Is This Thing On?

So, turns out poor old 0ddness has been a bit neglected of late. A lot late. But, with yesterday being a momentous occasion, I figured I would appear out of lurkdom and grace you with my presence.

Yes, I still think a lot of myself. Go figure.

(FYI: Long Post Klaxon!)

Firstly, I was indeed 41 years old yesterday. Of course, I didn't realise it was my birthday this weekend until Wednesday when someone asked me which day it was. And when asked how old I was, I had to pause, and do some pretty complicated mathematics in my head to work it out.

So, with the freshest thing first, I'll start with yesterday - in which I became older, no wiser, sexy as ever, and generally continued to grace the world with my presence. As mentioned already. As is usual, I don't make a big deal of my birthday - I'm not into the whole party-hearty because I managed to not die for another year. Yesterday was nice and quiet and chilled out. My gift from Poppy was me tripping over her potty, and splashing pee all up my leg, so that was nice. And warm.

In August, I finally bit the bullet and started looking for a new doggo. Since I lost Sally Dog, I wanted something small and stupid with a wanky obnoxious name - but have been putting it off and putting it off. First we needed somewhere bigger. Then we needed money. Then with Poppy, we needed her to be less... Baby. So, last month, Kellie made some phone calls (and aside from avoiding a rather dodgy situation with what later turned out to be some travellers and puppy farming!) she found a lady with a couple of Jack Russell puppies. We travelled over to see them, a boy and a girl, and set to having a play.

The little girl - as a typical female - was probably just having an off day, and didn't seem bothered by us. The little boy was an idiot, wanted to lick my chin and eat my stubble, and seemed to like having cuddles. He also like being near Poppy (kind of important with THAT force of nature) and on top of that, didn't growl at Kellie - so he can't sense evil.

We took him home there and then, and since then, the little idiot has been charging around like a mad thing. Naming took a couple of days (He was just "dog" to start with!) and we toyed with everything from Dave to Kujo to Jeff to Gobshite... Eventually, however, remembering a dog my Great Uncle had maaaaany years ago, we opted for Lord Montgomery II. Granted, we call him Monty, but everywhere he's registered, the vets, his microchip, his insurance, his name tag - he is Lord Montgomery. Which the vets find hilarious.

He's such an idiot. No sense of how small he is, can't navigate a series of three steps without tripping over at least one of them, can go through a baby gate in one direction, but cannot work out how to come back through... He tries to leap up onto the sofa - but takes off about three feet too soon, so generally hits the front of the sofa face first. As I write this, he is snuggled against me, on my lap. Oh yes, he's a lap dog.

Him and Poppy get on like, well, a toddler and a puppy. I should sell the idea to Disney for their next Princess. A noisy troublemaker and a puppy, systematically destroying everything they go near - but everyone still loves them. For some reason.

Anyway... With Monty being my early birthday present, I didn't expect to get presents yesterday, but low and behold, a large box was produced. I was genuinely not expecting anything, so to unwrap it and find a brand new spanking shiny gaming laptop inside, I was shocked into speechlessness. I expected it to be a box with a brick in it. Or something explosive. Or divorce papers.

You see, last year, I made the transition from a PC Gamer to a PS4 Gamer. The PS4 was my birthday present last year. My old Aspire laptop - while still able to run a lot of things - was getting a bit rickety. It survived the Great Kicking of Kellie in 2012, it was resurrected after the Dropping Off Of Screen in 2013, and even last year, it survived the Great Coffee Flood...

The Second Great Coffee Flood, however, proved to be it's undoing. All seemed well for a week or so, then, in the immortal words of the great Nanny Plum, it went BANG. Literally, BANG. Complete with the Blue/Grey Smoke Of Electronics Doom.

I have no idea what died, though I suspect either the power gubbins or the processor, but it was Dee Eee Dee Dead. And that, I am afraid to say, was that for the laptop. Within a fortnight, my old wheezy Medion PC System also gave up the ghost, and has since been sitting on my desk staring at me like a corpse glaring at its murderer.

But now, I am back in the world of the living. I am still a PS4 Gamer, but am also once again a PC Gamer. And, MOST importantly, I can now get many many Gigabytes of data retrieved from my old systems. See, having no computer to speak of meant the laptop and the PC have been sitting there rotting, their four hard drives holding tightly onto lots and lots of photos from over the years - including a multitude of Bethy pictures.

Thankfully, after doing the Medion hard drives, all the photos from the last ten years or so are safe and sound and YES I've already backed it all up. Thank you Google Drive & Photos. Of course, the anally-retentive Dan has spent the last three days sorting the photos and putting them into the correct Month & Year folders... Because why wouldn't you?!

I've not had a look at my laptop drives yet - I have to confess, I am a little nervous to do so, mainly because of the spectacular way it exited the mortal coil... As long as there was no surge in electrickery or, you know, fire, I think they should be good.

So, moving on from the most important thing (Yes, still me), I move on to the wee little troll that is Poppy.

She is growing like a weed. All the new stuff we got her for the summer is already looking a bit little on her. Not that it matters too much, as she is currently going through her "Nekkid Toddler" phase and hates to wear clothing. And runs around without a care in the world. She looks so much like Bethany some days,it pulls at my heart strings, and she is SO much like her, from the trouble making, to the putting herself on the naughty step after intentionally doing wrong, to hiding her dummies, so when you take it away from her, another one appears out of nowhere! She is gorgeous, funny, stubborn and bright as a button.

She's now entitled to her 15 hours a week of nursery, and so - realising both how fast she's growing and how little she is, she started three mornings a week at a little nursery near us. At first, she was, shall we say.... Less than impressed... She's never really been away from Mummy or Daddy or Siblings or Nanny - and the first few weeks she did to get used to it in August... They did NOT go well. But with the girls at nursery helping out, we persevered, and now she hates NOT going to school. She's still doing exactly what Tamsyn did was she was small and lovely, and refuses to speak except in her own language. Since starting nursery, she is coming on more and more.

For those of you that don't follow me on Twitter or Facebook or whatever, she also had her first proper injury in the summer - she gashed open her forehead beside her eyebrow. Typical guilty daddy moment, I looked away from her for a few seconds, and down she went. Because she was wet, the blood went EVERY-fooking-WHERE and she looked like Carrie. It was awful. It was touch and go for a while if she'd need referring to another hospital for the plastics team that rebuilt Jaysens hand as it was so close to her eye, but in the end, it was nice and clean and not too deep. Steri-Strips and TLC, and she now has a scar above her left eyebrow, but with copious usage of Bio-Oil, I'm hoping that it fades more and more over time.

As I mentioned earlier, she and the dog love each other, and are generally always running around together. Where one goes, the other follows. If she curls up for a nap somewhere, he usually curls up with her too, and it is exactly what we wanted - for them to grow up together and be best friends. They play with each others toys, play with each other, and literally bounce off one another. Until they both flake out and have a nap...

And it's at times like that, the rest of us can sit for half an hour, have a breather, drink some coffee, clear up the chaos, and wait for it to start all over again - because when one wakes up, the other wakes up.

As for the other morons children in the house - well, I say children... Dom is 19, has moved on from being one of the managers at McDonalds, and now works at some big financial place doing something... Financial. Jaysen is 18 (19 in a few months even!), still in college studying something with animals, while working at the Dogs Trust a couple of times a week - and now he's considering University. Molly is 15 and in her last year of school, getting ready for her GCSEs. Tamsyn is 12 (but seems older?) and is shooting up like a bloody weed as well. Both Molly & Tamsyn go to Army Cadets twice a week, and it's definitely doing them both the world of good.

