Hang Over

I've had a bit of a "low" spell recently, as I think I may have mentioned in my post on quitting sugar. This week has been a terrible week for trying to get over said low spell, involving various different people in various different areas of my life getting ill or stressy or whatever. I've been tossing and turning all night and it's been difficult to drag any kind of motivation out of the depths of my...motivational storing device. Whatever/wherever that is.

Still, despite feeling so blue and lacking in motivation, I've managed to lose 8 pounds since I decided to give up sugar. 8 pounds! That kind of weight only ever comes off me after long and arduous ammounts of dieting and workouts. Yet here I am, just over a week of no sugar and 8 pounds lighter! Perhaps there's something to be said about the effects of sugar on women with PCOS.

Still, I'm a little dubious as to whether I'll be able to record such a loss come official weigh in on Monday. My lovely doctor and a psychiatrist from the crisis team have had a head to head with the lovely therapists I'm going to see in 3 months time (or however long the waiting list is...) and the crazy people nurse I saw and decided to change up my meds. I can't tell you how excited I was about this, I've been told it can be a great starting point when you hit a brick wall. Mirtazapine was prescribed and went skipping away happy. Almost.

I read the long list of side effects. Drowsiness...increased appetite and with it weight gain...dizzyness...to be brutally honest with you, nothing unusual from an anti depressant. I can officially say, however, that after one pill (taken over 24 hours ago) I'm only just starting to feel hung over. After a relatively restless (but better than normal) sleep last night I've spent the entire day feeling....to tell you the truth....as if I've just smoked a big, fat, juicy spliff. Complete with the munchies. Oh the munchies.

I've decimated our supply of snack a jacks, demolished a weeks worth of cream cheese, shovelled down a chinese takeout (normally, I cannot finish them) polished off the ryvita, and then I made Ben take me to Bargain Booze (or rather, I was going  and he couldn't stop me but he didn't want me going on my own in case I passed out in the street) for pepsi, chocolate and wine gums (I must have looked like a stoner on a munchies run, but that's ok, I pretty much blended in to the local populace). At one point I even tried to eat a coconut, which I got in the shopping to try out later this week as part of my sugar free food experiment, and ended up losing the half I was trying to prepare after my mum called. I still haven't found it. I hope I don't stumble upon a half rotten half a coconut later this week...

I've decided not to take any more Mirtazapine. I think a combination of some wierd reaction and sugar starvation turned me into some kind of crazy stoned munchy beast. That aside, I was so out of it I couldn't go on my scheduled run, start my 30 day shred or go to a party I was really looking forward to (and since, hunting trip for choccy aside I spent most of the evening passed out accross Ben's lap, that was probably for the best) which has bummed me out and pissed me off severely, however funny the effects might be if seen from a certain angle. I'm only just feeling like I'm "coming round" and it feels like a hangover. I'll discuss what's gone on with the doctor when I see her on Thursday. Until then, I really hope I haven't scuppered my efforts too much, and back to sugar free as of....now!

Doctor! Doctor!

I was feeling pretty anxious about my doctors appointment. I'd only seen Doctor Keyser once before, in the same situation granted, and he'd been nothing but kind and understanding. But he's a hard little man. He speaks with an almost flawless British accent, yet he is so bluntly German. His eyes are like little hard rocks behind his perfectly round, gold framed glasses. If he wasn't so tiny, standing at no more than five foot one, one could easily mistake him for Nick Robinson going grey. Whereas my usual GP is a younger, softer, charmismatic and personable young woman, Dr Keyser invokes memories of being dragged to the doctor by mother and being scrutinised from every angle by someone who to your feeble childs mind is like a cross between your headmaster, and God.

The buzzer called me in. Don't worry, I calm myself, it's just a quick in and out, he can read your notes after all. He greets me as he's leaving his room.

"Ah, Miss Myatt!" he exclaims. I don't know why the surgery never changed my title along with my name when I got married, "if you could just come in, has the receptionist told you about the student doctor today? Good good! Well he will examine you and take down your notes, and then I will come and check to see that everything is ok. Good? Good!"

The student doctor in question was a young south eastern asian man. At first I groaned inwardly; all other times I've been told there was a student doctor in, it was whilst they observed, never unsupervised. He had a kindly enough face, but he seemed so fresh and, well, undoctorly, I wondered what it was he would say.

"I came here just under a month ago," I explained, "I have a history of depression and I had been suffering with some of the symptoms for a couple of months so I came back before they could get any worse, and the doctor prescribed me my usual...now I'm nearly out and I need some more..."

He looked at me strangely. I wondered what his experience with mental health issues was. I was soon to find out.

