I started a new painkiller today to replace my pethidine. Instead of taking pethidine during the day, I now have a Fentanyl patch at a rate of 25mg per hour. I put the first patch on today at 2pm (and for my own memory purposes - that was THURS @ 2pm, making it SUN @ 2pm for patch change!) and although it says the first day it works at a lower potency, damn I feel rough.
I've never used a patch before for anything, and I was a bit unsure of how well it would work. Of course I know it DOES work - believing in science - but seeing it, this little square of sticky plastic, it just doesn't seem like it should work. But as it is, it kicked in pretty fast. About an hour after taking it - I was sitting down and had been for awhile, then stood up - and the world just started spinning. It was like too much alcohol over a short period of time and standing up fast. Really horrible feeling. Then it seemed to ease off, although my Dad said I had slow speech and looked doped.
Over the course of the night I've felt pretty sickly, almost feverish and I really dread to think what it will be like at full potency tomorrow. I guess I'll wait and see. And oh shit, as memory kicks in - in a few weeks I'm meant to be going on holiday with my Nana, it's all booked. We're spending five days in Forfar at a hotel - but - I'm meant to drive there and around the place. I'd said when we arranged it that I'd just not take my painkillers, but this may mean having to come off this for the week, because Jesus, if it doesn't get better, I'll be too fucked to drive.
And the reason why I'm going on holiday is that it's my Nana's birthday in a few days and ALL she wanted for birthday was a holiday and no one would go with her, so I said I would. I'll enjoy it, but the driving aspect is worrying me. As is the general not being in hospital thus ruining it. Yes, I know she'd rather my health than holiday, but still worries me.
Anyways, away from drugs and worries. New Kinz arrived today! They are:
Chai Lai - the siamese - girl
Tuppence - the black cat - boy
Chai Lai is a name I found on a website and it's meant to mean ''beautiful'' and Tuppence is named after one of my first pets, a beautiful black tom cat who lived until he was 19 and was like a black panther. Chai Lai has a very elegant room, while Tuppence is a pirate! My Bullfrog also arrived but he can't be registered till September, when he's POTM and I have no idea what to call him. I didn't think I'd like him, but man, he's ADORABLE. He's a big squishy face and cute eyes. I LOVE HIM, and definitely a him.
Paul also paid for me to get a Hippo, a Black Bear and a Lil Kinz Unicorn. I'm really spoiled at the moment with Kinz, so much so that my obsession is being fulfilled and I'm not going into withdrawal wanting MORE MORE MORE! Although granted, that will happen soon no doubt! I'm like a little kid.
Harvey (my real horse, rather than my pinto webkinz!) is coming on leaps and bounds. It's honestly hard to believe he's so young at times, well except when he leaps into the air because he stamped on his metal food dish and it went CLANG - but he's so friendly and affectionate. He's nipped me a few times now, but only once on purpose and he got his nose slapped, which was so unexpected he leapt backwards and looked at me like I'd turned into the devil. I brought him back into me and told him ''NO'' again, and he seemed to get it. I don't like having to hit horses, but things like biting can't be allowed, especially with kids that visit.
He follows me about now as well, and he walks companionably beside or behind me about the field and if he stops, I just turn around and say, ''come on then!'' and he almost looks like he shrugs his shoulders and goes, ''alright then''. I never have to apply any pressure or force. I don't want a horse I have to haul and pull on a leadrope to get them moving, and I like this gentle and easy working that I have with him. It's been so long since I trained a youngster that I'm not sure where to start, so many options and ideas, but at the moment taking things slow and easy is enjoyable for us both.
Anyways, I'll close here. Not sure how much I'll update as Paul is off for the next two weeks, and I'll be at his a lot. He doesn't know about this blog, and with a will to keep it my secret place, I don't want to be ''caught'' updating it. It's stupid, I know. But if he knows about this, and reads it, then I won't be able to be honest in it and use it for what I want.
Thursday, 31 July 2008
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
medical assessment and kinz
I had my medical this morning, after a fairly crap nights sleep. I get so nervous at these things. And I always feel I say completely the wrong things and destroy my own case. It was with an older Doctor, guess is it was a retired GP. I'll get results in a few weeks.
For example, here are stupid things I said:
DOC: How do your painkillers effect daily life?
ME: I lack in concentration, I get drowsy a lot, my vision blurs.... and I lack in concentration.
And another:
DOC: How do you manage the stairs?
ME: Oh, we have a stairlift!
DOC: Do you use it?
ME: No, but we have one.
And another:
DOC: How do you find walking?
ME: Well I can get sore if I walk a lot.
DOC: How far would that be? A few miles?
ME: Well, no, like round a supermarket
DOC: How often do you do that?
ME: Never at the moment.
He didn't examine my gall bladder area, even though I offered that he could ''feel my stone'' and in closing he said ''the sooner you get your operation, the better'' - which sounds vaguely positive in that he believes I'm truly ill. Although it's not like I have to prove I'm ill, as I have the medical proof for it. But proof I'm too ill to work, that's another kettle of fish entirely.
Of course, upon leaving the medical I suffered a gall bladder attack. My gall bladder being a devoted follower of ''Sod's Law''. So I spent the afternoon completely wasted on painkillers, at one point fearing I'd taken too many and was going to die. Proving to myself that I still have the ability to be a drama queen, even if just inside my own head.
Following the attack from hell, I slept from 3pm till 8.30pm, missing out on going to the horses - not that I'd have been allowed in that state, but anyways. Then watched TV for a bit, before returning to bed. It's certainly an exciting life...
(P.S on the webkinz front, I'm fighting an increasingly strong urge to buy more. I WANT MORE WEBKINZ. I'd sell my soul at the moment for more. I'm so focussed on them, but in a way it's good because I get lifeless about things and just don't care. And at the moment I get excited by webkinz and get to have a lot of fun through them. My current family is:
Sprockie - the himalayan cat
Belle - the husky
Shatan - the black stallion
Harvey - the pinto horse
Matilda - the cow
I also have my Clydesdale waiting to be registered and she will be ''Maydew''. I'm desperate for a unicorn. Like YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE, but the ones I'm thinking of buying are the Hippo or the Bear or the Black/White cat since I can get them online at £4.99 each. And waiting to arrive - Bullfrog, black cat and siamese......
