How much truth can I handle?

Today I am due to see the Doctor.

I have questions, questions that keep occurring to me that should have been asked weeks ago, or maybe I shouldn't even have to ask, maybe Doctors should offer this stuff up front.

How much of a chance do I really have to beat this?

And I don't want to hear about 'stats suggest' as that is bollocks; I want to know about my chances, with my cancer.

They told me upfront that the chemo is contributing a 7% increase of success, adding that if the chemo was too much, we could scale it back. At the time I felt that 7% was too much to dismiss, but that was before I knew what was coming. I'm still doing my chemo, but the stuff I am on is strong, and a bitch to deal with.

I need some reassurance that this is all worth it. I can't eat now, swallowing hurts a lot, and even talking is not a lot of fun.

I have friends who would argue that of course this is all worth it, and maybe once upon a time I would have too, before I understood the price.

Now, I do realise chances are I may as well carry on at this point, after all the majority of the pain I have to go through has been inflicted. At least I truly hope to god I am right. I only have 3 weeks and 3 days left.

18 shots of radiotherapy, and 4 chemo sessions, and then I can go home. Unless the odds are very poor, it's worth doing.

But then home.... I have already been told that the 1st 3 weeks backs will be hell. Great. Then I will slowly start to heal.

But with all this healing comes the knowledge that it may not have worked. Some people go through this shit several times. And that is not something I can do.

I don't want to die, but when this all started my approach was considerably more graceful about how I would approach my end.

Whether I have 1 more week of my life, or 30 years, I wanted greet my end with calm. And if in pain, hopefully a lot of drugs too ;)

But all these things they have done to me: tonsillectomy,  teeth removed, peg fitted, radio & chemo therapy, may look like such a little list, but a list that takes many months and huge pain to get through.

And I need to know, for what? Is it adding 1 year to my life, but taking over 6 months? If it doesn't work, will that mean I have gifted away 6 months of my life for nothing? If my odds are good, and they are hoping that with all this  will get 30 years, yes that would give me some strength, but I have some doubts my odds are that good.

Right now it feels like the cure is killing me. I honestly don't feel like I will ever get better again. And that scares me so badly. Never to enjoy a cup of tea and a biscuit again, never to paint another ceiling, never to have the strength to yell at the kids for not bringing their laundry down. Never to go on all those holidays to places I figured I would one day visit

I hope I am wrong. I hope that a couple of posts up I will suddenly add a post entitled '3 years later' and will open with an apology for not updating this blog because I was having too much of a good life!

None of know what tomorrow will bring, and I accept that, but most people can count of being able to eat a meal if it is offered, and that's now gone for me. I am truly struggling to look forward to tomorrow.

I can't even cry about it as my throat constricts and that pain is excruciating, can't afford to get too upset. Let's hope today makes me smile more than weep, although can't smile wide as my lips are getting sensitive too....

The price wasn't explained....

So I haven't read my last post to know for sure where I was in this ghastly saga.

Am guessing somewhere before the delightful peg was fitted.  A peg is a feeding tube they stick right in the middle of your abdomen in preparation for when you can no longer swallow, 'cos we all need something to look forward to ! You're sedated when it's fitted, which means you're actually awake at the time, but you won't remember it. Is it just me, or does that sounds rather dodgy? anyway, as i can't remember it, can't tell you much, I just woke up with a tube sticking out of me and taped next to my belly button so it didn't flap about.

There was poor communication between surgeon, nutritionist, and nurses as it was only the nurses there to care for me and it didn't matter how many times I explained I could still eat and drink, they wouldn't let me - which was tons of fun when I hadn't been able to eat and drink since the night before the operation, and have a very real caffeine addiction. They did give me morphine when the stomach cramps became bad, and at 8am the next day I got a new nurse who actually listened to me and made some phone calls! By 9:30 am I was handed tea and toast! Not that I could eat toast, they took my teeth already, the ones I chew with, but I can suck the butter off the toast until it gets soft and then mush it up ;)

They let me out at 4pm. By 6:30pm I was readmitted via ambulance. Well, the ambulance came at 6:30, and then I was in A&E until 3:30 am, when they readmitted me onto the same ward I had earlier been discharged from. Lovely seeing that same nighttime nurse again.

That was all down to some infection they think I had, and 'pressure' build up after the peg was fitted. I have no idea really, I was just glad the cramping pain stopped and they let me out again.

Having a peg fitted does cause other pain too. A hole is poked right through your abdomen muscles, and then forced to heal around a tube. It bloody hurts and you use your abdomen way more than you realise!! And you have to be careful with waistbands too, as they thoughtfully put my peg on my waistline (maybe imaging I was hip enough to wearing low waist garments, you see what I did there??)

So I got 2 weeks to recover from that before next stage.

Radio and chemotherapy. The whole thing is medieval torture. I mean seriously, radiation is not good for you, and injecting platinum into your body, how much of a good idea is that? Apparently these are the things that may keep me alive. All my instincts snort at that. But hey, not like I have an abundance of choices here.....

I'm now 1/3rd in. Two weeks down. My advise: don't get cancer.

Monday to Friday I get Radiotherapy, on Thursdays I get Chemo.

Monday is also scan day, which is needed as I know my tumor has grown since last week.

Tuesday is also bloods day, but I'm super lucky and seem to end up with bloods taken waaaaaaay more than once a week haha.

Wednesday after treatment they weigh me (ohh am going to be in trouble this week as already 3kg down from last week) and I see the Doctor and nutritionist. The Dr is lovely, the nutritionist is a sarky bitch who seems to think she knows more than anyone else, but life is short, so best to shut up and get outta there asap.

Thursdays is Chemo day. Oh yay. I get 3 hours Chemo 1st, then Radiotherapy, mix it up a little.

Friday is do your best not to vomit day, or you get to spend the weekend in hospital! 
               Week 1: Mission failed. Weekend spent in hospital.
               Week 2: Mission accomplished thanks to NO chemo in week 2, achieved through having blood pressure drop to 87/57, is that cheating?

What I have found is, how sick you get can be down to the type of cancer you have. The type of cancer you have dictates how they treat you. Many people get Chemo & Radiotherapy done one after another, not at the same time, which helps reduce the nausea. Plus I had nausea before I even started Chemo  - which my nutritionist says is not possible, as my stomach is not being zapped. Well I call her a dumb bitch, because I was fucking sick before I started chemo. I didn't call her a dumb bitch to her face, I'm not quite that rude. Getting there though.

My nutritionist is not completely wrong, as I have sat with people in their 4th week and they are perky as fuck, stuffing bananas & crisps in their mouth. With chatter I find that they are not being zapped in the head, neck, or stomach.

And finally there are the superhumans. Miguel. He's a very sweet Madeiran gentleman one week ahead of me, and he as cancer of the saliva glands, which grew into tumors in his neck very like mine.... and yet, he's just sailing through this crap! He's told me himself that the Dr and nurses are very impressed with him. I would like to hate him, but he's too likable.

The mask freaks me out on levels I cannot explain. I close my eyes and repeat 'safe place' over and over in my head, reminding myself that this mask is trying to save my life. Doesn't help. They have offered to sedate me, but... well now that I feel so sick all the time, I have new worry that I will vomit whilst the mask is on me. The nurses say they are watching all the time and would be back in the room within seconds, but since when was fear a rational thing?

And now I can barely eat. I started using my peg on Saturday, because I just can't bear to eat anything. My tastes buds are so burned that everything tastes of salt. The nutritionist says I must carry on with water if I can to ensue my throat keeps working and so I will be able to swallow when this is all over. But drinking salt water is not easy when you feel sick. I will keep at it, as I am determined that I will eat and drink again when this is done. But it is so fucking hard.

I'm also not at home. Did I mention that? Our hospital can't treat me, so I'm living in Southampton, being treated here. It's quite a nice city, but as I have said to the BH, I will never set foot in this city again.

