20 February 2007
Just To Cap It All Off
(Otherwise entitled: And You Thought My Family Was Bad)
For some time now, I've been living on rabbit food whilst also putting on weight. OK I haven't exercised much, but you try getting up a head of steam when you can hardly breathe for feeling like an over inflated tyre. (Mothers-in-the-know, we're talking size 8 1/2 months, ok?) Its been a whole new masterclass in dignity in the face of shattered pride, and I rock.
I put a stone on in hospital,living on abstaining from hospital food, and that was in about ten days. I've put another stone on since. My stomach is really delicate now too, with all sorts of antisocial/painful side effects to eating things that used to cause me no trouble; dumb, unrelated stuff like white bread, sesame, or pineapple.
Here's the story:
Went to the Doc some months back.
He said (nice guy): It looks like you are allergic to your beta blockers, but for a year after a heart attack your heart can just decide it didn't like being messed with, and come to a complete halt, which is why you are prescribed them, to stop that happening. So, you can either put up with it, or come off the tablets and die, your choice.
Yup, you gotta love that guy, for his bedside manner if nothing else; he really was that blunt. The fact that I felt like shit was neither here nor there, to him.
So here I am, living on fibre and leaves, unable to even eat a large meal and hold it all down, frequently ripping my throat to shreds on stomach acid; not offered to be signed off for incapacity benefit or anything (because hell, other people cope) and doing what I was told - just hanging on in there and putting up with it. The dodgy antisocial gut means I cant really look for a job; heck I don't even go round a supermarket all on my own any more in case of having to make a run for it with nobody there to hold the trolley. But I'm being good and doing what I was told.
Three weeks ago I get an appointment with the Cardiac nurses back at the hospital - the routine follow-up to check cholesterol levels. They took one look at me and threw themselves into a flutter, exclaiming things like
wrong size
wrong shape
not you
all in front
can't be right on what you're eating
very worrying
pregnant?
I took a preggy test to make sure it wasn't that.
They asked what my GP had to say about all this and I told them.
As I left they said they would be writing to him straight away.
GP responded to them within two days and made out that he was very concerned and would want to see me immediately. I know this because the cardiac nurses rang me to say so and to ask if I'd heard from him yet. For a brief moment, in their eyes, he had exonerated himself and come up looking concerned and misunderstood.
A whole week later I got a letter (straight away, huh?) telling me to make a routine appointment and saying he was sure it was something simple.
A whole other week later (yesterday) I got the earliest possible appointment.
I walked in and he asked me to lie on the couch. He patted my stomach (I'm sure it only seemed cursory), and asked me to sit up again.
Honestly, if I hadn't brought my husband with me as back-up, that would have been my entire contribution to the appointment, the man immediately ignored us both and dictated a letter as we sat there. Specifically he addressed the dietician, stating that I eat too much and need help with setting up a low fat diet. He then turned to me and told me that my sole problem was eating too much.
In the end I managed to come away with another appointment for a scan (which is what the Cardiac Nurses wanted) and another to see the Gastro specialist, but only after we both told him everything I'd told him months before. Not that he wanted to listen.
His parting shot? His piece de resistance (presumably after the 'humiliation' of being told how to do his job)?
He told me the Cardiac Nurses were very worried about me. I guess he doesn't know I'm in contact with them, because he told me (and I quote):
"Of course they are worried about you, because they know you are digging your own grave with your teeth. You have to stop eating so much."
Nice, Dr Jones of Seaford Medical Health Centre; really, really nice. I don't think you listened to a single word I said, or if you did, it seems you dismissed them all as lies or ignorance. Thank fuck you didn't decide to take my blood pressure, eh?
For some time now, I've been living on rabbit food whilst also putting on weight. OK I haven't exercised much, but you try getting up a head of steam when you can hardly breathe for feeling like an over inflated tyre. (Mothers-in-the-know, we're talking size 8 1/2 months, ok?) Its been a whole new masterclass in dignity in the face of shattered pride, and I rock.
I put a stone on in hospital,
Here's the story:
Went to the Doc some months back.
He said (nice guy): It looks like you are allergic to your beta blockers, but for a year after a heart attack your heart can just decide it didn't like being messed with, and come to a complete halt, which is why you are prescribed them, to stop that happening. So, you can either put up with it, or come off the tablets and die, your choice.
Yup, you gotta love that guy, for his bedside manner if nothing else; he really was that blunt. The fact that I felt like shit was neither here nor there, to him.