He asked how I was feeling. On top of the world, I told him, for about a week or so I've been feeling just brilliant. Whether that is the pills or Christmas and the promise of seeing my whole family and the wonderful new years celebrations that are planned I don't know. Perhaps those months of feeling blue were just a minor blip.

He asked if I wanted to come off the pills...I asked if this was advisable...after years of being on and off them in one form or another I know the standard course is 6 months. He said it was just strange; usually with anti depressants they take weeks if not months to kick in, he explains. I say yes, indeed, I know this, this is all an old game to me, but today I am feeling on top of the world, on bad days I'm inconsolable.

He goes through my symptoms, past and present, and he seems perplexed. We've been in for a good five or ten minutes and he mumbles something about being unable to write me a prescription; we'll have to wait for Doctor Keyser. I presume he will be back soon.

Then the extraordinarily unprofessional happens. He tells me he just doesn't understand depression. I ask, what exactly do you mean by that. He says he cannot comprehend. He asks what I mean by "when I'm down I just can't face the world". He says that to him he wakes up on a morning, and then he wants to get out of bed and get on with his day. He doesn't say this in an accusatory way, more in an inquisitive way. I explain that, for me, all logical thought goes out of the window. When you feel like everything is against you, why bother to do anything? Why fight a loosing battle when you may as well just curl up and die?

He asks if I've had thoughts of dieing. I explain that, yes, I did when I came to see the doctor a month ago, and thats what triggered me to seek help, before I let it go to far. He asks if I've harmed myself. I say no. What about in the past? It's difficult to talk about, so I just show him the scars on my arm instead. He seems repulsed.

Then the conversation takes an even stranger turn. He asks "what about religion? Does that help?"

I'm perplexed. He seems to be reading from my notes, but I do not recall ever disclosing anything to do with faith to any doctor here. I tell him that whilst I'm Catholic, on down days God is far from my mind. Indeed, on really bad days one begins to doubt His existence at all.

He begins to explain that he's from a Christian family himself, but it's so difficult. He believes in God but he's not sure about religion. He wants to live life his own way, not prescribed by the church. He wishes to be the master of his own destiny, but he cannot deny that he knows God is there.

"I believe we'll never really know what God wants," I say. He confides that when doing devotionals, sometimes he will read a passage in the Bible which is spot on, and relates to exactly how he is feeling that day. He confides that his friends think he is mad for this, that he must be twisting the words to mean what he wants it to mean, and I suggest that as a trainee doctor he must be surrounded by many scientifically minded folk. He says yeah, and then says, "but it can't just be coincidence, can it?" I say "There's much wisdom in the word. It may be written by God or it may be written by man, but it didn't just appear from no where." He sits in silence for a while, nodding, in deep thought.

"I'm so sorry...I have no idea why I'm telling you all this..."

I get that a lot from people. That's why I'm pursuing counseling as a career.

He realises that he's really crossed the line by this point, but I assure him I don't mind, and besides, religion and theology are passions of mine. He goes back to my notes and asks what I mean about having a history of depression. I go through the whole sorry tale from the first time I harmed myself in sixth form college to the day I quit university. He was suprised to find Id studied a science subject. I wonder if I really come accross as that dumb these days. He asks is there anything I do to try and help myself, and asks if it's possible to try and make yourself "snap out of it".

I tell him no, it really isn't, sometimes you can try and get on with things, sometimes you can't. He reaffirms that he finds it so difficult to relate to mental health issues because he's never had any experience aside from in the classroom. By this point he's perusing my medical notes. Why did you have an ultrasound on your liver? How is your asthma these days? Why aren't you on medication for your PCOS?

The PCOS strikes up a whole new area of discussion. I explain I'm not on any medication because I'm trying for a family so I'm trying to lose weight. He asks how it's going and I explain it's been difficult the past couple of weeks, but Im still going to the gym and I'm loving it. As it turns out he's a real gym enthusiast and we get to talking about our work out routines. He's suprised to know I love the weights. He confides that he never used to do weights, but today he turned 25 and he's determined to get a six pack before he's 30. I wish him a happy birthday, he says thanks, he wishes he was at home in Malaysia with his family. He says I should visit Malaysia, it would do me good as it's always sunny and my depression is obviously seasonal.

By this point we've been sat talking about everything and nothing for almost an hour. Doctor Keyser, it would seem, is seeing another patient, and said patient has taken up all this time. I'm a little irked about this, as my appointment was at such and such a time. The student doctor is appologetic, and suggests I wait back in the waiting room, but just as I'm about to leave Doctor Keyser walks in.

