Tag Archives: hospital

The Calm

Well its been nine months and five days since I slipped a disc in my lower back (don’t worry this is going to be a relatively short post). It’s been 48 hours since my neurosurgery which has removed the disc and released the trapped nerve that has caused me so much pain. I am back on my feet although still walking like I’ve crapped myself but my leg is feeling amazing!

I’ve got an awesome tale to tell you about my short time at the RVI Newcastle and the hilarious patients I shared a ward with, but for the time being I need to chill out and heal.

Take care of yourselves and each other.

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Happy Thoughts

If you’ve ever had a general anaesthetic you’ll know all about lying on a hospital bed left to stare at green tiled walls and strip lighting, occasionally you catch a glimpse of medical people who bob in and out of your line of vision, the anaesthetist chats away as he prepares the drugs that whisk you away for how ever long is necessary and you wake up from a glorious sleep when all the messy stuff is over. This amazing feat of medical science is dependant on many things, mainly skilled staff and amazing technology but there is also one very important ingredient; happy thoughts.

Happy or demented, you decide.

Happy or demented, you decide.

Like a magician the anaesthetist will engage you in conversation, effortlessly finding a positive topic that will elicit a torrent of lovely memories while they are pumping you full of sleep inducing drugs that make the majority of surgery possible. I’m told that if you think happy thoughts whilst being anaesthetised you are likely to enjoy a restful sleep, however if you were to think about an episode of The Walking Dead (mmm Andrew Lincoln) there is a chance you will wake up during surgery! Eeeek.

It took no time at all to find out that awareness during surgery or ‘waking-up’ is simply due to not enough anaesthetic being administered with most patients falling back to sleep very shortly afterwards. I thought it might be better to be prepared so I have a long list of lovely things I want to think about while the neurosurgeon goes to town on my knackered vertebrae. I already know that when it comes to the crunch (not wire) I will be thinking about the evening when I was so ill I couldn’t move from the sofa, my back was in pieces, my stomach had decided it was allergic to everything and Geordie bored to tears with my moaning about it. That’s when my 7-year-old daughter decided to camp out next to me on sofa cushions, her duvet and the sheer determinations that she wouldn’t let go of my hand all night. If you only you could get love like that on prescription!

 

 

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When I Grow Up

It’s Sunday again, officially the start of the week, to me it represents the end of the weekend, kids go back to school, Geordie goes back to work and I go back to well….writing the blog! I’m definitely ready to go back to work now and my baby is ready to join nursery. I’ve been very lucky and managed to have 16 months off work from just before my youngest was born, although surviving on one wage has been a real challenge.

When I was 5 my primary teacher asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I know this because I still have my work book from Mrs Gallagher’s class of ’88 and look at it now and then to critique my hand writing. I answered the question and drew accompanying illustrations of my career aspirations; a hairdresser, a nurse or a waitress. When I ask my little one the same question now her answers are teacher, shop keeper or hairdresser, what is it about lopping off other people’s hair that we find so attractive? Weird.

I’m asking myself that same question again now (for those trying to do the maths that 25 years later) I have had a lot of jobs over the last 13 years. I started my journey into the world of paid employment aged 17 for the local police authority, within four months I was greedy for the money and went from 2 hours a day after college to 40 hours a week and spending my wages within minutes of them hitting my bank account. I’ve just made a quick list and to date I have fulfilled the following roles;

Cleaner, catering assistant, telephonist, receptionist, sales assistant, project manager, administrator, office manager, estate manager, PA and Mum. I can honestly say that working as a hospital ward cleaner was easily the worst to bear. My favourite role so far was working for Puma, however that was purely down to working with an amazing retail manager and a fab bunch of people who made every shift comical.

If I was starting all over again and about to embark on my first foray into the world of work (providing I could find a job in the current economic climate) what would I want to do? Well ideally I’d like to be a published writer sitting day after day in my studio typing my next best-seller, although I think I would really miss having company. Maybe publishing? I could while away the hours reading manuscripts and losing myself plots and characters until 5pm on weekdays very easily, now that sounds like the job for me. Another variation on the books/reading theme would be a librarian but I think with a mouth as big as mine and with such a love of talking I would be getting my p45 quicker than I anticipated! I know I’ll have to grow up properly at some point and most likely stick to a job that I don’t really like but pays the bills and means we can go on holiday, however I’m hoping to knock out a best-seller before I succumb to that fate.

Have you ever known anyone who moans about not having to go to work? I know its absurd isn’t it? Well I will make you this promise, when I go back to work in the New Year I will not dare to moan even once about how long the hours are or how the daily commute is hell or how that woman in HR has definitely got it in for me. Nope not once. Promise.

NaBloPoMo

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The Climb

I think I am actually starting to lose my marbles you know!? I can hear the voice inside my head (It has a Scottish accent?) telling me that I’m not actually in control of anything that’s going on in my life. Let’s start at the beginning…

My kids decide what time I get up, usually pre-6am thanks to their unforgiving skill of making it through the day unscathed on less than 7 hours sleep. Geordie needs a high protein lunch ready for work by 7:15am. Yes, he can do this himself but as he will ask me every minute detail about what he needs to do (What can I have tuna with? How long does pasta take? How do I cook porridge?) it’s easier to just do it myself. The kids/monsters must be fed before 8am, similar repercussions of a Gremlin if this timetable is overlooked, the dog needs to be fed and walked and all of this is before 9am. Somewhere within all the chaos I should eat something, shower, get dressed and breathe.

Postman Pat

Postman Pat (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Tomorrow is going to be different, I am having a day all to myself. I am going for a consultation with a surgeon/magician who is going to fix my back once and for all. This is going to be a monumental day for me and my 7 month relationship with my broken spinal disc, he’s totally getting me down, suffocating my hopes and dreams so I’m calling it off. Ordinarily Geordie would drive me to the hospital which is about 50 minutes away, however I am going to take the Postman Pat bus that takes….wait for it……2 hours 14 minutes to get even close to the hospital. I will see the lovely surgeon/wizard and then happily skip back down to the bus stop and take the return journey through the wandering dry stone walled lanes of deepest darkest Cumbria, arriving home way past dinner time.

I need to switch off from being a wife/mum, most of the time just half an hour to sit and watch Eastenders or walk the dog with my ipod set to ‘blaring’ without thinking about changing the baby, or washing uniforms, is enough for me. I absolutely adore my girls and Geordie but I don’t think I would be human if I didn’t need some Me time just a couple of times a month? My friend Caz throws all her energies into Boxercise and climbing bloody big mountains as her way of chilling out from her busy schedule to a mum of four. Another friend dedicates one evening a week to staring at naked people, oh sorry I mean life drawing classes (Which involves staring at naked people) and reliably informs me she strolls home feeling thoroughly relaxed and much more confident about her aging body shape!

So in short, I have decided to sit on a public bus for approximately four hours tomorrow for the sake of being left well alone with my ipod, my kindle and a packet of Minstrels that I’ve managed to hide from Geordie for the last three days behind the biscuit tin in the cupboard. Can I get a whoop?

 

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