So here I am, living on fibre and leaves, unable to even eat a large meal and hold it all down, frequently ripping my throat to shreds on stomach acid; not offered to be signed off for incapacity benefit or anything (because hell, other people cope) and doing what I was told - just hanging on in there and putting up with it. The dodgy antisocial gut means I cant really look for a job; heck I don't even go round a supermarket all on my own any more in case of having to make a run for it with nobody there to hold the trolley. But I'm being good and doing what I was told.
Three weeks ago I get an appointment with the Cardiac nurses back at the hospital - the routine follow-up to check cholesterol levels. They took one look at me and threw themselves into a flutter, exclaiming things like
wrong size
wrong shape
not you
all in front
can't be right on what you're eating
very worrying
pregnant?
I took a preggy test to make sure it wasn't that.
They asked what my GP had to say about all this and I told them.
As I left they said they would be writing to him straight away.
GP responded to them within two days and made out that he was very concerned and would want to see me immediately. I know this because the cardiac nurses rang me to say so and to ask if I'd heard from him yet. For a brief moment, in their eyes, he had exonerated himself and come up looking concerned and misunderstood.
A whole week later I got a letter (straight away, huh?) telling me to make a routine appointment and saying he was sure it was something simple.
A whole other week later (yesterday) I got the earliest possible appointment.
I walked in and he asked me to lie on the couch. He patted my stomach (I'm sure it only seemed cursory), and asked me to sit up again.
Honestly, if I hadn't brought my husband with me as back-up, that would have been my entire contribution to the appointment, the man immediately ignored us both and dictated a letter as we sat there. Specifically he addressed the dietician, stating that I eat too much and need help with setting up a low fat diet. He then turned to me and told me that my sole problem was eating too much.
In the end I managed to come away with another appointment for a scan (which is what the Cardiac Nurses wanted) and another to see the Gastro specialist, but only after we both told him everything I'd told him months before. Not that he wanted to listen.
His parting shot? His piece de resistance (presumably after the 'humiliation' of being told how to do his job)?
He told me the Cardiac Nurses were very worried about me. I guess he doesn't know I'm in contact with them, because he told me (and I quote):
"Of course they are worried about you, because they know you are digging your own grave with your teeth. You have to stop eating so much."
Nice, Dr Jones of Seaford Medical Health Centre; really, really nice. I don't think you listened to a single word I said, or if you did, it seems you dismissed them all as lies or ignorance. Thank fuck you didn't decide to take my blood pressure, eh?
19 February 2007
All stuff you didn't want to know (nor did I, really)
Bigson shouldn't be here but he still is.
The builders should be here and they still aren't.
No sign of the fridge repair man, either.
Son (small son) should be back at school but isn't because the LEA changed his transport and the new transport company changed the times so that the only choice I had was to leave him home alone to catch a ride that would get him to school just at the noisiest, scariest point of the morning, or to ask them not to bother.
After making my arms go to lead and my head swim in a scary and inconvenient fashion a couple of weeks ago, Big Daughter sort of got the message about not talking at me faster than the speed of light any more (full volume, flags waving, 'Dear God let me just hide under a rock until the strange lady's gone'), but can't quite wrap her head around the concept that she might speak to me with as much respect as say, anybody, and has settled for not calling at all. Its isolating but feels a bit like respite.
Bigson is too stupid to get the message at all.
Convos so far today:
Face to face:
Me: Here's your coffee
BS (referring to a proper mug): I'm not fucking drinking out of that tiny fucking thing, don't bother.
Me: Its made now
BS: Well I don't want it
Me: What part of 'visitor' don't you get?
BS (loudly): Look just give me five fucking minutes to pack my stuff and I'll go back to sleeping on the fucking streets!
Me: OK.
BS: 30 minutes awkward silence followed by a change of subject
On the phone:
My Mum: So How's Big Daughter then? Has she got a boyfriend? (This is an aspersion in itself because she is a single mum and only broke up with the last nearly-live-in four or five weeks ago)
Me (checking with Big Son, who would know): Yes, she's sort of seeing the brother of that girl she goes out clubbing with (who pays for it all on account of being loaded)
Mum: Well it makes sense really, she would go where the money is.
Me: ..........?
Mum: Oh I only mean shes a single parent, so she would go....
Me: I was a single parent mum, more broke than her and I paid all my bills and I ended up marrying a man with less money than me!
Mum: Yes well, dear, times were different then, and lets be honest, you never were as pretty as her anyway.