.... with friends like Jen... whose bank account needs enemies? :-D *loves Jen to bits*)
For example, here are stupid things I said:
DOC: How do your painkillers effect daily life?
ME: I lack in concentration, I get drowsy a lot, my vision blurs.... and I lack in concentration.
And another:
DOC: How do you manage the stairs?
ME: Oh, we have a stairlift!
DOC: Do you use it?
ME: No, but we have one.
And another:
DOC: How do you find walking?
ME: Well I can get sore if I walk a lot.
DOC: How far would that be? A few miles?
ME: Well, no, like round a supermarket
DOC: How often do you do that?
ME: Never at the moment.
He didn't examine my gall bladder area, even though I offered that he could ''feel my stone'' and in closing he said ''the sooner you get your operation, the better'' - which sounds vaguely positive in that he believes I'm truly ill. Although it's not like I have to prove I'm ill, as I have the medical proof for it. But proof I'm too ill to work, that's another kettle of fish entirely.
Of course, upon leaving the medical I suffered a gall bladder attack. My gall bladder being a devoted follower of ''Sod's Law''. So I spent the afternoon completely wasted on painkillers, at one point fearing I'd taken too many and was going to die. Proving to myself that I still have the ability to be a drama queen, even if just inside my own head.
Following the attack from hell, I slept from 3pm till 8.30pm, missing out on going to the horses - not that I'd have been allowed in that state, but anyways. Then watched TV for a bit, before returning to bed. It's certainly an exciting life...
(P.S on the webkinz front, I'm fighting an increasingly strong urge to buy more. I WANT MORE WEBKINZ. I'd sell my soul at the moment for more. I'm so focussed on them, but in a way it's good because I get lifeless about things and just don't care. And at the moment I get excited by webkinz and get to have a lot of fun through them. My current family is:
Sprockie - the himalayan cat
Belle - the husky
Shatan - the black stallion
Harvey - the pinto horse
Matilda - the cow
I also have my Clydesdale waiting to be registered and she will be ''Maydew''. I'm desperate for a unicorn. Like YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE, but the ones I'm thinking of buying are the Hippo or the Bear or the Black/White cat since I can get them online at £4.99 each. And waiting to arrive - Bullfrog, black cat and siamese......
.... with friends like Jen... whose bank account needs enemies? :-D *loves Jen to bits*)
Monday, 28 July 2008
misery and medicals
I find it hard these days to keep up a blog. Not because I have nothing to say, as I can always ramble - but because I feel I just write the same things over and over. Like - oh, I'm ill or I'm miserable. And it grates on me, so God knows how anyone reading it will feel. But at the same time, everything needs an outlet and for that sort of talk, online is my only outlet and I guess the safest place is a blog hardly anyone reads.
I'm completely doped on painkillers at the moment. I'm still sore, but it doesn't matter. It's more of an irritating sharp poke than being identifiable as pain. Yet I know when painkillers run out, it will hurt like a bitch. And yes, I know I should get into hospital. I act stupid by not going in, but I do know that one way or another, time is ticking down. In a melodramatic sense, I almost feel like I'm living on borrowed time - not borrowed from death, I'm not pushing my thoughts that far, but borrowed from facing upto the full implications of my health and the impending crisis that is looming. Crisis may be too dramatic a word to use, but facing upto things, and going into hospital, and facing the fear of never leaving it again etc - it's a crisis to me. And one I want to avoid, because I still believe that I won't survive this. And no matter how much logic I apply to myself or how much common sense, I can't change my gut feeling. Of course, it's not really a 'gut feeling' - prior to being told by the surgeon that I would die, I didn't have such extreme worries, but since then, I cannot escape that fear.
I find myself more miserable by the day. Maybe it's just a low mood swing, in general - when healthy, I didn't suffer that much from lows. I got them, but I didn't wallow. Instead I would deal with problems and face upto them, and keep on the move. How times change, eh? These days - everything is the same. I have very few things in my life - I play my DS, I read books, I feed my horses, I come online and I watch TV. Which may sound heavenly to those who work - but trust me, when you have this every single day - you soon yearn for work, not just for the stimulation, but also for the money which allows a greater freedom of activity/hobbies. I am becoming more ill, that's a given. Paul has noticed, and today even said to me that even with the stronger painkillers, I seem worse. And I seem worse, because I am worse. Higher painkillers weren't quite the saviour I had hoped for.
Tomorrow I have a medical for the Department of Work and Pensions, which is the Government body who oversee welfare benefits, which I receive for being unable to work. I am really quite scared about it. Not because I feel I am being a fraud and will be 'found out' - but because I know that they are trying to get as many people off of benefit as possible, it's not about individuals, at the end of the day it's about statistics which means I may not receive a fair medical, it may be that they need more numbers to fill up the 'back to work' column. Although I do have a case that is harder to discount, but I have a dread feeling that they will, which means following that - I only receive half my benefit and have to appeal via a tribunal, which tend to go in favour of the Government. It's a farce, but it's what Britain has become. As it is, I suffer from severe cholecystitis, which on my previous medical was noted as a ''severe, serious disease'' by the Doctor I was seen by. I'm on masses of painkillers which make me unable to function, and have little dignity left when it comes to most things (given I struggle to take baths given pain I have - but don't worry, I take a shower, I don't smell [I have a phobia about hygeine!] - and I can't wear bras anymore, at all, and with 42DD breasts, well, it's undignified - I look like a cow ready to be milked).
I'm hoping that I'm treated fairly and am not made to suffer stressful weeks of fighting the bit for myself. Stress makes matters worse - medically - stress increases something or other which puts more stress on the gall bladder and intensifies problems in that area. So the last thing I need is stress, and I've had plenty of it recently. Further into stressful things, I have a GP appointment on Wednesday for my GP to hopefully send this bloody letter to the surgeon to get me back onto the operating list - then at some point I may be able to regain my life or have it ended. One way or another, I'd be gall bladder free.
But for now, I'll close on yet another entry filled with moaning and misery.