Jaysen: Being Special

Molly: Probably Sulking

Poppys Other Great Passion: Water!

Tamsyn: Not Actually My Son

My Classy Kellie

NERDS

Lucina (Doms better half), Molly (doing something with her fingers),
Kellie (squashed), Tamsyn (still a girl) and Poppy (trying to escape)

Tam & Mo with their detachment (Armed Forces Day)

Now, oddly, I cannot find any photos of Dominic that fulfil the following criteria. Firstly, I wanted a recent photo, and secondly, I wanted it to be of him fully dressed and not on the toilet. As it seems all the photos I have of him seem to be in his pants or on the loo, here's the next closest thing.

Dominic: Needs a Haircut

And so, after what can only be described as a wall of text and random photos (and a cauliflower) I will leave it at that... I can cover my medical rubbish any other time - probably at three in the morning when I feel shite, and all of Kellies medical rubbish is a blog post unto itself.

And yes, I am fully aware that while blogging has never been considered "cool", I still prefer it to most other forms of Social Media. And, while on THAT subject - while I might have things appear on Facebook, I do not actively go on there, and have not done so for a long time. Too much drama, bitching, politics, and what seems to be playground behaviour - so I continue to avoid that. I use Twitter now and then, and post pictures to Instagram occasionally. I am hoping - though I'm not making any promises - that now I am back with a screen and a keyboard and no danger of autocorrect, that I will manage to blog a little more regularly. Aside from that, if you play on PS4, feel free to add me - username is Danielson0

Until next time, you little crowd of nutters that made it this far!

Kellie Had A Drink...

Just... Wow...

Poppy

So, today was the day... Actually, YESTERDAY was the day. It's all a bit of a blur, and I realise it's now half past midnight.

But I digress... I am so pleased, proud and happy to announce the arrival of our beautiful little girl, Poppy.



That is her within minutes of her being born. And wow... My first birth. My other three were all cesarean sections, so this was something altogether new and different.

We went into hospital at 9am, and were fully expecting things to be still ongoing at this time. Examination by ten, postrin gel by eleven. Examination at five. More gel. Examination at nine. Hormone drip. Tadpole to be born in the early hours. Long, boring, hard work.

It seems that fate decided to play another fastball with us. We got in at nine. Examination at ten... But no gel needed. Turns out the Braxton Hicks contractions Kellie has been having are ACTUAL contractions - and she was already three centimetres dilated, plus she was having fairly good - but not very strong - contractions already.

Woop!

So the plan became "break waters at eleven, see what happens by five and if needed, onto the drip"which would have to Tadpole coming out in the late evening.

Fine by us.

After the crotchet hook was used to rupture her membranes, it didn't take long for the contractions to get a bit more grown-up, and after a couple of hours, they were making her gasp and stop what she was doing to squeeze my hand.

By three this afternoon, she opted for the gas & air... In the past, it's made her feel sick, but she was limited to that, diamorphine (that'd be heroin then!), or an epidural. She was adamant, NO epidural, so tried using the gas.

It didn't help much, and it did make her feel sick. But she pushed through. Diamorphine crosses through the placenta and can make baby tired and woozy. She didn't want that. The pains built up and up, but she didn't shout, scream, swear, blame me for doing it, nothing... Just lots of gas, and breathing through the pain..

By four she was really suffering, and by half four decided to go for the diamorphine. At 4.50pm she was given it, and Anna, our midwife, had me getting Kellie to stay focused and do hula hoop movements - it kept Kellie from falling asleep, and kept Tadpole awake.

I chose this time to send a text update to a few people, and said it shouldn't be long, which in hospital talk is a few hours. I spoke to Dom, reassured him Kellie & Tadpole were fine... I put the phone down to him at 5.01pm, and as I did so, Kellie made a really strange noise...

She had started to grunt and push.

Midwife jumped, assistant came running, and it just so happened that this was IT.

By 5.11pm, Tadpole was born. No longer Tadpole, but a beautiful little girl, covered in white vernix, bellowing for all to hear. She went straight onto Kellie for skin to skin, we delayed the cord clamping, and there she lay, whinging and moaning with the occasional little tiny tear.

Once the cord was clipped, she was weighed, coming out at a beautiful 7lb 7oz. Tadpole became Poppy.

A few minutes later, the placenta arrived, but - my American friends from CHD lists will appreciate - we opted to not keep it for cooking up. Sorry and all ;-)

Kellie did an amazing job. She never complained, only really cried when (and I quote) "she's looking at me!" and did everything brilliantly. No tearing, no stitches. She didn't make a fuss, shout, swear, just got on with giving birth.

It's an amazing thing, to see a human being squeezed from inside another... Words can't do it justice, seeing this teeny tiny person slowly emerging.

Tadpole and Kellie will stay in hospital overnight... Due to Kellies diabetes, they want to make sure both her and Poppy have normal blood sugars. Here I lay without wife or baby, just for tonight. Tomorrow, the real fun will start.

A huge, huge, massive thank you to all of you - everyone that commented on the updates, pictures, announcement...Not to mention those of you that have kept me sane over the last nine months. It's been a long time in the making, but Poppy is beautiful and gorgeous - she even has a small birthmark on one shin. No doubt there will be plenty more postings to come, but thank you to everyone that has been there supporting, welcoming and congratulating us today. I will be printing out all the comments for the Baby Journal. Suffice to say, it's been an incredible day.

It's been IMMENSE.

Two Days Left...

So, unless you live under a rock (which would be a strange place to live) you will know that there is just two days to go until Kellie is induced, and Baby Tadpole becomes, well... Whoever s/he is going to blossom into.

And I am so completely and utterly done with the waiting. It has been a very very long nine months, and I just want to have my little sproglet in my arms. I know good things come to those who wait. I know a watched pot doesn't boil (which I have actually tested, is a blatant lie). Too many cooks, a bird in the hand, thirty days hath September... I've heard it all.

But I don't care.

And thinking about it, this birth has been completely different to all my others. Jaysen was 14 days late, then there was short notice on being induced, 30+ hours of labour, which ended in an emergency c-section just to get him out. Bethany was clearly a whole different kettle of fish, and she was a planned c-section with all her medical stuff to deal with too. Tamsyn was also a planned c-section, but with everything that had gone on in the two months before her being born, that was a whole different level of stuff going on.

With Tadpole, it should all be a normal, regular labour and birth. The only reason Kellie is being induced at 38 weeks is twofold: Firstly, with her being diabetic, they don't want baby to be the size of a small whale. Secondly, they're playing it safe with her cardiac goings-on. Usually when they induce, they do it on the antenatal ward, then when you start that proper labour-thing, they move you to the labour ward.

Not Kellie... They're putting her straight into Labour Ward, and inducing her there. Hourly blood-sugar tests. Constant checking. One-on-One nursing.

So that'll be fun.

Everything is pretty much ready and good to go too. Going to re-do her hospital bag later, double check it's all sorted and she has everything she needs. We grabbed a couple more bits today, but everything is as ready as it's going to be. Today we'll make sure everything is done, and then tomorrow, we can just take it easy and not worry about anything or having to run around for stuff.