So this time in four weeks I will be home, and this will be done. I am hanging on by my fingernails. Last week in the midst  of the worst of it, I decided this wasn't worth it.  That is how bad this really is. The Drs have made things more bearable, and I'm am going to do my best to complete the next four weeks. But I am not kidding when I say I will never set foot in Southampton again. If this doesn't work this time, then I am dead. I cannot do this again.

I will have given 7 months to trying to get past this cancer, and there isn't much quality of life here. I can't walk up a flight of stairs anymore, I can't eat, opening a bottle of water often requires help, and I forget words a lot, and get confused a lot.

I thought for a while it was the painkillers. But I've been taking less, on purpose. Yeah I still swallow a shed load of other tablets, so maybe.... but it's scary knowing that you're missing stuff, that things don't always make sense.

And it ain't over yet. Lots more fun to come over next 7 weeks, as I continue to cook (4 weeks treatment, but it will then take another 3 weeks for all these weeks of radiotherapy to stop building).

Oh and another thing - I detest cancer. Like everyone I am sure. But what I mean is, people keep recommending cancer chat forums, or saying how they did a cancer run, or coffee morning. Sorry but get out of my fucking head, I can't surround myself with this shit. I am being forced to live cancer this year, but please let me run for the hills once I have the strength. Let me hide in a deep hole. Let me forget these months. Why the fuck can't cancer be one of the words I can't remember??

I'm not enjoying life right now.

No strength involved

This morning as I was making tea, I was considering how I could avoid friends and family I just don’t feel up to dealing with just now. 

I asked the BH to phone my mom and tell her I would be in contact in a few days when I felt stronger. He said he would, but he added ‘Don’t do this, it will spiral’. He’s probably right, but I need today to myself. 

Then I thought of here. How, for a few years – years that I now miss terribly – this place really helped, and maybe it can help me again. Maybe it can make things clearer in my muddled up mind. And I have a lot of time doing little right now.

Anyway, best to start at the beginning….

For the last few years I have worked full time, max hours and max overtime. I used to go to work at 6:15 am and get home at 5:45pm. Love my job. Love the people I work with, and most of all I get paid well and love what that money buys after so many years of being broke.

And talking of those years, well R is now a qualified teacher; travels a lot, and still lives at home (for now, I know he has plans in that area). 

P is months away from becoming a qualified chartered accountant; works for one of the big four (if you’re in finance, you will understand that), he still lives at home and turned 21 this week. My baby boy who gave me SO much stress is turning out pretty good.

J, now 18, has just finished her course to become a teaching assistant, but is going to continue her studies in the hope of also becoming a teacher. She’s definitely had her ups and downs in the teenage years, and ironically after being my easiest youngster, become the most worried about teenager. But that appears to all be behind us now. Hey all things pass, good and bad.

And then there’s my funny ‘lil one on the end, S, the artist. So unlike the rest of us. I’m still in envy of her. Nearly 17, she is definitely her own person. I truly don’t know what life will hold for her, but I can also add with conviction that it will be whatever she decides it will be.

Some 7/8 years ago we sold the house with the huge garden and downsized for financial reasons, then a couple of years ago we bought up again, and now have a beautiful 7 bedroomed regency house in a less than great location with no garden. I love the house itself, and we are gradually renovating and decorating. 

I am incredibly lucky. I know that, and embrace that knowledge every single day. Although I don’t do god and religion these days, I do know that the universe gave me a blessed life. A good man, 4 healthy amazing children (who actually seem to like me, as well as love me!) food on the table, roof over our heads, and the ability and opportunities to strive for, and receive, lots of life’s baubles and glitter too. 

And then it gave me cancer.

I don’t think it’s unfair I got cancer. I smoked for 30 odd years, what the hell did I expect? And statistically someone close to me had to get it, and if I was given a choice of who that had to be, I would have chosen me.

The part I am not coping well with, is where it is, in my neck and tonsils. It’s also in my lymph nodes but they seem to think I’m stage 3 and it’s not spread through my entire body.

All started innocently enough towards the end of April, glands in neck up with mild sore throat and not feeling great. First week I had had off work due to illness in 18 months. Then I went back to work, but my left gland hadn’t gone down.

Three weeks later I went back to the Doctor and pointed out the damn thing was still up, should I have antibiotics? Just referred instead. I got that appointment quickly – always a worry when you’re not waiting 8 months for an appointment haha!

Horrid consultant stuck 2 needles in my neck and said he would see me the following week, but I couldn’t make that appointment as my No 1 son was taking me on holiday.

R took me to Pompeii and Athens!! Absolutely amazing places. Fantastic holiday with my fantastic son. But I got sick whilst away. I don’t know if it was the exertion of all the walking each day, maybe the heat, or maybe it was just the cancer finally letting me know it was there. Anyway I was in a lot of pain, it was like a living thing in my neck. Could feel it growing under my jaw, down my neck, up towards my ear. 

Within days I had convinced myself it was cancer and that I would not be lasting long.

When I got home the Doc still wasn’t sure, results inconclusive. This went on for another few weeks with lots of needles in my neck (some very large!!) and scans. I was also signed off work as although they said the pain was due to an infection and gave me antibiotics, I was getting weaker by the day.

So they decided to cut the area out, but they couldn’t because of the location – the ‘mass’ had grown around nerves and blood supply. So they cut away half of it and took my tonsils too.

A tonsillectomy on an adult is nothing short of a BITCH. I mean seriously – take the worst sore throat you have EVER had, times it by 2, then maintain that pain, unceasing in even the slightest, for 10 days. I assure you, you cannot grasp how painful it is unless you have had it done in middle age. Oh and they came back with the cancer diagnosis too.

I have had a couple of friends who have had cancer. It sure as hell is not nice. But haven’t known anyone with it in their neck before, so didn’t really appreciate what was coming.

Just as I got over the tonsillectomy, they sent me to the hospital dentist – because whilst the radiotherapy is happening, you will develop mouth and throats sores etc, and you won’t heal during treatment. Which means any tooth they deem less than ideal, needs to come out, as you cannot afford an abscess (not that I have ever had one) .

Well as you’re aware I’m a Brit, and my teeth are not perfect, but they were all there, and they were my own. However the dental surgeon didn’t like my wisdom teeth, especially the one still erupting. Out. Next was a molar, heavily filled. She didn’t like the metal filling at all. Out. Next up…why couldn’t I feel cold on my front tooth? Because that one is sensitive to heat instead. Opps that means the root is dying/ dead, best to take that too. WTF?? My front tooth ?? Are you kidding me? Nope, cancer is not something people kid about apparently. 

They made it all sound so reasonable, best to get rid of before the treatment, no healing whilst that’s going on. And what’s a front tooth in the grand scheme of things? Pah, forget vanity, living is what’s important! Plus my dentist, for the reasonable sum of £450 would provide me with a fake front tooth.

So just as I am able to start eating again after the tonsillectomy, they give me another general anesthetic and take my teeth. I hadn’t fully appreciated how much pain would be involved. Or how many stitches. And I definitely hadn’t appreciated how difficult having a false tooth is. Not only are the four corners of my mouth stupidly sore (molar extruded side I really don’t go near!), but I now have this plate thing in my mouth – that does give me a front tooth thank gawd – but also gives me a lisp and creates sore patches along my tongue as my poor mouth figures out how to cope. Plus I can’t bite into anything as my bloody front tooth hurts where they pulled it.

So for 5 weeks now I am still eating mushy crap, carefully.

And next up is the peg. Because get this, once treatment starts the pain my throat and mouth will increase to the point where I can’t swallow at all.

So next Monday, another op, where they attach a feeding tube to my abdomen. 

And you know what, I can cope with all of that. Not like I have a choice. Gotta suck it up buttercup, this was the hand you were dealt. Okay. And it’s not forever.

But then there was yesterday. Yesterday I went to the UK – where I will receive the radio and chemo treatments for 6 weeks – to have my ‘mask’ fitted.

‘Mask’ is not an adequate word for what they are referring too. I mean what’s the worst mask you can imagine? Maybe ‘man in the iron mask’ type thing? Well, that would be a ***ing picnic in the park compared to what I got.