I'm completely doped on painkillers at the moment. I'm still sore, but it doesn't matter. It's more of an irritating sharp poke than being identifiable as pain. Yet I know when painkillers run out, it will hurt like a bitch. And yes, I know I should get into hospital. I act stupid by not going in, but I do know that one way or another, time is ticking down. In a melodramatic sense, I almost feel like I'm living on borrowed time - not borrowed from death, I'm not pushing my thoughts that far, but borrowed from facing upto the full implications of my health and the impending crisis that is looming. Crisis may be too dramatic a word to use, but facing upto things, and going into hospital, and facing the fear of never leaving it again etc - it's a crisis to me. And one I want to avoid, because I still believe that I won't survive this. And no matter how much logic I apply to myself or how much common sense, I can't change my gut feeling. Of course, it's not really a 'gut feeling' - prior to being told by the surgeon that I would die, I didn't have such extreme worries, but since then, I cannot escape that fear.
I find myself more miserable by the day. Maybe it's just a low mood swing, in general - when healthy, I didn't suffer that much from lows. I got them, but I didn't wallow. Instead I would deal with problems and face upto them, and keep on the move. How times change, eh? These days - everything is the same. I have very few things in my life - I play my DS, I read books, I feed my horses, I come online and I watch TV. Which may sound heavenly to those who work - but trust me, when you have this every single day - you soon yearn for work, not just for the stimulation, but also for the money which allows a greater freedom of activity/hobbies. I am becoming more ill, that's a given. Paul has noticed, and today even said to me that even with the stronger painkillers, I seem worse. And I seem worse, because I am worse. Higher painkillers weren't quite the saviour I had hoped for.
Tomorrow I have a medical for the Department of Work and Pensions, which is the Government body who oversee welfare benefits, which I receive for being unable to work. I am really quite scared about it. Not because I feel I am being a fraud and will be 'found out' - but because I know that they are trying to get as many people off of benefit as possible, it's not about individuals, at the end of the day it's about statistics which means I may not receive a fair medical, it may be that they need more numbers to fill up the 'back to work' column. Although I do have a case that is harder to discount, but I have a dread feeling that they will, which means following that - I only receive half my benefit and have to appeal via a tribunal, which tend to go in favour of the Government. It's a farce, but it's what Britain has become. As it is, I suffer from severe cholecystitis, which on my previous medical was noted as a ''severe, serious disease'' by the Doctor I was seen by. I'm on masses of painkillers which make me unable to function, and have little dignity left when it comes to most things (given I struggle to take baths given pain I have - but don't worry, I take a shower, I don't smell [I have a phobia about hygeine!] - and I can't wear bras anymore, at all, and with 42DD breasts, well, it's undignified - I look like a cow ready to be milked).
I'm hoping that I'm treated fairly and am not made to suffer stressful weeks of fighting the bit for myself. Stress makes matters worse - medically - stress increases something or other which puts more stress on the gall bladder and intensifies problems in that area. So the last thing I need is stress, and I've had plenty of it recently. Further into stressful things, I have a GP appointment on Wednesday for my GP to hopefully send this bloody letter to the surgeon to get me back onto the operating list - then at some point I may be able to regain my life or have it ended. One way or another, I'd be gall bladder free.
But for now, I'll close on yet another entry filled with moaning and misery.
Friday, 25 July 2008
this little piggy went to market...
Seems we're going up early to see the horses. I swear I must look like death warmed up, my Mum was already talking nonsense to me to cheer me up, and my Dad just came into my room and said:
Dad - Five minutes till we go (*waving his hand in the air*) - see, count the fingers - FIVE
Me - Ok
Dad - And look, can count my toes as well (*waves his foot in the air, and while standing on one leg pulls his sock off, grabs his big toe*) - and this little piggy went to market....
... then he nearly fell over. 65 year old men shouldn't balance on one leg. It did make me laugh though.
Dad - Five minutes till we go (*waving his hand in the air*) - see, count the fingers - FIVE
Me - Ok
Dad - And look, can count my toes as well (*waves his foot in the air, and while standing on one leg pulls his sock off, grabs his big toe*) - and this little piggy went to market....
... then he nearly fell over. 65 year old men shouldn't balance on one leg. It did make me laugh though.
sailing high on opiate winds
Still here.
But with progress. I spoke to my Mum about hospital, about the fact I'm much worse than I was, and that my painkillers aren't doing the job and I may require to get into hospital and have antibiotics and morphine. She was OK about it, in her normal bullish way, she said - ''Then you should just go now!'' - and I felt like a rabbit stuck in the headlights of an on-coming truck. I told her I was still thinking about it, that I was waiting to get worse. Yes, insane, but trust me - just talking about it was enough to make my throat so dry I couldn't swallow. And because I stay with Paul at the weekend, my Mum will talk to my Dad - and then maybe my Dad will raise it with me. It's a long way for a short cut, but hopefully this way I'll be able to go into hospital and not be on the point of having heart failure.
Which isn't that much of an overstatement - everytime I've been in hospital, my heart goes mad. They always comment on my high heart rate/blood pressure and the fact I'm always really stressed when getting tests done. But I think I must look stressed as well, because they do always note that it's likely because I'm in hospital, not due to anything wrong with me causing those results.
I have a medical with the Department for Work and Pensions next week. It's to assess me to see if I'm fit for work. Laughable really, and worse - they may assess me as being fit for work. The tests are meaningless, I passed the medical last time but recently on the news it's been about how they are getting tougher during these examinations in a push to get people off benefit. Which is fair enough for those on benefit because they are scamming, but my medication alone makes me unsuitable for work - not even taking into account the fact at the moment minor exertion seems to kill me. But fingers crossed, I get a honest Doctor and don't have to go through the appeals process to try and get benefit back.
I'm high as a kite at the moment - LOADS of drugs. I'm still sore though. But it's like a dull ache in the background and I don't care. I have a slight flush that opiates give and that mental detatchment that comes with high doses of painkillers, usually just before I fall unconscious in a heap. At times like this - I have a huge urge to lie down and doze - but I also don't want to ''waste'' the feeling of being stoned on painkillers, because while I'm still sore, I feel good. And really, I never feel good, so when I do, I want to make it last.
My clydesdale webkinz arrived today and I REALLY want to register it. But I can't, I need to wait till the first of August. If I'm not about, Paul's been instructed to do it for me. It's going to be a girl webkinz called ''Maydew'' - after one of the first ponies I rode at Riding School. She was a big, slow plodder but a sweetheart. Really gentle and affectionate mare. Then - when my other ones arrive, I'll have NINE. Jesus, it's unbelievable. And if I want the free underwater room, I'll have to wait and get the fantail as #10. Not that I can afford to buy any for a long time. I think I'm already going to have to cancel a trip away because I've messed up my finances. But then, I don't think I'm well enough to go away either.