I say "I'm not nervous" and I'm honestly not. I am not worried about holding babies, doing parent stuff. What I am nervous/worried about is the labour and birth. With the other three being born by section, I've never experienced a full-blown, fidgety, moving around, changing positions, squeezing a human out the hoo-haa thing. It's one of the reasons we've been watching One Born Every Minute on catchup. I'm not sure how I am going to react to Kellie being in pain, and I'm not sure how I am going to react to not having any level of control or power. All I can do is wait for nature (and labour-inducing medication) to do it's thing and go with it.

Anyways, with less than two days to go, I am really getting fed up with waiting, and so incredibly looking forward to my baby Tadpole being born. I can't wait to give him or her a big cuddle, to decide which name fits best, to dress him or her, see first feeds, and carry on with the milestones from there...

Watch this space for photos and ramblings :)

Damn Friends!

Today, I would like to say a very Happy Anniversary to two of our friends, Kelly & Kevin. I would like to say to them to have a great day, and here's to many more great days, months and years to come.

However. I will NOT be wishing or saying any of these things, because it is thanks to these two that I am in the current predicament in which I find myself.

You see, seven years ago, Kevin and Kelly got married. At this point, I didn't know who they were. I'd never met them, never heard of them, didn't know they existed. Kellie, however, did. She knew them, she was good friends with them, and she was at their wedding day.

I was not. I was not present. I was at home, alone, pondering my friend Kellie, a girl I hadn't seen since she broke my heart as a teenager, and had only recently started talking to once again earlier that year. The weekend before, I had stayed with my friend Mand, along with Jennifer, Becky and Lynzi. We had a boozy weekend of laughs, gaming, piss taking and after a few drinks, a slightly inebriated Moi told the four slightly inebriated girlies that I was pining for my friend Kellie.

"Text her how you feel" they said. "It'll be fun" they said. I played it cool. Well, drunk-cool. I told my friend Kellie that I missed her and that she should be up at Mands with me.

Cooooool ;)

But anyway. The weekend of the wedding.

Kellie is at the wedding. She's with Kerry (Kevin-the-grooms-sister) who is the equivalent of that little red fellow that sits on her shoulder telling you "What's the harm in just on more drink" in the same way that Kellie is the equivalent of that little red fellow on her shoulder...

We've kept in touch throughout the day. And as the evening wore on, Kellie got drunker and drunker. And she started being more and more open and honest in her texts.

It was about midnight that she admitted she too liked me in THAT way. Because of the wedding, however, she was staying at the hotel til Sunday, had to recover and get over the inevitable hangover... So we agreed to meet up Monday at the pub (?!) to have a talk.

Monday 9th June 2008, we agreed we should start dating, see what happens.

So thanks to Kevin and Kelly, with side-help from Mand, Jennifer, Lynzi and Becky, I find myself where I am today. Two days away from our "Together Eight Years" anniversary. A week away from our "Married Two Years" anniversary. Oh yeah, and there's the whole "Tadpole Will Pop Out This Week" thing too.

Damn people interfering with other peoples lives! Look what you did!!

All Things Baby

Yes, I know, 0ddness has been very quiet (still) for a considerable time (still) and I'm a bad blogger (still). No excuses, no reasons for it, just... Quiet.

I have noticed a trend on Facebook when ever I've made a comment about Kellie being due in X-many weeks... People pop up and say pretty much the same thing: Ooh hasn't it gone quick!

And to these people, I have this to say: NO. No it has not.

You see, despite announcing to the world we're having a baby when Kellie was twelve weeks or so, we found waaay before then. Like, three, maybe four weeks. On top of that, we've been attending some sort of clinic or appointment on an almost weekly basis since then. Extra appointments due to Kellie having all her random medical shenanigans. Extra appointments here and there and all over the place. Scans and midwives and consultants and specialists...

It feels like we've hardly had a chance to enjoy just "being pregnant" and now we're approaching her due date (24th June) she is big enough to be uncomfortable all the time, and not sleeping, and having a head in the bladder, or a foot in the spleen, or random baby part jammed into random Kellie part.

We are going to mention early induction at the next meeting with her consultant, so hopefully can get the wee Tadpole born a bit earlier. Even a week or two.. Even though she'll be 34 weeks on Tuesday, it still feels like there is an eternity till D-Day.

So no, it is NOT going quickly at all. It's taking forever and ever.

Kellie is, in the common vernacular, a bloated beach-ball at this point. She's got the waddle down pat. She does the strange contortion of bending to pick stuff up with her legs apart, bending in various places. She's sharing her bed not with me, but with a seven foot long body pillow... No strange desires for food I'm sad to report, I WAS hoping for at least one tale of cat meat, pickle and banana sandwich to revile you with, but no. "Food" maybe, but not specific cravings.

Not having found out the sex of Tadpole seems to be throwing people into a dazed confusion too... Buying stuff has been interesting, but manageable - we've gotten various clothes and sleepy suits and what not sorted in "neutral" colours, plus we've started getting some of the necessities put away for when s/he puts in an appearance; nappies and wipes mainly.

I just want baby to arrive soon. It has gone on for far too long now, and people keep saying it's gone quick, and not long now and all sorts, but I am past impatient now. It really does feel like it's gone on forever.

0ddness II - A New Beginning

For those of you living under a rock, or more specifically, that aren't on my Facebook (OR have me muted... I know who you are...) you will be aware that August has been, well, mentally manic at Chez 0ddness.

With it being Summer Holidays and all the kids being home, with Kellie working, it was decided that - what the hell - we'd sodding well move house too. Because why not?

We've been wanting to move for ages. Chez 0ddness is was beyond cramped. Granted, it was a three bedroom town house (ground floor, middle floor, top floor) BUT it was narrow. For a regular sized family, it was a little tight, but for the tribe...

Put it this way - our bedroom was in the dining room.

Finally, we found a house that we loved, and thus started the long process of acquiring said-house. It was lovely - big, open, spacious, big kitchen, big lounge, lovely garden, big living room... And finally, mid-August, we were given the green light.

And thus began one of the most stressful self-induced hellish fortnights of my life. I won't go into too much detail. It wasn't the move per sé, and it wasn't leaving Chez 0ddness exactly... It was the mess. The chaos. The disorganisation. The "Shit There Is So Much To Do But We Seem To Be Getting No Where" feeling...

My brain isn't wired for this sort of thing. I don't know what it is. I don't know if it's the loss of control, the upheaval, even the change... But I was a wreck. In agony and pushing through by day, sobbing in the dark by night.

People kept saying to me "It'll be worth it in the end" and "Think of how wonderful it'll be" and similar phrases. But they didn't help.

Being told those things, while literally surrounded by boxes, rubbish sacks, mess, dust and a list as long as my arm...

Quite how I didn't just run and hide I don't know.

Surprisingly, we were pretty much ready *cough*though not really*cough* in record time. The weekend of the 30th/31st August become Official 0ddness Moving Weekend, and all troops were mobilised. The kids were "helping", Kerry and James were slaving away, Mick from work helped, the 0dd Mother and the 0dd Mother-in-Law helped, Callum & Kathleen were beavering away with Dom & Molly...

Again, hell, chaos, nightmare, mess, disorganisation...

BUT by late Saturday evening, the new front door was closed, everyone had a bed, and all was quiet. We sat and ate takeaway on the living room floor. We could breathe.

We were in.

And thus begins a new chapter in our lives. Chez 0ddness is no more. Chez English is the in thing now. WE have a home. Kellie doesn't "live with me" any more. We live together.

Yes, we are still working our way through boxes. Yes, there is still plenty to do. Yes, I still want to run and hide and scream and cry. BUT there are no more deadlines. No more time limits. I cleared through a few boxes in the living room yesterday. Today, I might not do anything.