They basically mould this thing down over your head, face, and shoulders too, and then attach it to the slab you are lying on. I didn’t think I would mind it, after all it’s just to hold me still whilst the radiotherapy happens.

But this thing is so tight on me I can’t even swallow. For a few minutes that’s fine, but then suddenly my minds just freaks. This mask is screwed into the table I am lying on, I can’t turn my head a centimeter, I can’t swallow, I can’t lift my head, sound is dulled – and 12 minutes in that thing is a ****ing long time when you can’t swallow and your brain is screaming to find a way out.

If it was just for 3 or 4 occasions I would deal with it. But it’s 5 days a week for 6 weeks. 30 occasions.

I suppose I have to laugh really, when you think of all the things happening to me, and the one thing that is turning me into a wreak is the only one that doesn’t actually hurt. 

I have no idea how I am going to get this done. Nothing has made me cry like the thought of being strapped into that fucking mask again. 30 more times.

And if one more person tells me I am strong and will get through this, I will scream in their stupid face. 

(Well, I would, if I could – my throat is not healed enough to scream after the tonsillectomy yet.)

It’s not strength that gets people through this crap, there’s no damn choice. Just a corner that I will die in, horribly, if I don’t do what the doctors say. So I do what I am told. 

No strength involved, I’m just not ready to die yet, it’s that simple.

The dark before the dawn

Eight year ago I started turning into my mother. Or rather, I became a morning person. This came about after returning from a holiday with a 5 hour time difference, I simply never adapted back to my previous habits.

Not that I really remember those habits, I just recall years of dragging myself out of bed when a child cried and woke me, and then walking around like a zombie for several hours. Maybe - given the chance - I would have become a morning person years earlier, but the kids liked to prove who was boss from their start.

I like mornings. I like watching the dawn. Before marriage and children, the only time I saw the dawn was when I had been partying and had stayed up all night. Funny that my best memories of those years are not the parties themselves, but of those quiet moments when the party had ended only because the new day was arriving. I can't always remember the people I was with, but I remember sitting on damp beaches watching the sun appear on the horizon.

Well these days - even though I am awake- I rarely make it to the beach, as moving about too much wakes the house and unlike babies, I don't want company as soon as I wake - and I get company if the wake! Sadly I can't see the horizon from my pokey little garden. Can't even see the sun for the first few hours of the day, as the house faces the wrong way. But I can see the stars before the sky lightens, and watch as the colours change through the hues.

And the smell. I adore the smell of dawn. Not many understand what that smells like. In fact, I have received such odd looks when I mention it, that I have started to wonder if it's in my imagination, especially as I have such a poor sense of smell. But to me the world smells different just before and after and dawn. It's a better smell than the rest of the day. Calmer, and more comforting before the sun arrives, and then fresh and clean as the light changes.

I sat outside before dawn today and felt sad that the summer is ending. It's just not the same when dawn arrives later, and the world is awake before the light dares to emerge to cloudy gray skies. But I also know I will enjoy the longer darkness, and I will sit and stargaze instead, smell the night for longer.

I can't understand why everyone isn't a morning person, they are missing out! But am glad too ;)

Manners anyone? Yes please :)

So today has been a better day, in part because of my fellow human beings - I mention this, as my 'fellow human beings' don't often do a lot for my mood  ;)

I also spent money today, this was another bonus because I like spending money, but sadly rarely have enough.

But today I got a bargain, and bargains are a definite hit with my mood! I bought myself a scroll saw, brand new, for £20. Of course I didn't know I wanted one before I saw the advert, but I have tons of ideas with what I'll do with it, now that I own it.

I also bought my mother a childs wardrobe, which is smaller than an adults wardrobe (obviously!) for her new bedsit she will soon be letting out. She wanted a tallboy, but they are gosh darn hard to find, and frankly this childs wardrobe looks just like one, and it's solid wood which is also a bonus.

The people I brought the items off were wonderful. They really helped make my day better.

The lady who sold me the wardrobe I sort of know, or rather, we have had communication before - via our local FB pages, after she asked for advice on an issue with her mother who had suffered a massive stroke, and I responded via PM to her. Funnily enough that convo happened 1 year to the very day, prior to my father dying.

So anyway, when we met up we got chatting - first about strokes, and parents dying, then children, then society in general. I really liked her, in fact I was late for the chap who was selling me the scroll saw. But he didn't mind, 'cos he was lovely too ! We got chatting about cutting various wood types, and then he mentioned his wife made cakes, and of course I could chat about that for quite a while too.

It's a good feeling to meet and click with people :) Dare I even add 'good' people...well they felt like good people to me, but can't really judge that after only 30 minutes of chatting, can you?


Someone I didn't click with today, was the ass who was behind me when I was taxiing P to the dentist this morning. So many of our roads have blind exits, that we often have to rely on mirrors positioned opposite T junctions. Which is where I was, when he honked at me.  Well after spending the last month teaching P how to drive, and reminding him endlessly to ignore others who try to encourage you into hurrying before you feel secure pulling out - it gave me a great chance to show P that I will not be bullied into taking risks, just because someone else left home late ! But I did think it was rude of him, that's my point. And as P is not here, I will admit it really annoyed me, and didn't make me hurry in the least.... ;)

But overall a good day, Yay !

So anyway...

After my less than chirpy post of yesterday, I went and soaked in the bath. It had the desired effect of removing the world and leaving my thoughts to wander where they would. And again they ended with my father, as is usual these days.

You see, his final days haunt me. When I think of him, I can't easily remember anything but him dying, which is not fair - on him or me. He was my father for over 40 years, surely all those years should blot out the end week?

My problem is, I'm an overthinker.Yes, huge shock I know ;) But I feel I let him down at the last. Maybe there was nothing I could have done differently, but his last words to me were 'Help me', and I couldn't do anything.

So as I lay in the bath yesterday, I forced myself to think of younger days. Hmm. I thought about my poor school reports and how he would react, or rather not react. They didn't matter in the least. You might now be under the misconception that it was because he adored me so much, he saw past them, but you would be wrong. They didn't matter because I was a girl.

My only future was finishing school. And typing, but only so that I could get a job until I married. Very quaint really, that the path they set out for me was the one my mother followed. I saw her fight against it, heard the rows they had when she would beg to be allowed to work. I even knew about her secret job, one afternoon a week at the Art gallery, that I was sworn to secrecy about.

I did go to finishing school, but not the one he wanted in Switzerland. Unlike my poor grades, that caused a row.

My train of thought moved to the occasions I defied my father, there weren't many. The finishing school was the first time. The next time came when I was working in one of his offices, and went to request a long leave, so I could go traveling.

The problem wasn't the travel, or the time off; the problem was I wanted to go with my boyfriend. I remember his bellowing about how it would ruin me. How no decent man would want me after the boyfriend and I broke up - as we were sure to do. Maybe he thought I was a virgin? but hell I wasn't about to ask him that question.

I wimped out and left, but did go back, and did defy him.

The next time was marrying that boyfriend, except he didn't really fight me on that. Just said 'he wasn't what I had hoped for'. My father was a snob ;)

We managed to avoid confrontations for a while largely because I avoided him. Got engaged at 21, married at 23, and yes, I do think I was in a rush to become an 'adult', free of his control. My parents also spent 5 months of the year on the other side of the world, helped a lot!

The last time I can recall him flipping out at me was when he found out I was pregnant with my youngest. I can't deny she wasn't exactly planned - who would plan a 4th child when no. 3 was only 8 months old?? Only the brave or foolish ;)

Nevertheless, it was a done deal once realised. My mother worked it out from what I didn't say in a phone chat, and my father then called me back and told me my mother had a 'stupid idea, that I might be pregnant again' - when I was silent he then screamed 'Oh you stupid girl!'

Suppose it's almost a compliment to be called a girl at 32. Didn't feel like it at the time.

With reflection I think my father was a control freak. He spent years in numerous offices with people jumping to his commands, and I think he forgot the family were not employees.