But I think I'm going to take that lie down now. I have an hour before I'll be assessed for going to feed the horses, since if my Dad deems me not well enough, I don't get to go. The road across to the horses is bumpy, and it can make me sore, and he doesn't want me having a major problem in the field. Which is fair enough I suppose.
Thursday, 24 July 2008
caterpillar watching
By the fact that I'm still here, I didn't admit myself to hospital. I wanted to, but then I did feel better, and I didn't feel there was a right time to ask, and all sorts of nonsense. I find it insane that I know how nuts I'm being, I can identify that I'm being crazy but I can't stop myself from being that way. It's like there's two people in my head, the sensible logical person who says - you are ill, go to hospital and the other person who runs screaming at the mention of a hospital. Still, I feel the way things are going, the choice may soon not be mine. When I feel like I'm dying, I have no qualms about wailing and letting the world know.
I spent most of today asleep. Cuddled up to my two new webkinz that arrived in the post (Black Friesian called ''Shatan'' and a Pinto called ''Harvey''). Dad woke me up to go up the field, and we went and fed the horses. Walked Harvey about, the little stinker nipped me - but by accident, he spent most of his time licking me and trying to groom me. Very sweet, but he's a bit careless with his teeth.
And that's been about it. I've taken another load of painkillers and I think I'll be heading to bed shortly. It's hellish. And all I'm thinking about is webkinz, it's a huge distraction. Cute, cuddly little buggers. The only reason I've had for actually getting up and online and being somewhat active is because of webkinz, if it wasn't for the need to ''look after'' them, I'd just have stayed in bed. But instead I came on to put all the pets through the Academy for the day.
And all I've thought about all day is the absolute overwhelming urge for this fantail fish webkinz. I can't afford to buy any more until like the end of September. But I'm so distracted on it, I'd sell my soul for one. How nuts is that? But I suppose, something has to catch my interest. And focussing on a fish shaped plush is better than focussing on a swollen gall bladder.
But off again, time to sit down and stare at tv with my Dad. Oh, and the title isn't just random, I'm so wasted on painkillers, I spent 40 minutes watching caterpillars waving their bums at each other on the willow tree in the garden. I did take pictures, but the batteries in the camera died. So well, no pictures.
I spent most of today asleep. Cuddled up to my two new webkinz that arrived in the post (Black Friesian called ''Shatan'' and a Pinto called ''Harvey''). Dad woke me up to go up the field, and we went and fed the horses. Walked Harvey about, the little stinker nipped me - but by accident, he spent most of his time licking me and trying to groom me. Very sweet, but he's a bit careless with his teeth.
And that's been about it. I've taken another load of painkillers and I think I'll be heading to bed shortly. It's hellish. And all I'm thinking about is webkinz, it's a huge distraction. Cute, cuddly little buggers. The only reason I've had for actually getting up and online and being somewhat active is because of webkinz, if it wasn't for the need to ''look after'' them, I'd just have stayed in bed. But instead I came on to put all the pets through the Academy for the day.
And all I've thought about all day is the absolute overwhelming urge for this fantail fish webkinz. I can't afford to buy any more until like the end of September. But I'm so distracted on it, I'd sell my soul for one. How nuts is that? But I suppose, something has to catch my interest. And focussing on a fish shaped plush is better than focussing on a swollen gall bladder.
But off again, time to sit down and stare at tv with my Dad. Oh, and the title isn't just random, I'm so wasted on painkillers, I spent 40 minutes watching caterpillars waving their bums at each other on the willow tree in the garden. I did take pictures, but the batteries in the camera died. So well, no pictures.
health and hospital
The last few days I've been really unwell. I've been hiding just how unwell I am from my parents and from Paul - for two reasons, I hate showing weakness and also they might say go to hospital - which ironically is something I WANT them to say and force upon me, but I don't want to appear ill to them? Totally buggered up, I know.
I've had some really bad attacks, crippling pain and I've been taking shit loads of painkillers, and still been sore. I've also been having dizzy spells, and sudden spikes in my temperature and I've had a few minor collapses, and last night after carrying a 12-pack of juice up to my room, I was completely exhausted and in agony. I had to stand bent over and leaning on the end of my bed trying to get my breathing back - and under control, since it goes a bit weird when I'm in pain, because breathing hurts. Then I had to lie down for awhile, just trying to relax, since when I'm in pain, I tense up and when it gets really bad, I panic slightly - none of which helps in the long run.
Writing this down, it seems completely stupid that I'm not in hospital. I have a logical mind, and if someone else told me the above, I'd say, ''stop being so stupid and get your ass into hospital''. I tell myself that as well, but I'm just unable to carry it out. The fact that I feel better today is acting as my excuse for not admitting myself today - but I have taken a lot of painkillers today, and always taken them early so I don't get the full brunt of the pain.
I can't even fully pinpoint what it is about hospitals that has me almost phobic of them, certainly I've had a lot of bad experiences in them, and I think a lot stems back from my first ever hospital stay which was when I was about 6/7 and I broke my back, and had to stay in hospital for a long time. I viewed it kinda like prison, and I still do. That I'll be kept in against my will, won't have control over what I can/can't do.
Then there's the fact that for 3 years no one believed I was really ill, Doctors were saying I was making it up and I got ''burned'' by that. In that, my Mum convinced me to be completely honest with my GP - and I was, I even wrote down exactly what I felt - and my GP basically said I was mentally ill, that the pain was psychological and that I was depressed and that was the cause of my symptoms and that I didn't have anything wrong with me. That really cut into me, I'd laid myself bare for the first time ever - showed weakness - and had it abused. Of course, a few weeks later the hospital done a test (HIDA Scan) that revealed I was in fact quite seriously ill and all the symptoms were true and correct. But still, the damage had been done.