I want to thank everyone that helped out once more... Because without everyone helping, we'd never have managed it. Kerry & James were absolute troopers - Kerry had to drive the truck (I know, a woman driving a truck! AND there were ZERO deaths as a direct result of her driving!), and James was DIY Man (because I am still not allowed to use power tools). Callum & Kathleen (Kerry & James' two eldest) helped the kids sort their rooms. Our mums were amazing help - the 0dd Mother-in-Law was driving backwards and forwards, carting things around, buying food, and helping with the packing & clearing up, while the 0dd Mother sorted all the houseplants, made up big garden pots of flowers, and has been helping out with other bits as well. Mick from Work helped James with some of the DIY, and was brilliant at shifting and straightening heavy furniture. The kids were all great, helping out, carrying, lifting, clearing, tidying...

And for you that could see I was a mess, and keeping me sane via messaging, thank you... From convincing me not to kill anyone, for telling me murder is bad, and for keeping me as sane (yes yes, I know...) as humanly possible...

Thank you everyone.

I am aware that there is a distinct lack of pictures of the house so far... And I will remedy this as soon as possible. I was hoping to take pictures without boxes in frame, but suspect that might be a while away. So I WILL do pictures soon. Suffice to say, the house is like us. A bit strange, a bit 0dd, a bit weird, and the outside doesn't tell you anything about what's going on on the inside.

Welcome to Chez English.

When Tiredness Strikes

To say the last few weeks have been absolute f$cking sh!t a bit hectic is putting it mildly...

The details aren't all that gritty - first off, I've been running around like a blue-arsed fly most days just doing "stuff" - housework, kids stuff, cooking, cleaning and so on. On top of all that, I had my second Pain Management appointment where I actually got to see someone trying to help me...

Their plan seems a little arse-about-face if I am honest, but I can see their reasoning. One of my meds, the Pregabalin, is - in my opinion - doing sweet F.A, but in case it IS working, I am not allowed to just stop and change meds.

So to get me in less pain, we're starting by... reducing my meds... Marvellous.

Yes, I get why they can't just stop them (pesky stroke and risk of death and all that) but it isn't any fun for me as I am still in pain 24/7, am still sleeping very very little, and still a moody bastard that everyone hates.

On top of that.

Kellie decided to have one of her Heart-Attacks-That-Isn't-A-Heart-Attack sessions... The day before the Main Event, she was at work and went very wonky. Chest Pains, Left Arm Pain, crushing feeling on the upper body, going a lovely shade of Corpse Grey... Everyone in the office had a flap, plus she got a telling off for not having her GTN spray handy. But, at her insistence, she was fine and that was that, and gradually the pain went away.

Following a bad night, and feeling much much worse the following morning, she did it again. I don't know, maybe as I missed the events at work, she thought she would give me an action reply. Chest pains. Crushing feeling. Left arm pains. Grey ashen colour.

BUT she didn't want a lot of fuss - we've been told many times that it's not a heart attack (despite telling THEM we know it's not a heart attack, on account of her not being dead and all) so instead of dialling 999 and getting an Ambulance out, we opted for the NHS Helpline on 111.

As soon as the woman answered, I explained that we know that despite how it sounds, her symptoms are not her having a heart attack. OK she says. So I go through all of the above, tell her it's happened before, that we know it's not a heart attack, and that we just want a little advice or help or something.

Five minutes later, Mr Solo Paramedic turned up at the door. Oops. You could see neighbours having a nosey through their windows, but I let him in, explaining to him that it's not a heart attack, but here are all the symptoms. He wired her up to the ECG machine and Blood Pressure thingie, clipped on the glowy red finger clip of doom, and sat talking to her.

Funny thing is, she couldn't talk properly as her chest was crushing so she couldn't get her words out and breath very well at the same time. So she sounded like a breathy old lady having a heart attack.

Work with me here love, I'm trying to tell people you're NOT having a heart attack, don't act like you actually ARE.

Her blood pressure was quite high, her ECG was a bit wonky, and her sats were 86-89%.

Mr Paramedic radioed for backup.

Three minutes later, MUCH to my amusement and Kellies annoyance, a biiiig yellow ambulance pulled up behind the flashy-light paramedic car. Out jumped two lady paramedics, AND a trainee fellow, all with lots of kit in tow, and they came into the house under the watchful eye of the neighbours.

The old girl next door popped out, quite worried something bad was happening, so I had to talk to her and calm her down before she needed their help too - she's got a dodgy ticker as well.

With Kellie, three paramedics, me and the two cats wandering around, the downstairs was a weeny bit crowded. Kerry turned up for good measure as well as she was worried too, and Kellie... Well, she wasn't impressed. She felt like shit, and was receiving LOTS of attention.

The four medical people had a conflab, and it was decided that Kellie really really should go to hospital. They had given her GTN and Aspirin (like they do with heart attack and stroke victims) and that eased her symptoms (like it does with heart attack and stroke victims) but told her she really should be checked out.

However, she wasn't allowed to walk out to the ambulance. No, she had to be strapped into one of the special chairs for patients.

And wheeled out on display for all the neighbours to see. Kerry watched too.

Once in the ambulance, we had to sit for a little while so they could be sure she was safe to transport, that her symptoms were a little better, that her ECG wasn't wonky, and her Blood Pressure and Sats were improved.

All were a little better - sats were back into the low 90s, ECG was clear and BP was more normal. And off to A&E they took us. Checking her the whole way, monitoring her so she didn't die and so on.

Once in A&E it was the usual... Sit and wait for a doctor. Go get an Xray. Have a blood test. They also put a cannula in the back of her hand juuuust in case they needed to get quick access for drugs.

Yes, just like people having a heart attack/stroke.

We were in there for hours while she was checked, questioned, prodded, poked and bombarded with Xrays.

The only superpower she developed, however, was "pissed off with being checked, questioned, prodded, poked and bombarded with Xrays" And at no point when she was hooked up to everything and needing a wee, did I turn on the tap and leave the room.

After ALL that, she was given the verdict of "Well, we're happy to say it wasn't a heart attack..."

Er, yes, thank you for that Dr Obvious. "All we can suggest you do is just advise your consultant what's happened, keep your appointments for your Stress Test and Pulmonary Function Test, and go from there"

So once again, no answers, no help, nothing... No, I know, it's not their fault, they can only go by the symptoms - but it would be nice if they could be some help and try working out why this shit has been going on for five years now.

If any of you armchair doctors - no, NOT Dr Google - can explain to me why she gets all the symptoms of a Cardiac Arrest, without the actual Cardiac Arrest, the please let me know so I can go to the doctor, specialist, consultant or whatever and say "What about THIS" instead of feeling like they just throw random diagnosis out and then a few months later, they say "LOL, no, not that"

Anyway... Kellie ended up having the rest of the week off work (They didn't want her there!) and chilling over the weekend.

Which was lucky really as by the time Monday came back around, it was Dom's turn for stuff - even though this was pre-planned shenanigans.

Last year, Dom - being a spaz - hurt his leg playing football. I say hurt, it was a knee dislocation. Lots of pain and crutches and so on. He was checked, told to rest it. A few weeks after that, he did it again because, you know... Spaz.

This went on for a year or so with random dislocations of the left knee, an MRI was done, but nothing mentioned about it, doctors passed it on from GP to fracture to Xray to MRI to Orthopaedics... Eventually - almost a year to the day of its original dislocation - we got to see a knee specialist.