I was scared of him. Although not for any nasty reasons. He was always a good father. Made sure I never wanted for anything, in fact I mostly had the best of everything. I certainly can't give my children all that I had. He told me he loved me several times a year, and would hug me when the situation felt right.

But, he was never proud of me. Not once in my childhood can I remember him being really pleased with something I had done. Now, if that had just been his way, that would be fine - but it wasn't. He was proud of my brother. Always raved about him.

I don't have a great relationship with my brother. We get along okay, when we have to - but considering we live on an small island, the fact that I didn't see him for four years probably tells you more than you need to know. We are just very different people. And he's an arrogant ass. Speaks to me like I'm an idiot. Probably doesn't help that I believe I am smarter than him, at least on a common sense level. Not that I would ever say that. I don't like confrontation, and he's forever going on about how important he is. Seriously, since when do important people have to tell others that they're important?

Anyway, I guess the point is that if my father had passed away suddenly, some 3 years ago I don't know that I would have been that upset. Which probably makes me a complete bitch. But I am glad he didn't.

It feels awful to admit that the last 18 months of his life, after he became ill and needed me, were the best 18 months of my life with him.

I was with him between 5 and 18 hours a day, every day, and I am so very glad we had that time together.

I remember the day it changed. He had come home from South Africa because the Doctors there wanted to cut off his leg, and he was determined to find an alternative.

There wasn't any alternative. He lost his left leg below the knee. At first, visiting him in hospital was just like normal. The usual guarded conversations and reactions we had each perfected over the years.

But things were unraveling. My mother was panicking about how she would cope, dad fell into a funk of self pity.

Not quite sure why I was so brave, but I gave up work and told them I would be helping them from hereon. My mothers relief was obvious. And dad  was also pleased as he had a lot of physiotherapy he needed to do, and he felt my mother wasn't up to it, whereas I am a quick learner.

After a few weeks the hospital sent him up to the rehabilitation ward, which should of been great, but... well a couple of posts down, you can see the mess.

But there was something I didn't mention, about when my father was high on tramadol. Before they took him back to the 1st hospital my father became a dibbling mess. He had no idea what was going on, and they had stuck him in his wheelchair. But he couldn't even sit up straight and kept falling asleep.

His small room was full of people - family, and nurses, all talking around him, and he had slumped forward dozing again. I hated it all. Couldn't really cope and wanted to run away.

Instead I knelt down next to my father and stroked his hand to wake him. He came to slowly and gradually turned to look at me. He smiled, still dribbling, and quietly said ' You're such a nice girl.'

I started crying. I am crying now. It was the kindest, sweetest thing I can ever remember my father saying to me.

Pathetic really. To be moved to tears by such a small thing. Especially when the poor man was high as a kite. But he meant it, and that means the world to me.

As some of you know, things went from bad to worse.

But before his stroke, and the confusion that caused, we had a good summer. We got him home, and went to lunch on beautiful sunny beaches at least 4 days a week. We did his exercises every day, with my mother laughing in the background, and my father snapping at her to shut up.

In fact, from then on I became the only person my father was never mean to. Everyone else bore the brunt of his frustration and anger at his situation. The nursing team who came 4 times a day would get yelled at quite regularly, and my mother certainly took more than her fair share. And my brother... hmm my father never shouted at him, because until the final month, he hardly saw him. Not my words, but my father's when I would ask if he'd popped up when I wasn't there. It was the way he said it, gave me a hollow victory because at last maybe my father realised that I was worth as much as my brother.

We talked all day, every day. He chatted about his childhood, his schooling, his old girlfriends. He listened to stories of the kids. We watched Stargate, and Homes under the Hammer together each day, and discussed and or criticized as demanded.

And then his kidneys failed. Sitting in A&E at 3:30 in the morning whilst they tried to make things better, and for a couple of weeks they did. Except by then, his thoughts were a complete jumble.

About 5 days into that hospital stay, I arrived one morning and started with my usual 'Morning Dad!' but he wouldn't look at me, wouldn't speak to me.

I asked what the matter was, and he was so angry that he spat out about how he had been there 9 days and why hadn't I visited before now? I told him he had been there 5 days and that I had been there, every day, all day. 'Then why didn't you come in and see me?' he pleaded. I broke, and burst into tears and shouted back 'I did! I am always here!' then he was crying too, and begging for my forgiveness, explaining that he was so confused. I know he was, and it tore my heart in two. We cried together, dried our eyes together. And then ate breakfast together.

That was 10 days before he passed. They sent him home when there was nothing more they could do. I can't yet write about those last days.

I miss him. I miss our lunches. I miss our long chats. I miss him needing me. I miss him liking me. I miss caring for him. I never thought losing him would hurt like this.

I am glad I have tried to write some of this down. Maybe it will help. Me, not you - my posts are a glum fest mostly!! In fact if you are still reading, you're probably miserable as can be by now - sorry ;)

Shall I list the many ways I hate Facebook?

In truth my title isn't fair, I also love Facebook. When things are good anyway. It's wonderful to catch up family and friends in one place, some of whom I haven't actually spoken to in several years. But maybe there should be a rule about not adding family and close friends?

Yeah I've seen the memes that warn against adding such people, but it seems rather an obvious snub to refuse one cousin when you've accepted the others. So into your life they come. I do make use of the edit audience option, quite a lot in fact, but my dislike of FB doesn't end there. Part of the issue is FB is simply not the place to air your laundry. I have 2 friends who do, a lot. Drives me up the bloody wall actually. And no it's none of you, or I wouldn't write about it her either ;) these people complain ALL the time, in fact I can only remember 1 lighthearted post between them. I feel exhausted when I see their names in my newsfeed. Which isn't very nice of me, as I do care about them. I do want them to be happy. I spent several months in private chats with one, trying to get him to see the brighter side of life, trying to show him that he's a good person who doesn't need to be so hard upon himself (& I meant every word) but.. My life has issues too, and when you're too tired to cope with your own life, trying to help others cope with theirs just becomes too much.

And this has always been my place to moan. To bare my soul (should that be bear? Dave will know...)   - maybe that makes me a hypocrite. Hmm probably definitely does actually. But when I started here, I really didn't know any of you. That seems funny now that I can list your partners names, children, grandchildren. And one person who used to come here passed away a few years ago. I still think about him, and can almost imagine his comments (which would involve contemplation and navels !) I guess that is sort of special, to touch the life of someone you've never met, to have them think we'll of you long after you have become dust again. I can only hope to be as blessed.

Anyway, I am here today, because I am very pissed off. But I don't know at what. I have this horrid unsettled feelings, like something is very wrong, but I just can't remember what it is. I have checked with all the kids, they are fine. Have check on my mother, who is currently on a plane to Spain, she's fine. The bills are paid, the dogs been fed, and all the laundry is done. So quite why I have this weight inside me, I can't work out. But it needs to stop, because feeling so unsettled is unnerving me to the point of contemplating doing something very stupid. And I know it's stupid. And I know I can't do it. Maybe I should just have a drink instead. But no I won't do that either. Not the answer.

I wish it would stop bloody raining too. Seriously pissed off with the utterly crap summer this year. I put the heating on yesterday...in August!!! How bloody insane is that?

I do need some sun, even the Doctor said so, back in June. He told me to go on holiday. He said I have run on a high stress level for the previous 18 months and now that the stress has ended, my body is 'crashing' and is why I always feel so bloody ill. But I haven't gone on holiday. Haven't seen any sun. And my new job is due to start soon. Doctor did call 2 weeks ago though, to ask if had been away yet, when I said no, he said I should go when kids are back at school. I told him I can't, that the family won't have it. Which they wouldn't, if I told them. He made me laugh as he said he'd write them a letter telling them I need a release, and he knows from my history that getting away alone is the only time I relax. I said thanks, but no.

