan will not last and, when it does end and comes crashing down around me (hopefully not literally), I feel such a fool for believing myself and my feeble idea. "How did you ever think it would work? It didn't work last time, why the hell would it work now?"

This, then, makes me feel even worse. And then I need more Olbas Oil. This fooling of myself is easier, I think (I think, must mean something then, eh?) to accept than it is to forgive myself for the way I end up behaving, the way I treat those around me who know me best and who look after me when I'm on the floor, temporarily disabled by the pain caused by, say, periods or Mirena. The contempt and cruelly sarcastic comments that go their way because I abhor my (presently) uncontrollable situation are completely unacceptable. That I should behave in such a way is utterly wrong. But I still do it. I do it every time one of these "bouts" occurs. At that time, can see no way of it changing. But I'm still so angry with myself for being so stupid about "being OK" when I'm so obviously not.

"I hope you get fucking lost", "Don't. fucking. do that", and other similarly mean asides get muttered under my breath. I say them with an astonishing amount of venom. And at the time, I mean them. I'm SO angry, not with one person, but with everything. It's all wrong. It's all so dark and tearful and pointless and difficult to think and believe that it will change. Even though I've done it so many times before. But I think it's precisely because it's happened so often, that I feel such a fucking idiot.

All this, therefore, shouldn't be my main thought at this time, with Ma still recovering and doing more around the house than she should, because she's frustrated with what isn't being done because I'm not well enough to do those things. When I feel not so bad, I can do bits and pieces but compared to what needs to be done, the usual, everyday household tasks, ironing, vacuuming, dusting, etc.... I'm about as much use as knickers on an avocado.


I sit here, snapping at questions which require a simple answer. I complain about what's on telly. I bitch about the strange eyebrows on some women's faces. (I admit I have an unhealthy... not obsession but... maybe it is... they're just not that hard to get right.)
Once I think about and realise what I've said and how I've said it, I can't believe I was so nasty. How could I say that? To those people? The ones who mean more to me than anyone, the ones for whom I would do anything to help. The depression stops me being me, it takes away who I am, what I really feel and think and regard as important and possible and wonderful and aspirational... Or does it? What if this is really me, who I really am? What if, actually, I'm a spiteful, cruel-minded bitch who doesn't have pity for people who may deserve just a little...?


I (we: Ma and I) can be sure that this is "just a hiccup", "a bad patch". I've "slipped back a bit". Again. Actually, though, I'm not so sure that I have "slipped back", this time. I'm certain it's just a reaction to the current events and situations that are happening: I feel, strongly, that the last three months have been wasted. Having these feelings, the bleakness, the darkness (no, not that, please... PLEASE. NO.), the helplessness, the difficulty breathing because I'm crying so much, it's horrible, that... it's all just my brain doing what it usually does. I just wish it would do it a bit less severely, with fewer tears and less effort required from me to "get back" to where I was. But I've just said I'm not "back". So... shh. I know what I mean...

I'm fairly sure I'm not a bad person, that I feel empathy for others, that I am caring and thoughtful, and I know I'm not lazy. I'm just really, really tired sometimes. This all-over aching, although not terrible, is just another little thing to bring me down a little more. Like my upper wisdom teeth causing pain and/or discomfort and craftily hiding themselves at a jaunty angle, making cleaning them a task and a half. Like the low blood pressure: not awful, but feeling dizzy and seeing blackish fuzziness every time I get up is just bloody annoying. Lots of niggling things, on their own are not much to be bothered by but when they're all joining together, it's really bloody annoying.


And I'll tell you what else is bloody annoying: not being able to catch up with The Wire on the BBC iplayer. Something to do with buying the show but because it wasn't part made by the BBC, they can't stream it. Or something. I'm not buying it on DVD in case I don't like it. I only saw the first episode, missed the second and all others so far broadcast on BBC Two so I shan't be paying for all that swearing and naughtiness for nothing. Potentially. I'll see if I can "borrow" it from D. Hmm...