Right.
Crawling back under that rock, then.
Tarra.
The builders should be here and they still aren't.
No sign of the fridge repair man, either.
Son (small son) should be back at school but isn't because the LEA changed his transport and the new transport company changed the times so that the only choice I had was to leave him home alone to catch a ride that would get him to school just at the noisiest, scariest point of the morning, or to ask them not to bother.
After making my arms go to lead and my head swim in a scary and inconvenient fashion a couple of weeks ago, Big Daughter sort of got the message about not talking at me faster than the speed of light any more (full volume, flags waving, 'Dear God let me just hide under a rock until the strange lady's gone'), but can't quite wrap her head around the concept that she might speak to me with as much respect as say, anybody, and has settled for not calling at all. Its isolating but feels a bit like respite.
Bigson is too stupid to get the message at all.
Convos so far today:
Face to face:
Me: Here's your coffee
BS (referring to a proper mug): I'm not fucking drinking out of that tiny fucking thing, don't bother.
Me: Its made now
BS: Well I don't want it
Me: What part of 'visitor' don't you get?
BS (loudly): Look just give me five fucking minutes to pack my stuff and I'll go back to sleeping on the fucking streets!
Me: OK.
BS: 30 minutes awkward silence followed by a change of subject
On the phone:
My Mum: So How's Big Daughter then? Has she got a boyfriend? (This is an aspersion in itself because she is a single mum and only broke up with the last nearly-live-in four or five weeks ago)
Me (checking with Big Son, who would know): Yes, she's sort of seeing the brother of that girl she goes out clubbing with (who pays for it all on account of being loaded)
Mum: Well it makes sense really, she would go where the money is.
Me: ..........?
Mum: Oh I only mean shes a single parent, so she would go....
Me: I was a single parent mum, more broke than her and I paid all my bills and I ended up marrying a man with less money than me!
Mum: Yes well, dear, times were different then, and lets be honest, you never were as pretty as her anyway.
Right.
Crawling back under that rock, then.
Tarra.
13 February 2007
12 February 2007
Story so far
I removed that other post/storm of fury at the poor plumber. I had a valid point, but publicly humiliating him didn't sit well with me after more than five minutes.
So its Monday morning.
Today we will host:
Update: Having consigned this post to the drafts whilst the electricians changed the fusebox, now I come back to complete it there are a few updates.
Specifically:
Gosh, we made it.
So far.
So its Monday morning.
Today we will host:
- The electricians, come to finish carving track for new sockets into the kitchen walls.
- The tiler, come to tile something. Could be kitchen or bathroom, but if its the kitchen he's going to be out of luck, today.
- A plumber to mend the slow leak under the new sink that's been occupying my teatowels since early Saturday morning
- A refrigerator engineer come to see my 4 month old larder fridge which has stopped working
- A gas man, because one of the electricians is sure he can smell gas at the bottom of the meter cupboard
- Delivery men from the local electrical goods shop, because we bought the new fridge from them so they have raided the MD's office and lent us her (much smaller) fridge for the weekend so we didnt lose the Sunday roast etc. Please God, they will be able to come and take it back, as its a lifesaver but slap bang in the middle of my tiny kitchen, blocking access to half the drawers and base units.
Update: Having consigned this post to the drafts whilst the electricians changed the fusebox, now I come back to complete it there are a few updates.
Specifically:
- Electricians: grand job. Back tomorrow to fit extractors int he kitchen and bathroom, then thats them all done.
- Tiler: a dissappointing no-show, so far.
- Plumber: came, saw (or rather failed to see) and left ne with instructions not to mop up but to let it leak and he would be back this afternoon. Obviously the inference was that I was making it all up just to cast aspersions on his workmanship, so as the tiny puddle was visible again five minutes after he left, I coralled the electricians as witnesses.
- The refrigerator engineer crept in when the front door was open, and got to the job without introducing himself or announcing his presence, so it was quite creepy to bump into him. It needs a new condenser, It can have it NEXT Monday. Right.
- Gas Man couldnt smell a thing and left, but not until he had volunteered to make sure the boiler would fire back up and cracked the housing in the process.
- Delivery men: GOD BLESS CLEARVIEW LTD! They say I can keep the spare fridge all week. Talk about service.
Gosh, we made it.
So far.
06 February 2007
Dear Bigson
Dear Bigson
It is good to have you home, for a little while.