Guess I will start the new job, let the stress seep in, take over from current stresses - of which there are not many now. I think I am still in mourning. I still cry easily, but hey that's nothing new. Maybe when the kids go back I will sit in front of the TV for a couple of days and let the laundry pile up. Once the house is clean of course, and everything's up to date - can't relax until it is ;) which is exactly my problem says my Doctor... And so the circle just repeats. And I still don't know why I feel like something is so wrong today *sigh*

Ahh bugger it, am going to go lie in the bath.

Stay safe all of you x

How are you?

I get a couple of texts a week from some very dear friends who tell me how they are thinking of me and the family, and asking how I am.

I always respond either 'I'm fine,' or 'I'm okay, thanks'.

It's a bloody lie. But people don't want to hear what's really going through my head, and that I am exhausted, both physically and mentally. I don't often sleep more than 4 hours a night; and I am playing parent to my kids and parents.

The girls are going through a phase of constant arguing, to the point where they are so nasty and horrid to each other, I stand there wondering who they are - but maybe because I have become an utterly useless parent who no longer has the energy to referee their petty disagreements they insist turning into mountains, and instead of listening and mediating their dramas I just send them to their rooms.

And then both my parents seem to have devolved into young children themselves.

My father - still in hospital - feels ignored and disliked by the nurses, whilst trying to cope with his new levels of disability, and so panics at the slightest things resulting emotional dramas where he demands to know what the point of 'going on' is, and his desire for a gun so he can kill himself.

My mother - in her attempt to stay sane- sees her friends several times a week, which is a good thing I know, but it's for HOURS at a time, without any thought to the fact Christmas is in 9 days and I have 4 kids and a house to try and organize and giving up every single day to sitting with my father is becoming too much for me. She will then phone me in complete hysterics because the sun is shining in her eyes and she can't see the cursor on her laptop and she needs to send an email.

The extremes of nonsense going on around me is sending me into a black hole.

And I can't tell any of them.

With my father I have to be this endlessly understanding and optimistic person, assuring him things will get better (thank god he doesn't he doesn't ask me when, because I'm not sure I believe myself anyway).

With the kids I know I am not being fair on them, for instance S was ill at school the other day, but when the school phoned me to say she needed collecting I had to tell them 'too bad, she needs to stay at school' - because I was wheeling my father to yet another department for more tests that scared him. The school and I eventually agreed poor S would walk home by herself whilst she felt sick. Of course with S, there's always a chance she's 'faking' it as she hardly loves school, and claims to be too ill to go at the slightest thing, but even thinking that about makes me question why I don't try to resolve her issues with her, but the truth is, I don't have any more energy to give them, they are not babies any more and they just keep taking and taking and they don't care how tired I am.

And my poor mom. Well the whole thing is crappy on her, and definitely not about to improve and the hospital have said there's nothing more they can do for my father and so want rid of him in January. So home he will go, with 2 nurses coming in 4 times a day for an hour, to help care for him. And however hard I find each day, I will only be there for some 6/7 hours, she will have to cover the other 14+ hours in a day as he can never be left alone.

Life is a bloody nightmare, and I am not okay. I just want it all to stop. And then I realize what that means, and start crying because that's not what I want and I am a horrible person.

Oh shit. Sorry this was not meant to be a pity post. Anyway, typing this hasn't made me feel better (like I was hoping it might) and I don't have the time to sit here contemplating my navel.  Onward. Kick up the ass needed I guess.

Torture

I am writing a post as I heard from one of you last night mentioning the blog, and it turns out today is such a mess I don't know what to do with myself that.. here I am, writing to distract myself.

I can't explain it all, it's complicated and long - as so many things in life are. But I will do my best to make sense for your sake, although I am sat here writing for *my* sake.

My dad is ill. No great shocker the man is 80, and I imagine most are ill with something by that age. He's had diabetes for years, but last October he stubbed his toe and things just went from bad to worse from there - all because of the stubbed toe.

By February they wanted to take his right leg off just below the knee and at the start of March, that's what they did.

He spent several months in hospital, as 80 year old diabetics don't exactly heal fast.

That was all a nightmare. He didn't want it to happen. My mother is 76 and can barely move her neck so she wasn't thrilled either.

He started off in a private room as they do have medical insurance, not that that was ideal as my father is 6'3" and the beds are not long enough, plus he's used to super king size which of course they are not - whilst on the face of it sounds amusing, less amusing when he falls out of it, as he did a week after the op. They started putting the bed rails up all the time after that.

Anyway, after a month or so they said he was well enough to move to a recovery hospital - and although it wasn't 'private' - it did come with his own room, so not so very different.

But the medical service doesn't know it's left hand from right, so they sent him up to the 2nd hospital without any meds for the pain, and there weren't any Doctors about, so no one gave him any meds. 12 hours after arriving he was delirious with the pain; it was 2 in the morning; he was over tired; confused and unhappy. They forgot the bed rails; he forgot he didn't have a leg and tried to get out of bed. So again ends up in a heap on the floor.

He hurt himself pretty badly that time, and wasn't very nice to the nurses. But they did FINALLY call a damn Doctor. Course the Doctor wasn't thrilled at getting a middle of the night call, because of a patient who was grumpy and didn't mince his words about what he thought of the place. They gave him tramadol, and not a little.

In fact they downright turned him into a dribbling mess who no longer even cared where he was.

By the time visiting hours arrived I had a father who kept asking me to phone the Chinese Snooker Team as he need to give them some tips - that was when he could stay awake. But I suppose I should just be glad he knew who I was as he no longer recognized my children and kept asking how I had gotten to South Africa so quickly (no, we were not in Africa !)

Anyway his vitals then went nuts, so he was shipped on to ICU back at the 1st hospital. Then after a few days, back to the private ward he went - although he still didn't know where he was. Clearing the tramadol from his system took several weeks, but thankfully it did clear.

So then we were back at the Recovery Hospital. They were surprisingly more gentle the 2nd time around, maybe because we ignored the visiting hours and did what we liked - which was staying with him all day. Occasionally they hinted a reminder about visiting times, but we smiled and were super nice, and we didn't disturb others by sitting in his room - and to be honest my father can be difficult when he doesn't get his way, so they left us all alone.

He go to go home in July. Things weren't so bad, he could transfer from bed to wheelchair himself and my mother dealt with the personal side of things, I did the exercises and amusing him for hours each day - mostly consisting of taking him out to lunch in pretty locations. He's done well, and has only had a few days of depression all year.

Two weeks ago the Doctors even said his stump had finally healed enough that in another month they will start to look at getting him a prosthetic limb. Great news! Except.... when he had been in the ICU they had put a compression sock on his right foot - because he had clots years ago, and does take warferin. They didn't ask my mother if this was a good idea, they didn't consider how easily he bruises, or how calcified his veins are. The seem gave him a slight bruise, and over the months it got worse, and now his right toe is black and a mess - just like his stubbed toe was. Of course with the the hope of a prosthetic limb soon to happen they wanted to make sure he wasn't about to lose his right leg either.

They scheduled a procedure for Monday morning just gone, to color dye his arteries and maybe put stents in his right leg. The color dye stuff was a risk because of his kidneys - but they weighed up was worth it.

They took him in on Sunday so they could hydrate him before the procedure - he wasn't happy as he had to go on a general ward as the insurance won't cover vascular issues anymore, after he cost them so much in the last financial year.

But hey.... it's only ONE night we told him! And frankly it's the others on the ward who need sympathy as my father SNORES louder than a elephant could ;)

Do Monday morning came, we couldn't see him due to the visiting times, but he called right after and said it was great news - the dye had revealed the stents weren't needed. He just needed to stay in bed for the next 6 hours due to the fact they had gone in an artery (his warferin was stopped a week ago).

All good. Except it wasn't all good. The blithering effing idiots who had brought him back to the ward hadn't put up the side rails on his little bed. They hadn't left a pee bottle within his reach. And when there were no nurses about, he reached for one....

This time he really smashed himself up. Odd really as his warferin had been stopped a week - so you wouldn't think he could bleed so much, but when I showed up he was still covered in blood. He was also lying in a pool of pee - as he had wet himself as it all happened and after too.