Then the surgeon at the hospital trying to put me off the operation (due to money reasons!) told me that I'd die during the operation. He was pretty outrageous, in that I asked for the operation and he asked if I was suicidal, since me having the operation was akin to committing suicide. I got really upset at this, as you would, but didn't tell anyone about it. I felt like it was my fault he'd said all of that, and that I couldn't face telling others and them agreeing with him. But again, I know now that he was incorrect to be like that, but - as before - the damage was done. No matter what I do now, I have a firm belief in my head that I will not survive the operation, because he really hammered into me that I wouldn't.
All of the above adds together to make me scared almost of hospital, that once I go in, I won't ever get back out again. That I'll go in, and I'll die in there, because they'll operate and I won't survive it. Although, I believe I have an infection at the moment, so they probably wouldn't operate immediatly, they'd have to get that under control. And I'd like to go in, I hate suffering. Which is pretty natural. But I just can't bring myself to ask to go in, I've tried. I've tried to psych myself up to asking, I've even went to the point of preparing a small bag to take in - with toiletries etc. But each time I come to ask, I can't go through with it. It's like I'd rather bite my tongue off than utter ''please take me to hospital''.
However, if I get much worse likely the decision will be out of my hands. Already it's hard to hide and the more I fall about the place like a drunk, the more obvious it is. Plus I'm sleeping about 20 hours or more a day. Ok, maybe not quite that much, but feels like it. In fact, once I finish writing this - I'm going back to lie down, because I'm sore and doped and need to rest.
In other news - I've overspent (well, slightly) on webkinz. I went a bit daft on them, not that daft compared to I suppose normal standards, but when you have little to no money to start with, I went daft with them. I desperately want a fantail fish because you get an underwater room with it, but I won't be able to afford to spend anything on myself till the end of September. My money was already a bit screwed up from vet bills, but I messed it up that tad further - as I've got road tax to pay on my car (which I can't drive, but require it to be roadworthy for the horses and my Dad driving it - I've not driven it in about 2 years).
And I'm really desperate for a webkinz. It's like needing a fix, I want one to register NOW. Right now, I want to be able to add a new pet and play with it. Of course, I have to wait for the ones I've bought to be shipped, but I really want one immediatly. I feel like a little kid with those thoughts, but I can't shake them. It's almost like I'd die happy having one to 'open' RIGHT NOW. Although, I also realise I'm probably focussing so much on that to divert my attention away from other more serious topics. But maybe I'll be lucky, and one will arrive in the post today - for now however, I'm going to close, because I've just started to get stabbing pains in my side and I need to lie down.
I've had some really bad attacks, crippling pain and I've been taking shit loads of painkillers, and still been sore. I've also been having dizzy spells, and sudden spikes in my temperature and I've had a few minor collapses, and last night after carrying a 12-pack of juice up to my room, I was completely exhausted and in agony. I had to stand bent over and leaning on the end of my bed trying to get my breathing back - and under control, since it goes a bit weird when I'm in pain, because breathing hurts. Then I had to lie down for awhile, just trying to relax, since when I'm in pain, I tense up and when it gets really bad, I panic slightly - none of which helps in the long run.
Writing this down, it seems completely stupid that I'm not in hospital. I have a logical mind, and if someone else told me the above, I'd say, ''stop being so stupid and get your ass into hospital''. I tell myself that as well, but I'm just unable to carry it out. The fact that I feel better today is acting as my excuse for not admitting myself today - but I have taken a lot of painkillers today, and always taken them early so I don't get the full brunt of the pain.
I can't even fully pinpoint what it is about hospitals that has me almost phobic of them, certainly I've had a lot of bad experiences in them, and I think a lot stems back from my first ever hospital stay which was when I was about 6/7 and I broke my back, and had to stay in hospital for a long time. I viewed it kinda like prison, and I still do. That I'll be kept in against my will, won't have control over what I can/can't do.
Then there's the fact that for 3 years no one believed I was really ill, Doctors were saying I was making it up and I got ''burned'' by that. In that, my Mum convinced me to be completely honest with my GP - and I was, I even wrote down exactly what I felt - and my GP basically said I was mentally ill, that the pain was psychological and that I was depressed and that was the cause of my symptoms and that I didn't have anything wrong with me. That really cut into me, I'd laid myself bare for the first time ever - showed weakness - and had it abused. Of course, a few weeks later the hospital done a test (HIDA Scan) that revealed I was in fact quite seriously ill and all the symptoms were true and correct. But still, the damage had been done.
Then the surgeon at the hospital trying to put me off the operation (due to money reasons!) told me that I'd die during the operation. He was pretty outrageous, in that I asked for the operation and he asked if I was suicidal, since me having the operation was akin to committing suicide. I got really upset at this, as you would, but didn't tell anyone about it. I felt like it was my fault he'd said all of that, and that I couldn't face telling others and them agreeing with him. But again, I know now that he was incorrect to be like that, but - as before - the damage was done. No matter what I do now, I have a firm belief in my head that I will not survive the operation, because he really hammered into me that I wouldn't.
All of the above adds together to make me scared almost of hospital, that once I go in, I won't ever get back out again. That I'll go in, and I'll die in there, because they'll operate and I won't survive it. Although, I believe I have an infection at the moment, so they probably wouldn't operate immediatly, they'd have to get that under control. And I'd like to go in, I hate suffering. Which is pretty natural. But I just can't bring myself to ask to go in, I've tried. I've tried to psych myself up to asking, I've even went to the point of preparing a small bag to take in - with toiletries etc. But each time I come to ask, I can't go through with it. It's like I'd rather bite my tongue off than utter ''please take me to hospital''.
However, if I get much worse likely the decision will be out of my hands. Already it's hard to hide and the more I fall about the place like a drunk, the more obvious it is. Plus I'm sleeping about 20 hours or more a day. Ok, maybe not quite that much, but feels like it. In fact, once I finish writing this - I'm going back to lie down, because I'm sore and doped and need to rest.
In other news - I've overspent (well, slightly) on webkinz. I went a bit daft on them, not that daft compared to I suppose normal standards, but when you have little to no money to start with, I went daft with them. I desperately want a fantail fish because you get an underwater room with it, but I won't be able to afford to spend anything on myself till the end of September. My money was already a bit screwed up from vet bills, but I messed it up that tad further - as I've got road tax to pay on my car (which I can't drive, but require it to be roadworthy for the horses and my Dad driving it - I've not driven it in about 2 years).