Yes it means your brother and sister have had to swap rooms, yes this tiny bungalow is now a mess with no room to swing a cat, but I enjoy your company and you make me laugh; when you're here and awake, anyway.
I like the way you remind me of things. Things like how, for a very long time in young adulthood, having the right dance moves is a must, a matter of personal pride and as important as hygeine.
It was really lucky that we had workmen outside the house today, at least from your point of view, because I had no idea where a pair of pliers might be. Then again, if you must sit in the bath and re-open the 3 year old piercing in your nipple by forcing one of my darning needles through until its stuck fast, then the sight of your 6' frame, soaking wet and wearing nothing but a towel at the waist, wandering up the side alley (face smiling, tit bleeding) to beg tools to finish the job is going to make me physically cringe and shudder, both in embarrassment and in thought of the pain.
I'm your mum and I can't help it. OK?
xx
P.S. No thanks, I don't want the needle to go back in the drawer now you're done. I don't want it back at all. Really.
It is good to have you home, for a little while.
Yes it means your brother and sister have had to swap rooms, yes this tiny bungalow is now a mess with no room to swing a cat, but I enjoy your company and you make me laugh; when you're here and awake, anyway.
I like the way you remind me of things. Things like how, for a very long time in young adulthood, having the right dance moves is a must, a matter of personal pride and as important as hygeine.
It was really lucky that we had workmen outside the house today, at least from your point of view, because I had no idea where a pair of pliers might be. Then again, if you must sit in the bath and re-open the 3 year old piercing in your nipple by forcing one of my darning needles through until its stuck fast, then the sight of your 6' frame, soaking wet and wearing nothing but a towel at the waist, wandering up the side alley (face smiling, tit bleeding) to beg tools to finish the job is going to make me physically cringe and shudder, both in embarrassment and in thought of the pain.
I'm your mum and I can't help it. OK?
xx
P.S. No thanks, I don't want the needle to go back in the drawer now you're done. I don't want it back at all. Really.
05 February 2007
Hey Boys!
(I have to do this too)
Surfing some news sites, I came across one that allows comments. Posted as a comment (by a bloke, of course) was this:
Now I'm guessing that Mr three-chin-saggy-pants thinks lying on wet grass on an overcast day with a toy racing car rammed up as far as it'll go is pretty much the height of masculine supremacy and makes him look mightily cool.
I don't think I have to guess so hard about what the girls are thinking, so for the edification of any who need it, clockwise from bottom left:
Sorry.
Surfing some news sites, I came across one that allows comments. Posted as a comment (by a bloke, of course) was this:
Now I'm guessing that Mr three-chin-saggy-pants thinks lying on wet grass on an overcast day with a toy racing car rammed up as far as it'll go is pretty much the height of masculine supremacy and makes him look mightily cool.
I don't think I have to guess so hard about what the girls are thinking, so for the edification of any who need it, clockwise from bottom left:
- "I feel somehow degraded. Oh, and damp."
- "I'm the only one that looks like a model"
- " I'm going to seize up and fall over any second now"
- "Don't show my flabby bits, don't show my flabby bits!"
- "I'm bursting for a pee"
- "I'm bursting to breathe out, or laugh"
- "You put me at the back and I hate you"
- "Mmm, cake"
- "Fuck, I'm hungover"
- "You're going to have to tell her soon before it shows"
- "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"
Sorry.
03 February 2007
More Good Aquarians
Perhaps I am as batty as erm, a batty-bat-thing, but it being February 3rd I suspect time has come to say a huge
Zilla AAARGH! Not yet! ITS THE 8TH. See *.
and
Poet266. YAY! Hooray! Today!
In fact happy birthday to all Aquarians everywhere, including Doris whose B-day I shamefully forgot. *
We rock. (Well, you three rock and I'm happy to bandwagon.)
C
xx
*Its the tablets, I forget everything.**
**Yes ok I'll be dining off that excuse for years to come, but beats going 'ooh, my heart' everytime I want my own way. I do have some standards.
Happy Birthday!
to both:Zilla AAARGH! Not yet! ITS THE 8TH. See *.
and
Poet266. YAY! Hooray! Today!
In fact happy birthday to all Aquarians everywhere, including Doris whose B-day I shamefully forgot. *
We rock. (Well, you three rock and I'm happy to bandwagon.)
C
xx
*Its the tablets, I forget everything.**
**Yes ok I'll be dining off that excuse for years to come, but beats going 'ooh, my heart' everytime I want my own way. I do have some standards.
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