But frankly the blood could be washed off, he would heal - what bother them more was that they had noticed he couldn't use his left arm, he can't even feel it, and his speech is slurred.

Don't worry they said, it's probably just a mild stroke and he's in the best place for this to happen, in fact they say that's probably why he fell out of bed..... so long as we get the drugs into him within 3 hours and we've scheduled a CT scan....

He had the scan at around 2 hours, and at the 3 hour mark they were giving him an ECG - whilst he still lay in the pool of pee covered in blood. I was getting rather 'anxious' by that point and sort of did get a little sarcastic with one of the nurses about this supposedly being the 'best place this could happen'.

Poor chap hurried of and a Doctor arrived, saying they weren't going to do anything as they felt the risks outweighed the benefits. Although they did change the bed and put a catheter in.

I ignored the visiting times yesterday and spent the day with him, wiping his face when he dribbled. The speech people came on up and talked him through how to swallow (he'd near choked the day before when trying to sip water and had gone onto IV only).

They also moved him to the stroke ward last night, and it looks like another long stay in hospital all over again.

He's so unhappy. He called my mother at 6 this morning begging her to come and get him.

I then got told I can't go in until 3... as that's their visiting time. Fucking hell. He doesn't like being alone. He's never alone even when he's well - me or my mother are always with him. And they are all so fucking useless, and I'm supposed to be fine about leaving his care to them.

Christ I feel so damn useless. What if this is it? What if he never gets out? What if he just has some giant stroke and that's the end? He's supposed to be on his own for that? in a place he doesn't want to be? And I'm supposed to sit here and think 'oh yes well it is a hospital, they are busy, so I'm supposed to just trust they will do best by my father' ? Like they have done already..........??!! This is not how things are supposed to be.

Party Time!

Yesterday my eldest, R, turned 19. 19!! Where have the years gone?

Somewhat amusingly I woke at 4:30, and my 1st thought was: he was being born now.

Just strikes me as funny as I'm not really one for Birthdays. Or anniversary's. Or anything really. Dates don't mean much, which I think is a good thing - at least it has served me well, if only because I only remember for a year or two on those dates I would rather forget.

But anyway back to my Birthday Boy. He was happy, he seemed to have a good day.

*I* was exhausted though, I only did a couple of hours at work, and then spent the whole day cleaning and cooking, for his party.

His favorite pressie is a wallet I got him - it has Bad Mother****** stamped on the front (he did ask for it!)

If you haven't seen Pulp Fiction you won't understand the reference, but he loves the movie, and is made up with it. So no matter how irresponsible I felt I was being, getting him a wallet with a curse on the front, he is happy, which is what matters to me.

He also surprised me. He stopped the party mid-way to say thank you, said his parents are 'awesome' - very sweet. And very like my father. So confident. And so very un-like me. But hey ho, it was nice.

And I am actually writing this post about one of his mates, young man called Harry, who came to the party.

This young man appears to have everything. The youngest of 5 children, from extremely wealthy parents - and when I say extremely, I mean... well... beyond what I can imagine, and I know a lot of wealthy people.

My boys go to his house quite a bit - in fact at least 5 days a week, as four of them meet to use his gym. It's better than the one in town, that they have to pay for.

So anyway this lovely young man Harry was at the party - or rather at our house, he didn't really stay with the party people, but instead spent half the evening in P's room with P, playing C.o.D.

But when the boys tired of that, they came out and sat by the fire pit, roasting marshmallows in the dark.

My girls were silly with it, and kept burning either the marshmallows or their mouths, but it was lots of fun and laughter, & dropped marshmallows.

Harry was laughing at them, as he tried to roast his own mallow, and then turned to me and said: I like coming here, it's like being in a family!

I answered before I thought:  But you have a family.

He must have held eye contact for at least 3 seconds before looking away and answering: Yes.

I know most people won't get it. But my heart broke for him in that moment. Because in that pause, I knew. He is living my youth. He wants for nothing, appearing to have the most idyllic life of big houses, lots of holidays, nice cars, nice clothes, not a care in the world - and yet, I feel so sorry for him.

I ask R about Harry's family today, but he didn't know much, said he'd never met any of them. His parents don't spend the summer here. But he said Harry didn't mind that, as they weren't close like our family... - that kinda shut me up, I have never thought about how close we all are, I just am very aware my children go without the things I took for granted as a child, and most of the time I feel bad about that.

But I do tell them - when my mother starts one her lectures about my parenting - she didn't raise me, the army of au-pairs did, and the boarding school I went to at 11 took over, and then I was gone at 16; my mother has no idea what raising kids involves.

And we are lucky, because money sure doesn't buy everything, and we might live in a little house now, and things are often a mess - and that's okay, because I don't have to stress about fancy carpets getting ruined by hoards of teenagers partying ;)

An old friend..

There's a girl I went to school with, whom I guess to anyone meeting her, would be seen as a middle aged mom of three. About a decade ago, her husband left her. He was a cad about it, and it hurt her a lot. But then, when does a marriage breakdown not hurt someone?

I guess the difference about this particular breakup was, she never got over it. She stayed so angry. Bumping into her used to be a nightmare, as she never had anything nice or jolly to share, only stories of what a terrible person he was, and how he had done her wrong.

I am ashamed to admit, I started avoiding her. I stopped calling, it was all just too depressing listening to her refusing to to put this man out of her mind and move forward with her life.

I thought about her just a few weeks ago, when I wondered about my own internal struggles. I feel exhausted, but at least I don't feel her anger, mine is more of a hopelessness. But I've always believed these unhappy feelings can't be good for us, it's like poisoning ourselves from the inside. It will all add up, and finish us.

For a lot of this year, I've wanted that. Just to go to sleep and not wake up. But it doesn't work like that.

Today I bumped into my old friend. She had been such a pretty woman, but I saw her and as I smiled, could only think to myself how worn and tired she looked.

I asked if she was well. The answer was no. She has cancer. Started as breast cancer, now it's in her liver, and lymph glands.

Not really a lot you can say when someone says that. I mumbled how sorry I was to hear, which is true. In fact I am brokenhearted. She deserved better. So much better. The girl I went to school with was happy and sweet, her life should have been too. But that girl faded away so long ago.

Life fucks us all. They say 'The good die young', maybe that's because the good can't cope with the pain of living.

Grey Sunday

I can't seem to get warm, and it's driving me bats :/

What I need is a steaming hot bath.... but as it will be weeks before the bathroom is sorted, I can't. And the shower is just not the same.

I have progressed with the Christmas pressies, in fact am probably over doing it now, and I am quite pleased with how everyone will do this year.

One thing that has taken a step back is my story idea for the NaNoWriMo, I kinda let the ideas slip away as other stuff crowded my thoughts and now... it all feels rather weak..arrrrgggghhh!!! Should make notes!!

I also heard from a friend yesterday, asking how I was. I replied, maybe a little too honestly - although at least things are getting more positive. But I haven't heard a thing back from her, so am wondering if I should start fibbing again, and just answer 'fine' in future *sigh*

Also the kids are now on half term break, heaven help me as their bickering is enough to make anyone lose their mind, and it's not like I have enough sanity left to spare.

I used to think the eldest never helped, but in fact his temper is just shorter than mine and he did manage to fend off the worst before I admitted defeat and resorted to shouting at the other three. At least he'll be home next Friday :)

One day at a time...

Yesterday I slipped. And - unusually - I don't mean 'I met the floor with a thump' type of thing.

I mean I slipped mentally.Back I went into my colourless pit, as I smiled through my day pretending I was just peachy. And I woke this morning feeling like the world could go to hell, again.

But I had to go out. Meet someone. And strangely, it really helped. Not going to detail the reasons why he made the difference, and I couldn't explain how as am not even sure, but I drove home cultivating the small glimmer of strength I felt.

And now..... well, for me, this is as good as it gets ('cos let's face it, I am not about to turn into Little Miss Perky!) I feel stronger again, I like feeling that I could say 'Fuck you!' to certain people (and yes, sadly that is how I judge my degree of strength these days, although it does NOT mean I would actually say that - hey, I am still *me*).