And I'm really desperate for a webkinz. It's like needing a fix, I want one to register NOW. Right now, I want to be able to add a new pet and play with it. Of course, I have to wait for the ones I've bought to be shipped, but I really want one immediatly. I feel like a little kid with those thoughts, but I can't shake them. It's almost like I'd die happy having one to 'open' RIGHT NOW. Although, I also realise I'm probably focussing so much on that to divert my attention away from other more serious topics. But maybe I'll be lucky, and one will arrive in the post today - for now however, I'm going to close, because I've just started to get stabbing pains in my side and I need to lie down.
Monday, 21 July 2008
Halloween 2008:: Attack of the Toilet Brush Holder
Incase I haven't mentioned here - I have a border collie puppy called Jake. He'll be a year old come September, and we've had him since last October (when our elderly dog had to be put to sleep). Jake is my baby. Because I don't have much to do thesedays, I've become super attached to my dog, and my previous dog, Corky before him. Jake is a source of entertainment and joy in days which are endlessly the same.
Jake is a very intelligent dog, and a smart ass at times. But sometimes he just has some really odd fears. And tonight he became terrified of the toilet brush holder. Our toilet brush holder is a blue and white china cat and it sits looking out from behind the toilet and tonight Jake started going mad growling at the toilet, then trying to stealthily approach the toilet brush holder, but chickening out and skittering back out of the toilet. I tried showing him that it was infact an inanimate object but when I picked it up and placed it in front of me, he ran off with his tail between his legs, so I put it back. I'm a bit confused at exactly what scared him, maybe it's because it was ''looking'' at him and he just realised it had eyes, but definitely weird.
Oh well, excitement over. The toilet brush holder is obviously way too scary and he's now hiding under my bed. For a big dog, he's really an absolute wimp at times.
cost of happiness
I barely slept at all last night. All night long, my gall bladder was sore. Crippling pain in my side and back. By 6am, I'd eventually taken enough painkillers that the pain was dulling off, and slowly I got comfortable, only for the position I was in to have my knee go out and cause excruciating pain from there. I just couldn't win. In the end, due to the painkillers knocking me out I got maybe a few hours sleep. Which wasn't great since I had plans (for the first time since April) to see a friend.
But - the show must go on - so my friend came over, we went up to my field and saw the horses, showed her kids Harvey, who was very nice and ate his dinner next to them. Then we went to the play park at the colzium, which is newly built and has lots of cool things. After that, I was dropped off back at my house, and back to normal routine.
Normal routine including my gall bladder complaining loudly about everything. Like breathing for instance. Yes, I know, get your ass to hospital, but well - not that easy. My Dad was drinking, so unable to drive and my Mum ''can't'' drive. I've lost count of exactly what I've taken, all I know is that it still hurts but I have an opiate haze going on and my throat is dry as a bone and my nose feels funny. So probably a few too many painkillers, but hey, whatever works.
My Dad's drinking isn't something new. I wish he wouldn't drink, but he does. And sometimes, like tonight, he becomes the most annoying drunk. Loud, opinionated - almost to the point of being nasty about things. Thankfully this time round I wasn't the target, my Mum was. While he does have a point on what he's talking about - he does it in totally the wrong way to make any impact at all. And he nips my head about things, looking for me to agree with him, when really I just want to not be involved. I love my Dad to bits, but I think I could do without him drinking ever again. He keeps saying he'll stop, but then doesn't.
Following that, when I did decide to get up and come upstairs - I fell flat on my face, having stood on a dog chew bone, went over on my ankle and twisted it - falling in a manner which also hurt my gall bladder. Well it would, wouldn't it. God forbid I do something that *doesn't* hurt that bloody organ. So I'm now in bed with my ankle strapped up. Fantastic, really, just what I needed.
In a move to indulge in retail therapy which I cannot afford in the slightest, I bought some Webkinz. Seriously, I can't afford it. But I also didn't care. Something had to make me smile, so having already ''won'' the Clydesdale Webkinz on an eBay auction, I spotted some cheaper horse webkinz - namely the black stallion and the pinto and bought them on Buy-It-Nows. I really shouldn't have done it, and I will regret it BIG TIME, but I needed it. It was buy soft toys or break down in tears. So I bought soft toys, being the easier of the options. I also have a black cat webkinz coming soon. I wish I could sneak them into the house, rather than face people questioning me buying them, but they'll arrive by post and god forbid I get privacy. My parents gave me more privacy when I was healthy, now - nothing is sacred and everything I do is noted down. Bad enough I have no freedom due to being ill, slapping on no privacy really makes things depressing.
There's so little these days that makes me happy. I feel miserable most of the day, every day. And find it hard to not just start sobbing randomly. Maybe it's hormones, maybe it's just that years of being ill have taken their toll and I can't pretend everything is ok anymore. I'm popping Class A drugs like they are sweeties. I probably have enough painkillers in my system to classify me as a junkie. And I have no life left, I rely on Paul for pretty much everything - and feel he's lost his life because of me, because we don't (and often can't) go out as much. So he's lost touch with some of his friends, I've practically no friends I'm in touch with anyways, since I can't travel often to go see them. If it weren't for Paul, I'd be suicidal. On a regular week, the only people I see are my parents and Paul. And week in, week out - it goes on like that.
Oh I know, I've a lot to be thankful for, but I didn't picture myself at 26 spending the majority of my time in bed or wasted on controlled drugs. I pictured myself in my own house and married, which will happen - but not until I'm ''fixed''. And in the mean time, all I do - day in, day out - is play my DS, read books, play fluff friends and play webkinz. Logically I know my life isn't that bad - and without the pain, hey it might even be alright, but emotionally, I'm through with it. And I want to be happy. I used to be happy. But now I feel a burden to those around me - and financially I am - then spending my money (and wasting it) on things to make me happy (webkinz, DS games, books) - seems wrong. I don't *need* these things, and I end up feeling tearful because I've done things to try and cheer myself up. How fucked up is that?
I guess it's just one of those days. Maybe I should just be thankful I'm still alive and be done with it. Even if at times dying seems like the lesser of the evils when I'm in pain.
But - the show must go on - so my friend came over, we went up to my field and saw the horses, showed her kids Harvey, who was very nice and ate his dinner next to them. Then we went to the play park at the colzium, which is newly built and has lots of cool things. After that, I was dropped off back at my house, and back to normal routine.
