The more astute of you (ie, three) will have noticed that I have been a little quiet on the intarwebz of late. It's not you, it's me.

Oooh I've never had to say that!

Anyways, with the time of year being what it is - especially this week - my drive to blog and engage people on Facebook has been lessened. The blogging side, because I have been so tired to boot, I've not had much to say really. Facebook, well, being that it's February, that makes it CHD Awareness Month. And as much as I want to drum up awareness, I can't go on Facebook and read everyones happy stories about their child getting through surgeries, and can't look at everyones profile pictures or posted photos of their child in recovery, covered in wires and pipes.

Yes, it's seven years ago. No, I am not over it.

And NO. I am certainly NOT having a go at any of you for posting your stuff. More power to you, fight the good fight. I am saying I can't look at and read all that stuff. It's too painful.

But I digress.

You would think with me feeling like this, Tuesday was rough, but again, you'd be wrong. Tuesday morning - as usual - I flopped out of bed at six and bumbled downstairs. Kellie came down a few minutes later and sat with me, watching iPlayer (TV on Demand type thingie for you not from these ickle Island) while I contemplated the day.

I did my blog post, had a little cry, then pulled myself together. "Today -" I thought to myself "- is going to be a GOOD day." I made sure my post was positive and up. As I said to Kellie the day after, I had four wonderful, brilliant years with Bethy. She would be pissed if I let the last few days of her life override all the fun and good times I had with her. Sure, I could mope and sulk and cry and wale and hide under my duvet, but that would not be fair.

So, I thought of everything fun and nice and good...

Tuesday was not a bad day. Plus, Kellie was here making sure I was OK, looking after me. We went out and in a shock turn of events, did something we don't usually do. Usually, our Christmas Money & Vouchers go on bills or stuff the house needs. But this year, we decided "NO" and took our stuff to Argos and treated ourselves to a Kindle each.

That is a whole 'nother blog post :)

Allow me to rewind just a little... Monday I decided I would get the house in order a little. Usually I pace my housework through the week, but figured I wouldn't be doing anything Tuesday, and Wednesday I probably couldn't be arsed. So, Monday I blitzed through everything. I worked my sodding great socks off. I started just after eight that morning, and didn't sit down till nearly three that afternoon.

I was dead, knackered, in pain and exhausted. Luckily I had already done most of the stuff for dinner. Then it hit me - Monday night is Tam at Beavers, then Molly at Cubs. Tam gets dropped off, me and Mo walk her to Beavers, then we walk home, then I feed Dominic and Molly, then Me and Mo walk BACK to Beavers - Tam gets picked up from there - so I drop Mo off, walk home, start Kellies dinner (who is about to get in from work), then 90 minutes later I go get Molly, bring her home, finish off dinner and flop down at about half nine.


This Monday was different. Tam was due to be picked up at 6.45, but Jo ran out of petrol, and Tam wanted to go back there. So I had drop off Mo, get Tam come home, get money, go out, get the bus across Basildon, drop Tam off, get the bus back across Basildon, then go get Mo...

So Monday was probably a stupid day to be busy.

Conversely, I was exhausted Tuesday, but still pushed myself to keep doing "stuff".

Wednesday, it all caught up with me and I was in agony. I hobbled out of bed at six, and was taking drugs five minutes later. So. Much. Pain.

But being that I am oh-so-smart, we had to go out and get some shopping. Apparently, you HAVE to feed kids. By LAW.

Thursday morning it was all I could do to get up out of bed. Then, in a bolt of brilliance, I decided Tam and myself would CYCLE across Basildon. Usually it takes us - running at Tam Speed - half an hour to get from our door to the school. On the bus, it takes twenty minutes, so that's not bad going really. Once she's dropped off, I ride home in 15 minutes. Then I leave here at half two to go get her, usually taking 20 minutes as I am knackered, then a half hour ride home.

Thursday, however, I was dead before I started. It took us 40 minutes to get TO school that morning. Luckily, we left early, just in case. It then took me, alone, another 40 minutes to get home. I was very much "Ow, Ow, Ow..." the whole way back, and walked the bike up part of Broadmayne which is a mile-long steady upward slope.

I got in and ate a load of painkillers and crashed on the sofa. I didn't do ANYTHING. I just sat reading because I could barely move. Knowing I had to go get her from school, I left home at 2.15 that afternoon, giving me an hour to collect her. I only JUST made it, I got there at 3.10. I was in agony. If I weren't in public, I would have flopped on the ground in tears.

I can't even begin to explain to you how that feels. The pain is hard enough to detail, but the emotional stuff that comes with it is horrendous.

Coupled with this, being on my own Thursday, being tired and in pain, I felt miserable, Completely, utterly miserable. I missed Kellie, I missed the kids, I kept thinking about Bethy, I was in shitting pain...

So, I get Tam, and we start our ride home.

Halfway back, I call it quits and walk my bike. Tam is usually  a bit slow, but today, she was riding circles around me. Literally.

It took us over an hour to get home. I threw something in the oven and collapsed on the sofa feeling very sorry for myself. The boys cleared up the dinner stuff, Kellie sorted our dinner, and I just sat on the sofa trying not to sob to myself.

Friday morning I could hardly walk. I could hardly move. I opted NOT to cycle (rather, Kellie told me in no uncertain terms, I am NOT to ride) so Tam and myself went to school on the bus. Once she was dropped, Gemma offered me a lift home, but with the catch that I had to wander around Asda for a bit. So she shopped while I played with Toby in the trolley. And, allegadly, abused both Gemma and Toby.

Gemma makes some WILD accusations...

Once done, she brought me home, where I got in and crashed down again, once more feeling like absolute shite. I did a little pottering around, but not a lot, and spent the day on the sofa being a big brave boy.

And so, here we are at Saturday once more. I've been up an hour, trying to focus my brain, trying to wake up. I feel like complete shit today, am physically and mentally exhausted. However, the house is quiet, the birds out the back are singing, and I think the sun is on its way up, and that always makes me smile.

So yes, I am alive. I am breaking radio silence here and on Twitter. Facebook is being avoided for a couple more weeks, and then I should be back on there proper too.

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