We were in there for a little while, and the only real option was knee surgery to reconstruct the broken ligament... Er.. Broken Ligament?

The MRI from eight months previous showed that Dom had managed to sever - not tear, but completely sever - the ligament that holds the knee cap in place, and also that prevents the joint dislocating at random intervals.

So surgery was booked in - but for AFTER all his exams.

Monday was the pre-op, and with that being all clear, the surgery was done on Tuesday morning. Now, I am not going to go into me vs. hospitals here. Dom, however, held up like a champ, only getting properly nervous when he was being wheeled into the theatre.

Kellie went in with him and was looking after him while he was knocked out, and after that, we had to go somewhere to do something to pass the time - so opted for the restaurant, drank coffee and ate cake, had a wander around, watched the world fall apart via the news on TV...

He was down in theatre for almost two hours - the surgery took just over an hour - and he was wheeled back in from recovery very whoozy and away with the fairies thanks to copious amounts of drugs. Apparently he was in a lot of pain when he came out of the anaesthetic, so they popped him with some morphine for good measure.

The rest of the day he was spent sitting at his bedside, chatting with him when he was awake, chatting to the nurses when he was asleep, reading, playing on the DS or Tablet... Just passing the time - which is a completely different time inside a hospital. Hospital Time is a strange phenomenon, and some of you will understand exactly what I mean!

Because Molly came up from school and sat with us for a while, we decided I'd take her home to get her fed, watered and into bed, while Kellie stayed at the hospital to spend time with Dom.

Within half an hour of me leaving, things took a bastardly but thankfully brief turn for the worst - all the drugs, the anaesthetic, the antibiotics, the three kinds of pain killers - decided to combine into a concoction that made Doms heart rate go through the roof, and to feel as though his lips, mouth and throat were swelling. Luckily, there was no swelling, but physiologically, he was affected, and his ECG, Blood Pressure, Sats and everything else went completely screwy for an hour. Luckily, Doms surgeon was on the ward, arrived and took control very quickly in a manner that kept Kellie somewhat calm...

After all that, Dom went to sleep and was fine for the rest of the night. Kellie got home and was a nervous wreck, and I feel shitty that I wasn't there when things went pear-shaped... BUT he was - and still is - fine. So no harm done.

The following day, Dom was hurting, tired but otherwise OK, and by lunchtime, the wheels were in motion for discharge. He met his physiotherapists, and started doing his various exercises - painful but necessary. His leg has some bolts of some kind in it, holding his new synthetic ligaments in place. The road is going to be a long one, apparently, with lots of physio and rehab for his leg - even now, it's taken him a week post-surgery just to lift his leg.

The wound itself is pretty... Disappointing... He has two, actually, both covered with a dressing the size of a large-ish plaster.

These two pictures show the site of the surgery. The arrow on his shin was done PRE surgery so they remember which leg to poke holes in, and what leg to NOT cut off. The blue lines are anatomical, showing the kneecap, femur, tibia/fibula (spell check update - the bones are Tibia and Fibula. There is no such thing as a Fibia. Apparently, it's an amalgamation of Fibular/Tibia, and MAY refer to the lower-half of the leg, but it not a recognised word. Thank you Spell Check & Google), and where there are and should be ligaments. Probably showing the team what needed to be done...

The next picture is when Diane - the 0dd Mother in Law - came to visit the other night. Dom, who is living on the sofa at the moment, is playing through the new Tomb Raider game. Nanny wanted a go... So Nanny sat trying to control Lara through bad-guy-infested areas involving cliff edges, gravity, rocks and dying. A lot.

I snapped this picture just after she fell to her death again, and Dom is giggling like a school girl... The look on the old girls face is one she shoots me a lot... Sort of.. Dragonish...

So, all in all, the last two weeks have been shitty. I've not really had anyone I can talk to, so been sitting and dwelling and worrying and thinking and OVER thinking and so on... Hence the blog post - I needed to get it all out and deflate. It's helped a bit, but... I don't know.

No, I am not going to go into me or my issues (pain clinic notwithstanding) and am just trying to get on with everything.

Kellie is better - still getting chest twinges - and she's trying to get hold of her consultants secretary to bring her next appointment forward... Dom is slowly on the mend - still on the sofa, still making funny groany noises when he moves, still getting lots and lots of care and sympathy from me... *ahem*...

Other than that, there have been Parent/Teacher meetings for Jaysen & Molly (both very bright, both very smart, both prone to chatter, both could push themselves harder, etc etc). Tam is doing very well too, reading at a higher-than-normal average, but still trying to play the whiny little girl card when she doesn't get her way...

Life is ticking over with what feels like extremely regular speed bumps, but I'm doing my best to push through it and just carry on... I think I need a break from everything to stop it getting on top of me.

Oh, snail...

I feel like I've been doing this post all day - thanks to Dom (aka, Spaz) needing guiding in Tomb Raider... Anyway, this morning while watering the house-plants, it became obvious to Dom and Myself that I am waaaay over-tired, and waaaay in need of getting out more.

The watering can - which was kept in the garden - had a snail on it. A fact I only realised while halfway through the watering. He was sliding around the outside of the can, drawing little trails as he meandered in circles.

And I was talking to him. Chatting away, apparently. Asking him questions... Dom thought I was definitely strange at this point. By the time I was done and put him back in the garden, "the snail" and become Mr Escargot. Yes, I named the snail. And made sure he was released somewhere cool, damp and shaded.

When I came back upstairs, I was talking with Dom... Considering how weird a snail looks - with his eyes on sodding great stalks, those two strange feeler-stalks, bloody great shell on his back, sliming everywhere - what must WE look like to them?

And then I went on to mime a snail, doing a human impression. Dom laughed till he nearly pissed his pants. Me, a human, pretending to be a snail, pretending to be a human.

I'm either very tired, something has snapped in my head, or I need medical attention.

Apparently.

Gotcha You Ba$tard!

You may recall over the last few years with Kellie, her health issues have always been a bit of an issue. Aside from the hassle of her Familial Hyper-Triglyceridemia, she had the occasional issue with having wonky-heartbeats.

To be honest, this has been going on for as long as - if not longer than - the Triglyceride Saga. Over the last few years, she's dealt with it, felt sick from it, been to the doctor about it, been referred to the Cardiac Unit at the hospital about it, worn 5-day monitoring hardware, had paramedics out about it, and been taken to the Critical Dependency Unit section of Accident & Emergency over it.

At no point has anything been found, nor has Kellie been taken that seriously. From "it's all in your head" to "Panic Attacks" to "Arrhythmia" she's been told different things by different medical "professionals"

Her Lipid Doctor, a few months ago, took a look at one of her old ECG Traces and decided she could see Atrial Fibrillation. So that's what Kellie has "had" since then. Her heart goes funny due to Atrial Fibrillation.

So today... I was in Asda, after spending the morning traipsing around town with the 0dd Sister shopping. I had a basket of shopping, was hot, tired and miserable thanks to the old farts bumping and shoving around the shop. My phone rang, and it was Kellie.

"I don't want you to start to panic... But..."

Words you know will actually do the very opposite.

James was taking Kellie up to A&E. She had had one of her funny turns, lost all her colour, went sweaty, had a crushing pain on her chest, pain in her left arm... No good things at all. So I dropped the basket, hastily apologised to the sister, and flew out of Asda, ran to the bus station, and jumped on a bus to hospital.

I got there PDQ, just in time for Kellie to come out of triage with James acting as bouncer/bodyguard/human wall, and we sat with the woman, watching her sway and look like shit-on-a-stick. Got her booked in, and within ten minutes, we were called through.

