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I actually started writing this post yesterday, during the midst of a pretty crazy day. I’ve wondered about deleting it or perhaps editing it a little, as it’s a bit disjointed…actually it’s all over the place but I think I’m going to leave it alone as the whole point of my doing this blogging thingy, is about being as honest as I can with myself. 

So here we go;


Well today has not gone to plan at all. I’m currently laying in a hospital bed, after completely making an ass of myself. 

I pootled in for a quick, heart trace at the pacemaker clinic, to check on a few, weird pacing rhythms, I had noticed on my pacemaker (I’m battery operated by the way…no remote control or reversing sensors though…blue tooth and a charging port would also be awesome, optional extras but technology hasn’t quite caught up yet! Haha).

Whilst waiting for my results, (it turns out I’ve developed and extra heart beat but nothing exciting) my doctor pops in, asking if we could have a little catch up chat and like a numpty, I stand up too quickly and before he has finished saying, “do you want to…” face planted, right onto the middle of the surgery floor, in front of the entire waiting room and my daughter, Elizabeth!!! Errghhh.

That in itself wasn’t too bad, (I’d done worse) I slowly came to, felt like a bit of a twonk for a minute or two but apart from a bit of schlumpyness (paralysis) on the left side, a mild headache, bruised body parts and slightly tender ego, no real harm was done. 

So we all sit around for a little bit, have lovely cup of tea (bless the nhs) and waited for my system to reboot itself. Eventually I was deemed fit enough to go, plopped into a wheelchair and was slowly being escorted back towards the exit and the car, when my body take a nose dive and decides to go full, zombie melt down!?!?!?!? 

That’s right…I did it, in front of the entire hospital main entrance.

I completely lost consciousness in my wheelchair, went full system shut down and proceeded to dribble, sag, head and eye roll in the middle of the bustling corridor, startling a confused team of passers by (doctors and medical peeps) into reaction, whilst they try to work out what the hell is going on. I come too, to find, 3 doctors staring at me, a couple of bodies holding my legs aloft in the air (it may have been nurses…not too sure), I think someone was also supporting my floppy head (as I went full tetraplegic (complete body) paralysis on them) and some other random individuals (I hope we’re doctors but could equally have Mr Jones from the hospital newspaper stand) tapping and poking me, mentioning things like, epileptic fit or stoke or I think this is Pots but I’ve never seen it before and other awooga  sounding, buzz words (I’m not epileptic by the way, neither has it ever been a stroke. Instead it’s just all part of the magical show, we fondly call, Doris syndrome). Thankfully my awesome doctor…who I shall now rename (for confidentiality purposes) Dr Awesome, reappeared in the crowd of flapping medics, looked at me, looked at the confused team, sighed, then parting the crowd, took my floppy hand into his and says, ‘have you gone full tetra on me Katherine?” I sniff out a tear and some slurry, incoherent confirmation, to which he smiles, squeezes my hand and then says, “right you lot, follow me, we need to get her into the ward, lying down, so her body has a chance to sort this mess out.” And they all did. 

They wheeled me down to Dr Awesomes ward (poor bloke, still supporting my head all the while, muttering something about his pedometer potentially losing his steps if he goes backwards???) and plops me down onto the nearest available bed…via a hoist (someone made a comment, that I should just imagine I was in a hammock, on a beach somewhere, minus the cocktail…but believe me…i felt more like the soggy contents of a giant, discarded nappy). Meanwhile my daughter and Hamish have been informed that I am now, not coming home, as originally planned but may instead need a little more rest, before we are allowed to attempt another escape.

So there we are, all stuck in a hospital room, waiting for my body to begin behaving reasonably again. My poor little Doodles (Elizabeth) is trying to make the best of floppy mummy and climbs onto the hospital bed to have cuddles and to remind me that she loves me lots and she would really like it, if I could start working again soon, then we can all go home and she can look after me properly (sniff, small crumbling, heartbreak as her small, well meaning words, stab into my heart of uselessness!!! Bleugh).

It’s funny, whilst I attempt to write this, I find that I have to keep putting my phone down (it would appear, that I really don’t find this easy to talk about at all. I wonder if I was to read this post back, if I would notice any changes to the way In which I describe these events, versus my writing style for the less traumatic aspects of my life. I think It’s more narrative, which leads me to wonder, if its because I’m disassociating with myself and this event as it unfolds. Im learning that I can write with full authenticity,  on most other topics but I seem to really struggle discussing the subjects,  that impact upon, my sense of self worth. I started this blog to help me uncover my true voice, to write with full authenticity and transparency but it turns out that although great in theory…pretty torturous in practice. I am not enjoying this at all right not but I guess I can only keep moving forward and hope that it makes sense at the end.

So here I currently am. Waiting in my hospital room for my husband to come and rescue me. My daughter and Hamish have long gone, although Doidles wouldn’t leave until she spoken to her Daddy on the phone and making Richard promise, that he wouldn’t  return home without me and she is going to wait in our bed until we get back…Hamish has just text to say she is currently fast asleep amongst our sheets 😢💕💕💕. 