Hookie Street

The scene where Del and Rodney are saying goodbye at Rodney's wedding reception is such wonderful viewing. They play it so beautifully, with such... "realness". The only unpleasant aspect of the scene is that "they" chose Simply Red and the singing fool to play in the background. Ugh. Annoyingly, though, it fits perfectly and works so well for the atmosphere. Dammit.

I always like looking at stuff (great word, stuff) on eBay. You can buy stuff (ah, word) that you like but can't find elsewhere and, sometimes, have your probable bargain within two days. You can't always be sure that what you've paid for is what you're going to get but when you do and it's better than you expected it to be, it's brilliant.
I always wear unfussy jeans, though lately, thanks to the big-but-actually-rather-small M, "comfortable jog pants", specifically, a pair of £3-from-Primark trousers. I still wonder if they're ethically made. I really hope they were: they fit beautifully... but there is a thoroughly floral adoring feminine side to me. I have again taken to buying fabric and yarn. I now have a lot of fabric and yarn. Certainly, it's more than I have room for. (Note to self: get well and move out.)
I made a bag from fabric remnants for the yarn. And now need to either make another one or buy one for the yarn that doesn't fit in the remnant bag. Knitting needles and crochet hooks were also part of the crafty purchases. Yarn and no tools is a bit useless. AND I've made things. Oh yes. So far, I have made a bag, a hat, some wrist-warmer things (2 pairs of) and a hot water bottle cover for ME. It's lovely, chunky-knitted (chunkily-knitted?), blue with claret crocheting round the edges to join it together. And presently, it's exactly what I need, as I use it everyday. Although, being acrylic, it's bobbling. Never mind. It only stays under my cardigan (...I'm actually not old, I really am 27...) soothing (or slightly burning. Oops.) my belly ahh...


I'd love to be able to look after my Mum a bit better than I am. My Dad has been home from work for a few days so he's been helping with tasks neither Ma nor I can do, on account of our varying (in)capabilities. There was a charming moment earlier in the evening when I washed Mum's hair; because of her surgery, leaning forward and moving her arm causes her pain and discomfort, so there was no question as to her doing it herself and even less that I'd do it for her. We were giggling and chatting about how she used to wash her Mum's hair (Mum is/was a hairdresser) and how my equally wonderful Nan used to chuckle when the spray of water got the back of her head. My Mum did exactly the same and it was one of those "oh d'you remember that?" moments. The same happened with my Dad a few weeks ago in one of our local charity shops. We were looking at the crockery and noticed a "nice" small plate. On the back was a stamp, "FOREIGN". We said, at the same time, "Depends where you are" and each promptly let out a rather loud guffaw, breaking the silence of the shop. It was nothing short of delightful.

Despite all these really rather terrible pains I experience, with or without Mirena slowing me down or completely stopping me from carrying out "normal" activities, I shall have those special father-daughter and mother-daughter moments. These times make us all giggle and appreciate that, despite the obvious family connection (it really is obvious, I'm SO much like each of my Nans, in different ways). We are such good friends, my Ma, Pa, brother J and me, all together and to each other. My parents are my best friends, because they know me better than I know myself, sometimes. That can be good and bad. But right now, knowing what's happened this week to my Mum, it can surely only be a good thing.

*Later that day...*

Whaddya know?? A lot? You brainy rascal, you... don't brag. But yes, back to me...

D IS a darling, after all! I knew it.

My Mum is now home from hospital. This is very good. I said to her, via text, "I'm trying to make the front room less Lucyfied, more Mummyfied". I laugh at my jokes. Didn't have any spray-on cobwebs, so she had to make do with a tidy(er) room and a cup of my fabulous tea. Her tea. But I made it... and she had yet more beautiful flowers of which to sniff the whiff and admire when she got home, and surely more to come from the people who will no doubt visit. Calls, texts, cards, flowers... she's a wonderful lady, is my Ma.


So... all is OK with D, it seems... I'm getting tired, may have to eat more tablets... but might just go to sleep in my lovely hot bed with blankets, comfort and telly... and mp3 player... and maybe a heavy cat sleeping on my leg(s) for good measure. G'night JohnBoy...