I didn't tell her she was flagged as "Urgent Priority"

We said bye to James, thanked him, and followed the nurse into the Critical Dependency Unit, and got her settled onto one of the beds, answering some basic questions as she did so. She wandered off, and a Senior Staff Nurse came in to take some bloods. However, she already had some taken yesterday at one of her "How Much Gross Stuff Is In Your Blood" checkups, so all her results should be on the system. Huzzah! No needle!

He then started asking questions about how she felt, what was going on, describe how it felt - all this stuff that we've gone through a squillion times before. But, she explained how she felt, me adding bits she missed, and him sort of listening. He decided to do an ECG, so put the stickers on her body - some that I feel were in a strange place, compared to where I've seen them done usually - and ran the machine.

It did it's ten-second trace, spat out the paper, and he had a look at it. Hmm'd a bit, "Your heart is fine" he decided "There is no Atrial Fibrillation on here at all. Your heart is healthier than mine!" he proclaimed.

I wasn't happy.

He then started down the route of "Do you know what a panic attack is....?" which is another term for "I'm going to fob you off now" especially as her wonky heartbeats have woken her up in the night. There is NO panic involved whatsoever. Kellie cut him off dead there. She was tired, felt crappy, and didn't want to be there..

"It is NOT a panic attack, I have had panic attacks before now!"

He shook his head and looked back at the ECG. "But your heart is fine. I will go and ask a doctor to give you a second opinion if you like?" Damn right you can do that. Go find a doctor to look, to talk to us, to explain. For several years, we've been fobbed off, so yes, he went to get a doctor to give us a second opinion.

A short time later, a pretty little doctor came in. She was young, and about three inches tall. VERY friendly and nice, and she went through everything, listening to both Kellie and myself. We went through history, examples, symptoms, triglycerides, how it made her feel before-during-and-after, described it in her own strange words, and generally took note of everything she was told.

It was decided that Kellie would be hooked up to a proper monitor, so they could see her heart beat, rate, blood pressure, sats, respiration's - the whole medical shebang. A nurse came in and set it up, or, at least, attempted to... She put the stickers on Kellie, wired her up, but nothing. She went then got called out to a properly poorly patient.

Step in Super Dan.

I've done my fair share of setting up heart monitors and ECG machines. I know where the pads go. I also know - as apparently the nurse did NOT, that in order to get a reading, the sticky pads need to be connected to the patients skin.

NOT the patients work tee shirt.
And NOT the patients bra.

So, Super Dan removed and reattached the pads, and low and behold... Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep - one functional heart monitor.

Nursey came back in and noticed it was now working (I said I jiggled it!) and started doing Kellies Observations. Low and Behold - the Sats Monitor wasn't working. Out goes the nurse, in steps Super Dan and using the technical-know-how of "Unplug It, Count to Ten, Plug It Back In" the little red light came on JUST as the nurse walked in.

Kellies Sats seemed a little low to me - 95/96 or so, fluctuating up to 99... Hmmm.

And so, left alone, Kellie and I sit quietly. I watch the heart monitor (I don't know why, they are just mesmerising) and try to keep my mind occupied on the in the present, not the past when I used to watch other heart monitors...

I hate hospitals.

While watching, I notice a funny sort of blip on her heart trace. At the same time, Kellie says "Ooh there's another one, that felt weird..."

Proof! Something was there, and there was no one medical around to witness it. Cue the phone! Out comes the phone, and the camera, and Click! One photo.

I run out the cubical up to the doctor and show her the phone picture. "Oh wow, good catch!" she says, and borrows it. She goes off to show her boss, who in turn gets ahold of the Cardiac Registrar, and explains to him what Kellie is going through, and what I caught.

I go back to Kellie, feeling a little smug that someone has finally seen what she's going through. And proof it is. Over the next hour, she has many of the bastard things, usually a minute or two apart, some several minutes apart, some happening twice on the same trace.

Now, I didn't snap them ALL, but I did take some pictures. Hey, I was bored and trying to stay awake. But I got some of them!

The normal "little" peaks are Kellies "normal" heart beats, pumping away like a little, er, pump. The big peaks with the big drops - THEY are what are causing the problems. Every time it happened, Kellie felt it, felt a bit wonky, felt icky, sick, all the rest of it.

They are NOT right, and they are NOT normal.

These are just a few of them we saw. And yes, her heart rate is wonky to, ranging from 60 up to 90 in the space of minutes or even seconds.

After a while, our lovely doctor came back in. She had been talking with the Cardiology department, going through Kellies previous results, and checking the 6-day trace she had done. They decided that yes, there were these anomolies in that trace, but they were very few and far between.

NOW, they are happening on a regular basis, which means it has gotten worse and needs some sort of attending. The Doctor explained it is NOT Atrial Fibrillation (which is mainly for old people!), but a Ventricular Eptopic Heartbeat. Basically, her heart is beating in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

So, she has prescribed her Beta-Blockers which will regulate her heart beat. She now has answers as to what has been going wrong for so long. She has a longer-term plan of getting through it. Her Lipid doctor will also be referring her to the Cardiology Department to get another checking out.

Aside from the stress, the hassle, the shit, the grief and the worry of today, Kellie finally has answers as to what is wrong, and how to make it better. Reading up on it, it's not a great thing to have, it's not the best thing you can deal with, but it's treatable and managable, so it's not too difficult.

Now, I KNOW some of you have or deal with Eptopic Heartbeats, please feel free to mail me, Facebook me, Tweet me or contact me - ESPECIALLY if you have Ventricular Eptopic Heartbeats.

A VERY big thank you to those keeping my company via text, those that were sending their love (I didn't tell everyone, you didn't miss it) and a big thank you to James for rushing her up to A&E.

And apologies to the Asda worker that had to replace all my shopping that I threw into the corner when I ran out.

On Being MIA

You may have noticed that things have been rather quiet on the Chez 0ddness front of late. And you may think life is boring and silent. However, if you've read my tired ramblings over the years, you will have come to realise that a quiet Online Dan usually means the opposite in Real World Dan.

And, more is the point, I don't even know where to start, what I can or can't talk about, or if I should warn you, dear reader, that if you don't like me moaning about everything, you may kindly bugger off now.

This last month has had hospital trips, sickness, illness, death, depression, and hard decisions, all rolled up onto five or six weeks of what feels like a constant uphill battle.

To start with, you may recall Kellie having many many medical shenanigans going on in the past. Well, despite the diet change and the medication change, the "it's just familiarial hyper-triglyceridema" is - for whatever reason - getting worse. Worse and worse.

I've said it before but will say it again - average reading is 2. High is 5, and above 5 is very high. Kellies first high reading was 22. She was started on statins which, frankly, messed her up completely. They came down to about 12, but the side effects of the statins were too much to bear, so the doctors changed her to fenofibrates.

Four weeks ago, her reading was 27. Increase in the dosage, stricter diet controls. Last week, her reading was 28.

I'm not going into it on here, but high triglycerides can cause and trigger all sorts of medical nasties, and the best the hospital can do is give her a "priority" appointment, then, which was six weeks away. Between Xmas and New Year.

Clean if the meds to fight this issue aren't doing a bloody thing, then it's not what they are saying it is. It's like me diagnosing your sore foot as a broken hand and putting a bandage on your wrist - it's going to achieve f$ck all.

So I sense the appointment that day is going to be somewhat heated, and making the doctor listen instead of talking over me.