And to end on a positive note.... I have managed to sort about 60% of my story idea for NaNoWriMo, and am hoping the rest will formulate over the weekend; ...Christmas pressies have started arriving, so I am feeling downright organised! And I was sorta kissed last night, not what you'd call 'passionately' but more of kiss than I have experienced in a few years.

At this rate, I might be a grown up within a decade or two ^^

Wishing the months away

I am still wading through bathroom sites. Still trying to think up decent Christmas pressies for the kids. And I still haven't given enough thought to what my story will be about for NaNoWriMo.

In fact starting to fret about the NaNo thing, 'cos I don't like to fail, and am kinda thinking I might not manage it this year :/  But I'll worry about that tomorrow.

Today I am not going to worry about anything, as I finally seem to have let everything go. Well.... that's not really true, I can feel the undercurrents to my thoughts, making me aware of the date, making me think about things I shouldn't.

But I am getting better at directing my thoughts - although considering how I started this post you wouldn't know that! I guess what I mean is, I won't allow myself to dwell upon certain things. Which is downright amazing really. Been trying to do this for months and had no success, but at last it seems to have come to me. Now I just need it to last forever ^^

If I can get through this week without mentally tripping, then NaNo will start, and November will be gone in a blink. Then we're into December, which I bloody hate, but that's a whole different monster and regardless of how I feel about the month, it passes quickly.

Course January and February are hateful months, even in good years, but life changes rapidly sometimes, so maybe by then I will feel more whole and therefore able to cope  :)

Maybe I'll even finish the damn decorating !

Not sure what to make of him...

I don't trust my own judgement, not that it matters, but I am somewhat bemused by a call I got on Friday... but let me start at the beginning.

I ran the School uniform shop, on a voluntary basis for the past 3 years, and gave it up in July. You don't need to know the details, other than part of the job was doing the ordering, and so twice a year I met with a Supplier who came over from the UK.

He's a very nice chap, my age, charming, confident, but always made me feel at ease, tall, slim, nice blue eyes, etc. etc...

Well, when I last saw him in April he knew I had started to look for another mother to take over the job, but nevertheless we made our November appointment. Obviously I warned him, it may not be me who showed up. He then spent several minutes saying how sorry he was that I was giving the job up, and that he would miss our meetings. (Yeah right, 'cos discussing football socks and lengths of summer dresses is riveting stuff!) But it was sweet of him to be kind.

So then, at the end of the summer term, he sent me the usual email confirming our next appointment date. I replied saying that other moms were taking over and I was not sure it would be me he saw. He then came back saying what a shame that would be, and how he hoped I might be there anyway to show them how we do the ordering. I didn't respond back.

To be honest I was glad to get rid of the Uniform shop and have not looked back since others stepped in, as such I have no intention of doing anything more.When I handed over all the books, I stuck a note on that the Supplier had an appointment with them in November.

Then he called me on Friday - little earlier than usual, as he normally calls the week before the meet. When I explained I was no longer involved, instead of asking who he would now be meeting, he went on about how I had been a pleasure to deal with for the past 3 years.

He asked me what I was now doing with my time, if I was working etc, all very nicey nice conversation, then he suggested we meet up anyway. Ummmm... what? Why??

I didn't say that, I mumbled something about having his number and I would see how that week was going, but that he must surely be busy when here. He said he was, but that lunchtimes and evening were his own and he would find the time to get together. I again reiterated that I had his number, and told him he should call the school secretary to find out who he was having the meeting with. I got off the phone as quick as I could.

Now, here's the thing... I don't know what to make of it. To be honest it doesn't really matter what I make of it, as am not interested either way. But I am interested to know if I am being dim.... did he ask me out? A part of me is kinda flattered that he might have, another part of me is horrified that he might have.

Yep, this is how well I know my own mind right now. It just strikes me as odd that he would suggest that, especially as I wouldn't really call him a 'friend'. Is this how people get asked out these days? Or is this just the confusion of a middle aged lonely woman?

Wish I understood people better. Or maybe that would leave me even more confused *sigh*

Making Decisions

I am trying to stay away from FB, at least for now.

I still like it, and think it's the handiest way to stay in touch with people, but I find it too hard to deal with just now. Only a couple of those who followed the link and found this place might understand that. And not all my FB friends can see the link ;)

Sorry if that leaves you confused. But I can't really say more, as it's complicated and too big an issue to explain. But I know that I have to start doing 'smart' things for myself, and the biggest smart thing I can do is leave the past where it belongs. Of course it's ironic that I had this place long before I used FB, but I never shared this place, and doubt anyone would think to look for it now.

My strength is surprising me, but I need to watch my anger flashes as they burst upon me unexpectedly and I fear my foolishness at these times.

I have also found that the biggest thing I need to work, is forgiving myself. I can forgive others their failings, make excuses why some behave and treat others badly, but I betrayed myself. And that seems unforgivable right now.

But anyway... onward and upward!

I have decided (and already registered) to do the NaNoWriMo in November! I am really excited, and somewhat nervous..... I did complete it in both 2005 and 2006, but haven't written seriously for several years now *gulp*

But I do remember the sense of accomplishment I felt each time, and that's worth having again. But I also recall the time it took to manage it - I sure as heck won't have the time to dwell inside my own head during November if I give this a good shot. In fact won't have time for much other than writing!

 So, I'd better get organised! Am starting today, as I have to take P into town for new trainers (some may remember what that boy is like with shoes - and age hasn't improved him!), I will also start the Christmas shopping!!

The understanding

My days seem to be filled with thoughts at the moment.

That may sound odd, as it's not like we don't have thought whilst we get on with the hum drum of daily life, but at present my thoughts are consuming and my actions only the automatic responses to what is needed of me.

 I am healing, I am sure of that now. Largely thanks to my friends, both in real life and online (Tammy you're included in that, as one of your comments set off an uncomfortable set of thoughts which at least has brought me some realisation).

I talk to myself in my head a lot, probably too much, for a while this brought only circular arguments and self pity, but slowly I am answering my own questions. Not that I like the answers, but at least I am starting to understand things, and people.

And understanding brings peace, albeit I have to fight the desire to lash out at those I feel have let me down and hurt me so badly.

My argument against that is, it turns I have more strength than even I expected, and they..... have less.

And then the are those who have surprised me. The BH is one. I am hoping he doesn't read here anymore, but obviously he may think to look here again one day. The surprise about him, is that he is a better man than I ever realised. I can't claim things are easy or wonderful at this time, but he is good to me, and has more ammo than anyone else in this world and could take everything from me and destroy me - and yet chooses not to. Would I be as generous in his position? I don't know, which is humbling and probably yet another thing I need at this time.

Today is another 'clear' day - I keep a lot of them now, as I don't mix as well as I used to, and can never be sure whether I will have the strength to face people. I think I would have that strength today, but simply don't want to. I know some think my hermit like days are unhealthy, but I disagree, as I think liking time alone is healthy, and I prefer my own company these days.

So the tv will be on, the computer looked at occasionally, but in truth neither matter, as my day will spent in my head, gaining and shoring up the peace I am striving for :)

Little thing...

I feel more positive today, or at least less negative - which is a big step forward!

And my day was made better by a stranger. He really didn't do much, and it only took 3 seconds for him to step off the pavement and move the traffic bollard which was in front of my car, but his act of thoughtfulness (to help me pull the car out) meant so much to me.

I guess I have been living in a bubble lately, I don't venture out more than I have to, and I've sort of lost faith in people as a whole - but the fact this stranger did something for me, with nothing to gain, has really made my day.

I gave him a big smile and mouthed 'thank you'

And yes, I probably do need to get out more ;)

Surprises...

I spent some time here this morning, reading old posts. For most of it, I was envious of my old self, as I sounded happy... but then I stumbled upon a post in which I admitted I had broken down in real life.

It surprised me. As I don't recall being 'unhappy' as such, 7 years ago.

I am still utterly confused as to what to do to get out of my current funk, especially as I have been like this for so long now, it's pretty much a way of life. But I do want it to change.