Normal routine including my gall bladder complaining loudly about everything. Like breathing for instance. Yes, I know, get your ass to hospital, but well - not that easy. My Dad was drinking, so unable to drive and my Mum ''can't'' drive. I've lost count of exactly what I've taken, all I know is that it still hurts but I have an opiate haze going on and my throat is dry as a bone and my nose feels funny. So probably a few too many painkillers, but hey, whatever works.
My Dad's drinking isn't something new. I wish he wouldn't drink, but he does. And sometimes, like tonight, he becomes the most annoying drunk. Loud, opinionated - almost to the point of being nasty about things. Thankfully this time round I wasn't the target, my Mum was. While he does have a point on what he's talking about - he does it in totally the wrong way to make any impact at all. And he nips my head about things, looking for me to agree with him, when really I just want to not be involved. I love my Dad to bits, but I think I could do without him drinking ever again. He keeps saying he'll stop, but then doesn't.
Following that, when I did decide to get up and come upstairs - I fell flat on my face, having stood on a dog chew bone, went over on my ankle and twisted it - falling in a manner which also hurt my gall bladder. Well it would, wouldn't it. God forbid I do something that *doesn't* hurt that bloody organ. So I'm now in bed with my ankle strapped up. Fantastic, really, just what I needed.
In a move to indulge in retail therapy which I cannot afford in the slightest, I bought some Webkinz. Seriously, I can't afford it. But I also didn't care. Something had to make me smile, so having already ''won'' the Clydesdale Webkinz on an eBay auction, I spotted some cheaper horse webkinz - namely the black stallion and the pinto and bought them on Buy-It-Nows. I really shouldn't have done it, and I will regret it BIG TIME, but I needed it. It was buy soft toys or break down in tears. So I bought soft toys, being the easier of the options. I also have a black cat webkinz coming soon. I wish I could sneak them into the house, rather than face people questioning me buying them, but they'll arrive by post and god forbid I get privacy. My parents gave me more privacy when I was healthy, now - nothing is sacred and everything I do is noted down. Bad enough I have no freedom due to being ill, slapping on no privacy really makes things depressing.
There's so little these days that makes me happy. I feel miserable most of the day, every day. And find it hard to not just start sobbing randomly. Maybe it's hormones, maybe it's just that years of being ill have taken their toll and I can't pretend everything is ok anymore. I'm popping Class A drugs like they are sweeties. I probably have enough painkillers in my system to classify me as a junkie. And I have no life left, I rely on Paul for pretty much everything - and feel he's lost his life because of me, because we don't (and often can't) go out as much. So he's lost touch with some of his friends, I've practically no friends I'm in touch with anyways, since I can't travel often to go see them. If it weren't for Paul, I'd be suicidal. On a regular week, the only people I see are my parents and Paul. And week in, week out - it goes on like that.
Oh I know, I've a lot to be thankful for, but I didn't picture myself at 26 spending the majority of my time in bed or wasted on controlled drugs. I pictured myself in my own house and married, which will happen - but not until I'm ''fixed''. And in the mean time, all I do - day in, day out - is play my DS, read books, play fluff friends and play webkinz. Logically I know my life isn't that bad - and without the pain, hey it might even be alright, but emotionally, I'm through with it. And I want to be happy. I used to be happy. But now I feel a burden to those around me - and financially I am - then spending my money (and wasting it) on things to make me happy (webkinz, DS games, books) - seems wrong. I don't *need* these things, and I end up feeling tearful because I've done things to try and cheer myself up. How fucked up is that?
I guess it's just one of those days. Maybe I should just be thankful I'm still alive and be done with it. Even if at times dying seems like the lesser of the evils when I'm in pain.
Thursday, 17 July 2008
When narcotics don't work....
It's 3am and I feel lousy. I've taken more drugs than I probably should do, and still feel like crap. I've tried lying down in a variety of positions, including upside-down and still, no good, my gall bladder is throbbing persistently - a dull ache - that says, ''hey bitch, I'm not having a tantrum just yet, but I'm thinking about it''.
I had a bad attack yesterday and the day before, each time I tell myself, ''this time I'll go into hospital, I'll just go in and admit myself. Yeah right. I can't face hospital. You'd think it was like turning myself over to the Police for a crime, but I can't face going in. I know it's completely irrational to be terrified of going into hospital - especially when the only way I will get better is through being in hospital and having an operation.
Sometimes I just hope that I'll get so ill that I won't be able to make the choice - that someone else will have to make it. Of course, as soon as I start getting a really bad attack I start praying for it to end as quickly as possible. I know I just need to bite the bullet and get my ass into casualty, rather than pretending it's OK and I can keep going for another bit longer. I won't even go into all my ''issues'' about hospitals, as it takes too long and well, for my 3rd entry into this blog, I think it would be just a bit TOO MUCH.
I feel so sorry for myself thesedays. Miserable, and doped. I want to indulge in retail therapy - spend money that I really don't have, on things I probably don't need. I love buying books, but I have so many now, still unread. Literally hundreds of unread books, all piled into my overflowing bookcase. It doesn't help that my painkillers have made it difficult for me to read for long periods - between my eyesight going blurry and just a lack of concentration, I even have trouble keeping up with the plot of children's fiction at times. I also like to buy DS games, but I get the same problem, I forget what I'm doing, then I get frustrated.
But what I really want to buy at the moment is Webkinz. Soft toys have ALWAYS been something to make me happy, and these ones COME ALIVE! It's like a dream come true (for my inner child who still dominates most of the time ;-)). Shell told me that some of the card shops have a sale on Lil Kinz, so Paul's going to take me out on Saturday to have a look. I'm really excited. LOL, like a little kid. Anyways, I'm rambling and should wrap this up. Will do a proper, coherant update tomorrow, today, well, FRIDAY. There. No confusion.
I had a bad attack yesterday and the day before, each time I tell myself, ''this time I'll go into hospital, I'll just go in and admit myself. Yeah right. I can't face hospital. You'd think it was like turning myself over to the Police for a crime, but I can't face going in. I know it's completely irrational to be terrified of going into hospital - especially when the only way I will get better is through being in hospital and having an operation.