Oh, and out of the blue, they've also decided she is now diabetic.

On my own front, and having one government department tell me they don't consider me to be ill, I've decided to stop seeing my "specialists" at the ME/CFS clinic. Now, before people spout something like "you need to give it a chance" I will point out - I've been seeing them for close to 18 months. If anything, I feel worse and shittier.

For one thing, I completely fail to see how Cognitive Therapy can fix a physical issue. I have a suspicion the NHS think this is all in the mind but won't admit it. In the course of my time there, we discussed self-assertion, dealing with OCD, coping with insomnia, and all sorts of other really reeeeally useful information.

Then there was the physio. In one breath I've got a patronising twat of a bloke telling me to do nothing, then telling me to push myself, then telling me if I over-exert myself, he's going to tell me off.

Er, what?

As I write this, it is just after midday. I've had a couple of averagely-busy days, and I'm struggling to find the energy and drive to get out of bed - not to mention, my legs are in agony, so I'm waiting for my pain killers to do something.

How can I push myself to do a certain amount of exercise when some days I can't bear to wear jeans because they're too heavy?

And the way he spoke to me... I know some members of the medical profession think they're better than everyone, but this bloke... Jesus, what an arrogant, patronising dick.

"If you don't do as I tell you, you might as well not bother coming back to the clinic"

You got it. Twat.

Plus on top of all this I've been feeling mentally shit of late too. So much crap on my mind, gnawing away at me. We go to bed between ten and eleven, and most nights if I'm asleep before two it's impressive. If I sit up till two then go to bed, I'm awake till gone six, so don't bother sleeping. Regards of sleeping till late or dozing off early, I'll wake up every time I need to roll over or get comfy. I'll have horrible shitty nightmares. Cramps will jolt me awake. I'll be too hot or too cold.

And on and on.

None of the meds I'm on seem to be doing anything once again, so it's back to the doctors I go to get a referral back to the Pain Management people, which strikes me as worrisome, as the last two times I was referred there, I had the first "specialist" tell me I was too young to be in so much pain all the time, and he discharged me there and then, and the second "specialist" spent the better part of an hour trying to convince me to go onto medication I knew I was allergic to, and because I disagreed with him, I was discharged as I was ignoring his professional medical advice.

Third time lucky I hope.

So with all that, plus friends going through hell with death and what-not, sick kids, me spending a few days in bed with germs - it went past Man Flu, and became full-on Flumonia - and Kellie being ill and everything else I'm NOT going into, this last month has been a write off.

In fact, I would go so far as to say November 2013 has been a BAD word. The baddest of the bad words. A complete and utter baddest of the bad words of a month.

December had better be decent.

Kids (In A Pub!)

Hi-Ho Silver, Away!

So, after what feels like eternity, I am finally getting my arse back to that lovely place that we refer to as "Devon"

Ok, so it is actually called Devon, but my statement is technically correct.

None the less, in less than three hours, we will begin the trek to the South West. A gorgeous, beautiful place that... Oh, is about it face the brunt of a massive storm.

Should be fun.

We're going for a week, and this time we're taking ALL the kids. Yes folks, I will be trying to control Dom, Jaysen, Kellie, Molly and Tamsyn into London, then on to Devon.

You see why a hurricane-force storm is no bother to me now, right?

I'm using the rule of thumb that an 80% survival rate for them is pretty good, but I'm willing to let that number drop, depending on how good they l are...

Plans for the week include "not much" "very little" and "sod all" but I also want to explore parts of the moors, eat copious amount of Steak & Stilton baguettes, sample the local breweries, and generally be out and about. Pain & Energy Levels permitting.

Usually before I travel for any real distance, I like to take it easy for a few days in the run up, as travelling and me do NOT go well together. It hurts, it exhausts, and it stresses me out of my brain. This week, however, I feel like I've hardly stopped, and even after being in bed for several hours, I'm in effing agony.

With drugs, I should add.

Saturday was a manic bloody day :-(

And to add to my misery, the clocks went back last night (I say last night, I've been awake since half three, it's now half five... "Tonight" would be more accurate) and while people say "Oh this is the GOOD one, we gain an hour" it's actually horse crap if you're an Insomniac. Forward or Back, it sucks when you can't sleep.

Back: You aren't sleeping, it's all shit. And you watch the clock go Midnight, 0100, 0200 then clicks back to 0100, then 0200, 0300... ANOTHER hour of not sleeping!

Forward: You aren't sleeping, it's all shit. And you watch the clock go Midnight, 0100, 0200 then it clicks forward to 0300, then 0400, 0500... An hour GONE that you will never get back and have lost sleep.

But I digress.

As is usual when in the wilds of Devon, phone sign is, shall we say, a bit naff. Inside the cottage and it's three-feet-thick walls, there is zero signal. Zip. Nada. Outside it comes and goes, depending on where I am on Dartmoor. Luckily, inside the cottage, I will have WiFi, so if you want to chat, install WhatsApp.

Side Note: Do not bother with BBM for Android. It's rubbish, slow, doesn't run well, doesn't actually communicate with every BlackBerry user (which is a joke really) and generally sucks. Honestly, if you want something like it on either iPhone or Android, install WhatsApp or Kik Messenger. BlackBerry needs to realise they are past it, over the hill and crap. There's a reason it's popular with kids... Because they should be counted as a toy.

Anyways, yes, Devon.

I'll probably post the odd photo on my blog or through Instagram... I'll have my laptop too so if I'm indoors vegging out, I may even play some Warcraft or Diablo.

Assuming the storm doesn't knock out the power down there which is quite likely, apparently. Sitting in the quiet, by candle light, with nothing to do except read or talk? WOW the kids are in for a shock!



(Posted from my Sony Xperia Z - excuse typos, strange formatting and similar oddities)

It's About Time

You are correct. The time-stamp on this post is indeed around 0430. Not only am I awake, but I am also showered and dressed. I've even done my hair. And I've been awake since just after 2am.

Which sums up this post, which was going to be a "So, how am I doing" kinda post.

From sleeping, to daily life, to getting on with life, to doing normal life stuff - everything is a bloody struggle.

My insomnia is still kicking me three ways to Sunday (and I don't sleep Sunday either) and I get more and more tired, until I crash out mid-afternoon on the sofa, get woken and put to bed in the early evening, and sleep right through till mid-morning the following day. The last couple of nights, Kellie has been having nightmares, fidgeting around, muttering in her sleep and generally NOT sleeping well - which has, in turn, made me sleep less-well.

I highly believe she is giving me a taste of my own medicine, but she claims not to be... But the jury is still out.

Pain-wise, my patches are kinda sorta working still. I say "Kinda Sorta" in that I am still in pain, but it is mostly manageable, providing I don't do very much at all. Which is to say, I still can't not do very much at all. Things need doing, stuff needs tidying, housework needs ploughing through, people need feeding... The "Don't Do Much" rule is so difficult to enforce, so I just sort of get on with it.

Which sucks.

Moods are still all over the place, some days I can be happy and cheery, sometimes completely paranoid, other days I just want to kill someone, and others I just want to sit in bed and sob - which I can't do, as I don't have the time to just sit. For the most part, I put on my happy face and go through life as normal... Unhealthy, maybe, but I can't just fall to bits in a corner.