Some changes are obvious to me. The children bring me happiness, so I am trying to be more 'aware' of them and the things happening in their lives (not easy as R is now at University, P has a busy social life and is either out or barricaded in his room, but I still have J and S for a lot of the time - although if I am honest, S can drive me up the wall and around the bend, as we are such different personalities. J is the one who brings me the greatest joy these days, and she is such a kind, sweet person, I feel lucky to know her, doubly so to be her mom).

And some people I need to keep out of my life and mind. Also not easy, as I miss them. But slowly and surely, I am forcing myself to realise they will never be there for me, and that they never really were. Hurts though.

And the BH. I have been making a conscious effort to think about life 25 years ago, how we met, and what it was I feel in love with.... this too brings mixed emotions ;) As he was never a romantic or sharing person, so sometimes I can end up irritated with myself that I let things drift, that should have been faced head on and therefore might maybe have saved all this confusion and hurt 25 years later.

But who knows....

Some of my friends think they know, and in fairness they have known me years, listening and watching me fall into my current mess.

Their verdict is: I expect too much of others.

They don't say it unkindly, and somewhat ironically these are the very people whom I feel I can never repay for their patience and kindness towards me. I definitely could not expect more of them.

They claim I am not 'getting it' though. That we are women (that being the most important point), and we have all been friends for years.

But I don't think it has anything to do with being women *sigh*, I mean I guess maybe years of being full time moms has made us similar, and therefore we can more quickly relate to a fellow moms gripe.

But the male / female divide thing.... bullshit. Some men are simply assholes, end of. And some women are bitches. In between, the rest of us just get misunderstood.

Luckily I don't think the BH is an asshole. And though I have bitchy moments, don't think I will ever be strong enough to be classed as a bitch.

And I think I am now starting to waffle. Still no clearer, still hoping for some amazing solution to my mess.

I do feel calmer though, writing out these thoughts. And I am glad hardly anyone comes here anymore. And that no one who does visit, comments. One day you'll have a fun post to read again.... promise x

wow

Really has been a while since I wrote here, which is a shame, as I used to enjoy having a good ol' moan here.

But these days, as much as a gripe & hearing advice, would do me the world of good, I just can't seem to get started.

I think part of it is, this blog is 'open' for any view, and am shy of that these days.

So if you visit & suddenly can't see anything, it'll be because I closed it to invites only. Sorry that sounds so snotty, but this place is still special to me, and if I can find a way to write again, I want it to be here. But you can always ask, can't be offended at that, now can I?

Thanks for reading, am bloody surprised anyone still does...

There goes the year...

Well nearly a year has passed..which makes me another year older, but I won’t dwell on that. Daren't.

In a lot of ways nothing has changed, life has trundled on as it has a habit of doing, but I suppose the changes were just gradual and with me not writing about them, I simply didn’t notice.

And writing is something I miss. If I had the time I like to think I’d still be writing, but I suppose I do have the time, just that other things are more appealing at the given moment...

I’m no longer working. I gave it up about a month ago. Maybe longer, I’m not sure as I’m not counting – which is bliss! Some of my friends thought I might get bored being a full time mom again, but I’ve never been the type of person who can’t find something to do!

So my days are now filled with cleaning, and painting the house. And a bit of that online game I mentioned last year, possibly even a ‘bit’ too much. But we each find ways of escaping, and that’s mine.

On the family front, the eldest lad R, is off to America this Christmas, on his own, to see his ex- girlfriend. And yes that’s a tale all of its own I may cover sometime...

The second son P, has started secondary school, is in the top group, and is getting As (who would have thought it possible?? Long may it last...) He re-sat the entrance exam to the other school he still wants to go to last Saturday, and –yet again- we sit here waiting to find out if he passed. And then, whether there will be a place for him

Eldest daughter J, is as beautiful as ever, still as confident and popular as ever, and I still wonder where she gets it from, cause it sure ain’t me!

And the youngest daughter S...well, heaven help us all, she’s a law unto herself. She doesn’t give a fig for school, other than it’s handy for socialising; always looked like she got dressed in the dark; and still sounds like a 3 year old with her high pitched squeaky voice (my mother says wants her to have elocution lessons ;))

Which brings us back to me. I gave up smoking at the start of the year. But I took up drinking instead – which frankly did nothing for me! Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean I turned into a demon when tipsy, in fact the kids adored me drinking as they said I was so much nicer....but I put on some weight. More than when I was pregnant! And I never stopped missing the cigarettes. So a couple of weeks ago, I swapped back. Now I smoke, and again don’t drink. I prefer it like this. And the weight is coming off fast :)

There really isn’t a lot more going on in my life these days. Oh..I’ve taken over the running of the school uniform shop – but that’s hardly great gossip or intriguing tales for here.

But who knows, maybe something interesting or funny will happen tomorrow...^^

A high note

So. I’m 40. Bloody hell that’s always sounded old.

Still, I guess there are worse things, like 50.

I had a nice day, can’t say ‘great’ as I was at work and seriously stressed for most of it. But the day ended well.

You remember my friend Cass? The one I went to London with at the last minute to see Aerosmith? She spoilt me rotten!

She’d taken this dreadful photo of us that night, huiddled together in the midst of crowd, and so she enlarged my face (way too close!!) and put it on the front of a card, with the words:

What is the definition of a good friend?

Inside was:

Someone who stands outside in the pouring rain for 5 hours to watch a rock band they have never heard of!!

That card is the funniest, nicest, birthday card I have ever received! And I laughed like a drain!!

And she wasn’t finished there; I got a couple of things, but most excitingly a night away with her in January! We’re staying a posh hotel/spa place for a ‘girly’ night – with everything thrown in!

She spoils me, and makes me feel very special. And I’m bloody glad she’s still my best mate after 25 years!

I received other lovely things too, but that was the most personal gift, the one I’ll remember first.

My parents also came back to the UK for my birthday – which I feel downright guilty about. So sweet they did, but I worked all day and only saw them for an hour. They head back to South Africa on Friday, till March, so even an hour was nice.

The final tidbit of my birthday was hearing from the School P wants to go to (& failed the exam for). They weren’t returning my calls, and I hate to be a nuisance to people and call repeatedly, so at the weekend I wrote a letter. I just said P didn’t want to give up, was going to have some extra English lessons, and would dearly like to be considered to be allowed to sit the exam again, if and when a place becomes available.

Obviously there’re no places just now, but the lady in charge of admissions called last night to say that P was on her mind, and that she’s impressed with his attitude, and will keep him in mind as and when the opportunity presents itself.

She’s a lovely lady, and even if nothing happens for a year or two, she made me feel like she really will be in contact as and when she could.

A slither of hope is enough to make me smile. Time will tell of course, but a small hope is more than I had last week!

And the kids are dropping like flies! The two boys were both ill at school yesterday, both told by teachers to come home, both refused giving the reason that they’re having time off shortly, and can’t afford more.

Awwww, my boys! But I did tell them off – pointed out the schools don’t want them when they’re sick!

And speaking of schools, quick update on my big confession….. P’s headmaster called me on Monday morning.

Told me not to be embarrassed about this event, said he knows it happens, and that the only difference is *I* can’t seem to be dishonest. He was very forgiving.

Even said he didn’t want the letter to go on Ps file, and would I write a one line letter asking for time off, so that he could destroy the original letter.

I feel he’s being very kind and generous with me. And I’m grateful more than he’ll ever realise.

The girls headmistress…well, I haven’t heard from her. And after discussing the situation yesterday with another mother who went head to head with this woman – I don’t think I shall.

She cannot make an exception for us. Even with my big confessional.

But then, she hasn’t called or asked to see me, or written a letter…..yet. I’m still biting my nails but figure, that maybe, in her own way, not responding is the most generous thing she can do for me just now.

And I’ve done my bit, confessing all. There’s nothing more I can do.

And now I must bid you all farewell until 2009, as I want to be at work for 7…..must dash!


Have a super Christmas :)