A Life Not Quite Perplexed

And today shall be called, “let me check I didn’t pee myself”, day.

by Penbleth on Wednesday 22 February, 2012

Before you start worrying I don’t generally have a continence issue. One does know to be careful about such things, thankyouverymuch.

Today was venogram day, that special day when they looked at the veins in my brain because I’m too old to have my condition. I can’t decide if that just might be a good thing. Perhaps it’s a sign that in fact I haven’t aged and these last 14 years have not been counted against my allotted span. I doubt it though. According to Hub there was some other condition mentioned that I might have, it must be horrendous because clearly I have blanked it. Today’s CT to check my brain veins is supposed to be just to rule out the possibility of those being an issue.

The letter booking the appointment told me to refrain from food for three hours prior to the scan. Of course I took that as a signal I would have to choke down some ghastly elixir and promptly barf all over the clinic.

Apparently not.

They opted for an injection instead.

That seemed much more civilised till the blokie got me lying on the CT bed.

“Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

“No thanks.”

He chuckled.

“Have they told you about the injection?”

“No.”

“Right. Well, it comes from the drip, through the venflon and you’ll feel it go up your arm and in to you.”

“OK.”

“It will make you warm and flushed. Your face will go red.”

I thought, well, that’s alright, it’s in the scan thing anyway.

“It will go right down to your toes.”

OK, also alright, I thought, I’m dressed, no turning bright red like a beacon for me.

“Um … down below … it will make you warm.”

What?

How warm? What sort of warm? I didn’t sign up for embarrassing experiences on the CT bed, that’s a whole different show.

“It will make you think you’ve wet yourself.”

“WHAT?”

“Just THINK. Nothing will happen?”

“Are you sure? Because now you’ve mentioned it I need to go.”

“You’ll be alright, it’s just a feeling.”

Easy for him to say.

So, there I lie, head strapped in place, chin tucked in, hair tucked in so it doesn’t get sucked in to the gubbins of the machine and now I have to add in mad Kegel skills to the whole lie still and think of England scenario.

When it ended he asked if I felt like I could wee. Oh yes.

I don’t think I’ve ever sat up so fast or checked myself not at all surreptitiously. He got a laugh out of it.

I got yet another weird day to add to the collection.

{ 0 comments }

This time let’s go with what I DON’T want.

by Penbleth on Friday 17 February, 2012

It’s respite weekend again. Last time I said I wanted to go out and I did – like a light and then to hospital. I don’t recommend it.

This time I’m changing tack, so here’s a list of what I DON’T want.

1. I don’t want 13 to be sick.

2. I don’t want to blackout or be in any other way incapacitated.

3. I don’t want to go to hospital.

4. I don’t want anyone else to be sick.

5. I don’t want snow, or hail or driving rain or any other sort of horrid weather.

I thought I’d better be specific this time. Sometimes you just need to be clear on the negatives.

I DO want to get out of the house. I DO want to do something. I DO know that by the time I get home from work I will probably have changed my mind.

Bring on the longer days when the desire to stay ensconced inside gives way to great desire to be out in the evening.

{ 1 comment }

Pink roses.

by Penbleth on Tuesday 14 February, 2012

Amongst other things Hub bought me a dozen pink roses tonight. As he reached them to me and I bent my head to look more closely and sniff their elusive scent I asked him, “do you remember the first time you bought me pink roses?”

It was my 21st birthday. We had come back from uni. for the Christmas break, the first Christmas Hub spent away from his family, he was 20. He had bought me a locket in Cardiff in advance, we had chosen it together and it was duly handed over the morning of my birthday. Around lunchtime he announced he was going in to town on his own and no, he didn’t want company.

He returned a little later with a card and a dozen pink roses. They were a slightly darker pink than today’s, with a smaller flower but they were lovely.

“I deliberately didn’t want to get red”, he announced, “everyone gets red, the pink are much nicer.”

My mother had to see the card that went with them. She cried. I cried. Hub was his usual self, “I take it that means you like them.”

I think my mother would have married him herself if she hadn’t already been married. She wouldn’t have been worried about the age difference. She informed me these were the greatest things ever, for once I agreed with her.

I know the roses grown for cut flowers don’t have much scent, they don’t last more than a few days, they aren’t the same as some of the glorious specimens you can grow in your garden but my birthday is two days before Christmas and in the Northern Hemisphere that is not rose weather, neither is Valentine’s Day.

So for a rare time a sappy post from me to him. Thank you sweetheart, I will never not love receiving flowers, especially pink roses.

{ 1 comment }

Don’t say it too loudly but … she sleeps.

by Penbleth on Monday 13 February, 2012

A year or so ago someone told me that there was just a chance that when my youngest hit puberty her sleeping would improve. It was more a case of, “I want to believe”, than actually buying the whole message.

I’ve been there before, hoping, counting on what someone more experienced, often medically trained was telling me to point towards a more hopeful future. Mostly it went the opposite way. If it was possible for only one person to have the worst case scenario, that one person would be our daughter.

This one however, so far, has proved true. For the last MANY months she has slept. I take her to bed in the evening, tell her to jump in and go to sleep and in moments she is out of it.

It’s WONDERFUL.

In the mornings she will often lie till we wake her.

Unheard of.

I won’t look to the future to ask how long it might last, I’m taking it and enjoying it. My daughter is happier, more rested, more settled, more centred. She’s easier to live with, she seems to understand more of what I say to her and is a LITTLE more reasonable. Not all the time but a significant proportion of it.

Life is much more pleasant for everyone.

I didn’t think it would happen, it could still go back to how it was but right now it’s pretty good.

{ 2 comments }

Not out, not yet anyway.

by Penbleth on Sunday 12 February, 2012

The last time I was really sick and had the numbness down my side I was out of action for months, thank goodness it’s not so bad this time. How do I know? I’ve started to think about getting out the big girl camera again and trying to take some pictures instead of endless Instagrams of my tea.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the Instagram. Unlike Lee Evans’s mocking of people taking pictures on their cameras and then not knowing what to do with them I have ENDLESS outlets for showing the world the latest way the rain is falling in South Wales or how to arrange a piece of salmon on a plate. It’s all fascinating stuff, folks. OK, perhaps not really but if everyone else is doing it Heaven forbid I wouldn’t be in the middle doing the same. Why yes, I am a lemming, thank you for noticing.

This week I was inundated with sons. 21 popped home for a visit on Thursday and hadn’t long left when 19 walked in through the back door. A few years ago we had the doors replaced and I STILL haven’t got round to getting extra keys cut, so only he and I have a key for the backdoor. As châtelaine of Tŷ Penbleth only I have the full set.

There’s something lovely about hearing the key turn in the back door. I know it can only be 19, or a very neat burglar but I try not to think about that. I will admit to a sad little lift of spirits when the kids return home. They all add something, for 19 it’s music. And pedals this time but I won’t think about that either.

Then sometimes he brings down the Fender minus the amp and plays for us.

This was your pathetically motherly post from a woman who has adult children, the ultimate oxymoron.

{ 1 comment }

← Previous Entries