The hospital has agreed not to keep me, because Dr Awesome has told them, I’m safer at home and with Richard but I still have to wait now for him to get back from his sailing trip (9.30pm) before he can take over and spring me. This completely sucks and I can honestly say it’s probably the most vulnerable that I have felt in a very longtime. What is starting to dawn on me, is how incredibly dependent I have become upon others. How did I not notice??? The thing is, most of the time I would say my life is pretty fantastic. I have a great time, tough days for sure but over all, life with my gang, is pretty epic. But it appears that I may have been living in a bit of a bubble. As a team, we have become so ace at managing and manipulating our lives, to encompass and compensate for all of my health defects, it has enabled me to play a bit of make believe with my condition and it’s impact upon all of us. I had somehow managed to forgot what a bloody mess I actually am. ☹️

If Richard, Hamish or one of my close friends or family are not around, I’m potentially screwed. During a full blown Zombie attack, it turns out that Joe public has no idea what the hell is going on with me, let alone what to do with me or afterwards and I won’t lie but I feel a bit shaken. I don’t like it.

Example of such dependency goes as follows; so whilst now trapped in hospital, I end up needing a wee (as you do) and asked the lovely male nurse if he would mind asking someone to come and help me but I wasn’t in a major rush, so sometime over the next half hour would be great. Over an hour passes by, Hamish and a tearful Doodles have long gone and its now just me by myself in my room, however although I know each room has a nurse buzzer (for just such an occasion) and it’s definitely somewhere, yet no where to be actually seen or utilised. I am now bursting for a wee but still paralysed, stuck in bed with an attached cannula , and no way of contacting anyone to say that I need help. Thirsty but with a drink that I could only look at and not touch and nothing to do accept to focus upon how pants my body is starting to feel, staring at the one token picture on the wall (its a bush by the way), whilst trying not to pee myself (I am aware that all of this is first world problem stuff and nothing compared to the suffering that other people are enduring everyday in the world but in my little own selfish orbit…) this sucked!!!!! Eventually help arrives, dressed up as some lovely cleaning man, who popped his head round to empty my unused bin, the nurse is located and finely I can wee…woohoo…it’s the small things 😂 Honestly it turned out to be something out of a bleeding Carry on film. 

Nursing instruction for toileting bed bound patients:

Take one very full bladder, in a mostly paralysed body, attempt to strip bottom half of body (whilst forgetting to pull dignity curtain around said naked body, so every man, nurse, doctor and side kick can see your furry bits should they choose to be so inclined).

Roll naked bum back and forth to balance upon cardboard, hat shaped, dish thingy and place strategically.

Leave patient to piddle for 5 minutes, whilst talking to patient about ones lost cat (ignoring patients concerns over the potential, over flowing of said, cardboard hat).

Proceed to attempt to fix dignity curtain, after further patient protests at been left on full glorious display and then systematically, pull entire curtain down, so  now. rest of ward can now see patient piddling, into now, overflowing cardboard hat. 

Make lots of exclamations and apologies and ho ho ho noises then re attach curtain. 

Acknowledge cardboard hat has indeed overflowed and now patient is covered in their own urine and decide to ‘pop out’ for a minute or two, to get some clean sheets.

Leave patients bum to marinade in cardboard hat of urine for approximately 10 minutes. 

Come back and apologise, that one got a little side tracked before accidentally splashing, urine, filled hat, over patient.

Strip patient fully, removing the now soggy clothing. Accidentally knock  patients cannula out of patient and sprinkle blood (about 2 tsps)  over clothes, scrunch into a ball and soak in plastic bag overnight.

Acknowledge it’s all a bit funny and question whether or not patient is now a little bit chilly, sitting butt naked in the bed, with an open curtain for 5 minutes more, before fetching an attractive, medieval gown for patients modesty.

Tuck patient back into bed, leave buzzer in reach but ditch the broken modesty curtain onto the floor, and leave quickly in search of someone to fix that.

Once job is completed, remember to never return to scene of crime, ever.

hey ho…it was an experience 😊 

If I’m completely honest, we were giggling our way through the majority of the experience. Some of that is an old defence strategy for embarrassment but it was funny and despite my mocking and trauma, the nurse was lovely and really was trying her best.

Anyway, Richard did eventually come and I was released back into the world and was tucked up (after gently booting my daughter out) by midnight that same day.

And life is going on. There’s been a few fall outs from it. Richard was a bit cross that we didn’t do a better job of managing my health and that we didn’t choose to be more proactive in order to prevent the situation from unfolding. Before you grab your pitch forks, Richard is the most supportive human being, I have ever met in the entire world and he genuinely always has my back but he does view my management of my condition, sometimes as a bit of a back seat driver and in his opinion, he believes we should have taken my wheelchair to the appointment in the first place (thus avoiding the whole standing up, falling down incident) and I understand his point (however we didn’t think it would fit in Hamish’s midget car, along with Doodles). I also didn’t wear the medical bracelet he has purchased for me (which would have been useful during the zombie apocalypse) and it would spores that maybe I have become a wee bit complacent in the management of my health, I perhaps a tiny bit dependent upon others to keep me safe. I have some exploring to do on that one and I do feel that perhaps I am in need of an out dated responsibility check but that’s too much for this post.

Up shot is…I’m okay. Shaken, embarrassed and sore. I feel sad that Elizabeth was mixed up in this one but as she said to all the doctors, “ oh don’t worry about me, mummy does this all the time at hone, usually when she’s running around like a headless chicken,” grinning smile on her cheeky face. God love her.

I’m sure there is lots more to say in this but not now…

Time to sleep, cry and have a bath to soak off the urine…hmm lovely x

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