Obviously at this point, it goes without saying that clearly my therapy is not working. I am also refraining from being completely honest about my physiotherapist and his plan for me, but needless to say, from second one of meeting him, he did not like me, spoke down to me, treated me like something he had stepped in - so all respect for him and everything he had to say went straight out the window. His Gradual Exercise Therapy plan can shove itself up his arse, frankly. I've tried it, it made me feel like complete shit, but if he's not willing to listen and just disregard me, then so be it.

Lucky for me, the few people that have stuck by me through the moods, the moaning, the miserable days - those that haven't just disappeared or decided we can't be friends for whatever reason - thank you. I know I am not the easiest person to get along with some days, and I know that my behaviour or actions might seem like I am just being a complete dick sometimes, but those that put up with it, listened and understand, they are the ones I want around me anyway.

Quite how Kellie puts up with it is beyond me, if I am honest. Quite often, she gets in from work, and because I'm having a shit day - either physically or mentally, or both - she ends up having to sort the kids out, cook dinner and look after me too, all after a long stressful day at work. She's my little star.

And it doesn't stop there... Because MY medical stuff isn't all she is dealing with... No no, she has her own fun mixed-bag of crap going on too, which has also been stressing me out...

You may recall her being ill in the past. First off, her chest/heart going wonky, causing some of the symptoms of a heart attack. Secondly, you will probably remember her Triglyceride milarky - the different kind of cholesterol in your body... Well, back then a "normal" reading was around 2.0, and hers shot up to 21-point-something. Oops, bad.

She was thrown onto all kinds of medication, some of which made her go all strange and odd and funny, so they changed it, and over the following months, her Triglyceride levels slowly came down.

Then - because she's a woman and knows best - she decided she was cured, and fixed and better, and stopped her medication.

A few weeks ago, her chest was going mental again, really screwing around.. So the GP sent her for more blood tests, and that very same day the surgery called, she had to get there NOW. After work, she trundled to the doctors, and low-and-behold, her triglycerides had shot up again, breaking the 21-point-something record, and now at 27-point-something-else.

Oops, MORE bad.

So, a rushed appointment to a lipid specialist was booked, and we sat down to see her and work a plan of action. So we're sat in the hospital, and the following conversation takes place:

Doc: We need to get this down now, because quite how you've not had a stroke or heart attack is beyond me.
Kellie: Ah.
Me: *glares at Kellie*
Doc: And you know, being diabetic makes this worse too.
Kellie: *blinks and looks at me*
Me: *blinks, looks at Kellie, is about to go off on a "Bloody hospital has the wrong notes" rant*
Kellie: *cutting me off* But I am not diabetic.
Doc: *flicks through the notes* Yes. Yes you are. Your blood tests show it.
Kellie: Ah.

Basically, we've gone into hospital with a list of problems, and she has left with additional problems.

And more medication.

She also got told off for taking herself off the medication. Long story short (too late) the meds she is are, she is on for LIFE.

I am also quite sure and of the opinion, that the fact such a high level of stuff in her blood can cause heart attack or stroke, I suspect this is the reason for her wonky heart stuff. The doc has put down the Triglycerides as a Familial problem - even though no one else in the family has it, as the doctor said, it has to start somewhere. So a genetic cock-up is to blame.

Which also means Dom & Molly need to be tested too.

 Yes folks, it is all fun and games in this household. Today and tomorrow, the six of us are getting our eyes tested too... Place your bets on how many additional people will require glasses by the end of the week.

On Being Burgled

You may recall of late - those of you on Facebook - that I have alluded to one of my sleeping problems these past few weeks, being thanks to Kellie being under the impression we're being burgled while she sleeps.

So every noise, every sound, every suspected trespasser, every imagined suggestion of a break-in, she bolts awake, wakes me up, and makes me check for burglars.

Every time - quite obviously - I've returned to bed, unable to find the intruder, and she's sat up like a nervous wreck because she's expecting someone with a bag marked "SWAG!" to enter our home at any moment.

Now we skip to tonight - a quarter of an hour ago in fact.

It's not quite 1am. As per usual, I am exhausted, miserable, in a lot of pain, poking around on Facebook and reading and what-have-you.

Shockingly, Kellie is sprawled across 97% of the bed snoring and drooling, while I am squished against the wall. Not snoring, not drooling, and not sleeping.

Being that it is a Sunday, the outside is veeeery quiet. And, being that I am me, my BATLIKE hearing is listening to the sounds of the house wind down.

Then I hear a thump, just outside the kitchen window. I freeze my questioning of whether or not moths have a tummy, and listen harder. I hear another noise that, while I can't place it, it's not a "Normal House Noise" A moment later, I hear a sound from the kitchen itself, the sound of cutlery being disturbed on the draining board.

I start to - very quietly - untangle myself from Kellie, whom is doing her best impression of the Indian Goddess of Kali, she of the many many arms. At the same time, I am also trying to get the wire out my phone.

I hear a couple of glasses in the kitchen very faintly clink together. Not loud, but definitely a sound that should not be happening in our kitchen at 1am.

I think back. The door was definitely shut. I've not heard any of the kids creep down in order to get a drink - they sneak like elephants in wellie boots. Kellie was definitely knotted against me. I was in bed.

I hear another thump in the kitchen.

So now I can picture it in my head - someone has slid the window open, and climbed INTO our kitchen, disturbing the odd item as they slip into the house...

To my utmost shock and surprise, a moment later, I hear a noise in the very room in which I am sitting bolt-upright, listening, one of the wardrobe doors is nudged, and then one of the handles on the dressing table rattles...

A few moments later, I am untangled from Kellie, my phone is phone unplugged, and I'm now mentally scanning our room for something weapon-like that isn't going to actually KILL someone. While the law has been changed, I don't fancy the hassle of getting arrested for killing an intruder. I decide that I'm going to leap out of bed - stark-balls-nekkid - grab the hair dryer from the floor, and use the plug on the end as a weapon.

Let's be honest, it hurts like a motherf$cker just stepping on a plug - imagine getting smacked by one by an enraged nekkid bloke.

I can feel the adrenaline running around my body. I'm enraged that someone is trying to get into MY house. I turn on the torch on my phone and start to launch myself out the bed and directly towards the intruders...

At this exact moment, a white cat - a white cat that is neither Gimli (who is black) nor Galadriel (who is tabby) jumps up onto my bed about eighteen inches from my face.

It freezes. I freeze. A nano-second passes, and both of us crap our proverbial underwear. It flies off out back through the kitchen, and out the window, and I am left sat on the end of the bed, naked, shaking like a leaf, my heart making enough noise in my ears to wake the neighbours, clutching my phone/torch in a death-grip, wondering what the holy FUCK just happened.

A few moments later, I hear The White Cat barrel over the fence in the back garden, probably spooked as much as me, vanishing into the night...

And so now, at 0115, I've had to come and sit upstairs for a bit to chill out, let the adrenaline dissipate, and try and get my brain back into some form of order that is not "Must. Kill. Bad. Guy!"

And, oddly, James and I were talking about mad adrenaline rushes earlier today. Go figure.

So NOW, I am sat here wondering if Kellie has, in fact, been hearing The White Cat break into our home, and disturb her just enough to realise there's something out of place, but by the time I've gotten up, it's done a runner and over the fence. Has Kellie been detecting the cat burglar in her sleep?

Kellie, the girl that doesn't hear the child sat beside her ask a question. She that cannot hear when I shout up the stairs "whaddayawantferyerdinner?!"

Is she, in fact, a budding Crazy Cat Lady, with an innate skill of Detect Cat That Is Not Mine?

I shall question her in the morning, regardless of your favourite blogger being able to get back into some form of restive state... We shall see...