Sometimes I just hope that I'll get so ill that I won't be able to make the choice - that someone else will have to make it. Of course, as soon as I start getting a really bad attack I start praying for it to end as quickly as possible. I know I just need to bite the bullet and get my ass into casualty, rather than pretending it's OK and I can keep going for another bit longer. I won't even go into all my ''issues'' about hospitals, as it takes too long and well, for my 3rd entry into this blog, I think it would be just a bit TOO MUCH.
I feel so sorry for myself thesedays. Miserable, and doped. I want to indulge in retail therapy - spend money that I really don't have, on things I probably don't need. I love buying books, but I have so many now, still unread. Literally hundreds of unread books, all piled into my overflowing bookcase. It doesn't help that my painkillers have made it difficult for me to read for long periods - between my eyesight going blurry and just a lack of concentration, I even have trouble keeping up with the plot of children's fiction at times. I also like to buy DS games, but I get the same problem, I forget what I'm doing, then I get frustrated.
But what I really want to buy at the moment is Webkinz. Soft toys have ALWAYS been something to make me happy, and these ones COME ALIVE! It's like a dream come true (for my inner child who still dominates most of the time ;-)). Shell told me that some of the card shops have a sale on Lil Kinz, so Paul's going to take me out on Saturday to have a look. I'm really excited. LOL, like a little kid. Anyways, I'm rambling and should wrap this up. Will do a proper, coherant update tomorrow, today, well, FRIDAY. There. No confusion.
Monday, 14 July 2008
my baby blue eyes
My new horse is a yearling colt called Harvey, he's skewbald with blue eyes and such a wonderful little guy. I'm already head over heels in love with him, he's sweet as can be and so quiet. This is him taking mints from me, he's suddenly learned just *how* good mints taste and wanted them all :-D
Please ignore the fact I look like hell in this photograph. I had no idea I'd be in the photographs, given I thought *I'd* be the one taking pictures, thus, I look like hell. I've no bra on (because it hurts my gall bladder to wear one), my stomach/side is swollen and my hair is scraped back and my huge grey streaks show horridly. I'd say I look like a sack of potatoes, but that would be an insult to potatoes.
Harvey came from the same dealer that I got Baileigh from. He'd been running wild on 250 acres with 90 other boys (mixed colts, geldings and stallions) on a hill in Kinross and had been there since spring this year. The dealer said he was quiet and halter-broke when he got him, and he sure is. In fact, given the way he is - you'd never think this boy had been without human contact for months on end.
It's a bittersweet time, having such a wonderful little baby to play with and cuddle, and know at the same time that the only reason this baby is here is because Baileigh is gone. Baileigh who was my big slobbery baby. I still miss Baileigh like hell, and even idle mentioning of him (like here) brings tears to my eyes. He was perhaps the best horse I've ever owned, gentle and sweet and honest. I know there won't be another like him, but I hope Harvey can be amazing in his own way.
In many ways, Harvey reminds me of my shetland pony, Pepi, who died in 1999. Pepi also had blue eyes and had the same very quiet and gentle nature that Harvey is showing. It's a bit eerie as they are so similar, and it took me years to get over Pepi's death. It seems when it comes to my horses, it's the boys that really make their mark on me. I love my girls, but the boys are always my babies - girls are bitches and can look out for themselves!
Speaking of girls, Rowen is taking to Harvey like a mother hen. She loves him, probably because he's willing to run about with her and do as he's told - because he's so young. Baileigh being that bit older when we got him, he was opinionated and wasn't as willing to run about, why run when you can walk? - that was Baileigh's motto. But Harvey delights in running at her side, infact, if you didn't know better and saw them, you'd probably think they are mother and foal. I'm happy to see Rowen happy, one of the most heartbreaking things about losing Baileigh was seeing the effect on her. Hell, she was NICE to us. And we can't be having that ;-) Rowen is just very needy when it comes to company, she needs a friend. And Harvey seems to have wanted his mother back, and literally within an hour of meeting, they cemented a relationship.
I'm hoping - pain and weather being well - tomorrow to spend most of the afternoon with Harvey. Take a book and my puzzle book (I'm so exciting, I know) - and relax with him. I used to do this with Baileigh, just sit with him, tell him stories and pet him. In a time of my life when I have pretty much no friends to do things with (I have friends, just none of them ever seem to realise I exist when it comes to doing things, that's what happens when you are longterm sick) - spending quality time with my horses matter, so fingers crossed, tomorrow will be a good day and I'll be able to enjoy it.
Sunday, 13 July 2008
Who am I....
I guess I should start by introducing myself, in a fashion, and for this I've found bullet points to be a useful - albeit lazy - way of doing this, so without further ado, on with my first 'blog:
- As noted on my info, I suffer from severe gall bladder problems. It's a very long story, which no doubt I will tell one day on here. But stemming from it, I'm unable to work and spend most of my day in a haze of painkillers. My medication has recently been increased so I'm on class A painkillers all day long. I was scatter-brained prior to becoming ill, I'm now just braindead much of the time.
- I'm a huge lover of horses, and have been lucky enough to start riding at the age of four and a half, and own my own since the age of 9. I hasten to add we are not rich, we are however not poor either - or at least we weren't prior to owning horses. I currently own two horses, having sadly just lost my favourite horse and best friend, Baileigh, which I will write about at a later date. But the two I own are my elderly mare, Rowen, who is an ex-race horse and a new yearling colt, Harvey, who I have owned well for just a few days! Expect entries on this little fella.
- I'm in a long-term relationship, which upon me being ''fixed'' (having the burden of my gall bladder removed) - will move forward to a house and marriage and all the normal things couples do, when they don't have angry little bastard gall bladders standing in their way. My boyfriend is a wonderful man called Paul, and I spend my weekends and free time with him. Or more, his free time, as all I have these days is free time.
- On the subject of free time, which is pretty much every hour of the day and night - well, as I said previously, I spend much of it wasted on medication. When not completely wasted - I spend most of my time reading, playing my DS, being online (playing Fluff Friends on Facebook!) or watching TV. It doesn't make for an exciting life, but I've gotten used to it, even if it frustrates me endlessly.
I guess for the moment, that's enough of a start. I feel I can't just go straight into writing a blog post, I have to do something as an intro - so this is that intro, as unimpressive as it is. Although it is likely as exciting as I get, you have been warned.
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