The student gives him the lowdown...she feels fine right now but was not a few weeks ago...no majorly terrible symptoms right now. Dr Keyser asks about my sleeping and appetite and gives me a standardised questionnaire. to track my progress

"Yes, you've very much improved, however there is a good chance you will go back if we take you off the anti depressants again so we will follow through with the usual six month course. However, I need you to make some lifestyle changes, because that is really the only thing that will help you in the long run."

I'm puzzled as to what he means. My life is really pretty good right now, and I couldn't ask for much more to be happy that is otherwise out of my control. I ask what he would suggest.

"Well, you need a decent social life, get that social support so when you are in crisis you aren't left on your own..."

I mentally check this off. My friends are ace, my family supportive, my husband gentle and understanding, my social calendar currently packed.

"...you really need to do some exercise, get those endorphins flowing..."

The student doctor and I exchange glances, we know full well this isn't a problem for me.

"...And if you find that you are getting anxious and irritable make sure you get at least an hour a day to yourself that nobody else is allowed to intrude upon and do whatever you like to relax. Go window shopping or something."

He prints off my prescription and says he'll see me in a month. After my hour long consultation with the student doctor I'm really quite perplexed and am unsure whether I should be peeved or not. I probably should, the student certainly crossed the lines of professionalism there, and Dr Keyser seemed only to be interested in signing off my pills for me, after keeping me waiting for over an hour.

So I'm taking my hour to myself to relate the story here. It's the weirdest doctors appointment I've ever had, and it would be a shame to loose it!

Like a brick

I love autumn, and if you could hear me babbling on about Christmas plans at the minute you'd probably think I was some kind of rabid hyper active chipmunk.

But, it's just that time of the year. On the one hand, I'm happy the sun does not blind me into wakefulness at four in the morning, but on the other hand I can feel the bad side of the change of season. I've been fidgety all weekend and today it's really hit me quite hard.

I'm determined though not to let it get to me. I kinda just want to curl up in bed and hibernate till spring (getting out to wrap up presents and decorate for Christmas, of course!) but I cannot. You cannot just shut off from the world like that.

Last year I managed to get through winter without anti depressants, and I'm not going back on them (because coming off them gives me a really bad physical withdrawel, nothing sinister about them, just you can't really expect to stay on them forever!) and there's no point going for counselling because there's nothing to be counselled about. I just have to kick myself up the bum.

Something interesting to chew on. I often (and so do many others) turn to food to soothe my low moods, but I think I feel worse for wear today because I've had a bad weekend and I did binge on toast and cereal yesterday (first time in a while). I think that, hard as it is when you feel this way to stick to healthy eating in general (not just for weight loss) we make it worse for ourselves when we let ourselves go...our bodies feel better for being properly nourished, and whilst some people I know just don't get it, it's the physical side of depression and anxiety that's the worst.

So despite the fact that I've barely slept a wink all weekend and I can hardly keep my eyes open, I feel really weepy and woeful, I'm going to put on my makeup, grab me a serotonin laced banana, and go shopping (because it is payday, and what is there to feel sad about on payday?)

First I'm going to go and buy lovely Christmas presents for family and friends, and maybe even Ben. I'm going to treat myself to a lovely new lipstick to congradulate myself on my 17lbs loss (and also because the light pink I bought for work does not suit me at all and I need something other than my alternative harlot red shade because, you know, don't want to give the customers the wrong idea). Then when I'm all shopped out I'm going to ASDA to buy things we actually need. And Some lovely flowers, because my other lovely flowers are looking worse for wear, and a house always needs lovely flowers. And then I'm going to come home, nom on some apple, and go to ChildLine for more training. And hopefully by then some good old fresh air and sunshine will have brightened my spirits, and my fellow trainees are always good for a giggle. In fact, I think that if my attempts at faux pumpking pie making go well on Thursday I shall make one for them for our last training session on Sunday.

See, just talking about it makes me feel better already ^_^ but before I do any of that....I think I'm going to need some caffeine....

When is the worst time to have mumps?

I'm sat at home in my dressing gown, thinking longlingly of the shower and building up the courage to face it. If I get any water in my ears, it's going to (as my hubby puts it) "absoloutely cane". Still, I have to go see the doctor yet again in two hours time so I ought to get moving soon.

I've been prone to ear infections for many a year and I know I've been complaining about this particular bout for a while now, but I never expected to be put so out of action by one. I feel drained and I look flushed. I'm probably going to need some oral antibiotics to shake this thing off (which whill no doubt have their own lovely side effects). Absoloutely hate being ill like this.

Normally, ear infections aren't particularly nice, but we've all had them at one time or another, get over it. A little ear spray and on your way. Except this time, the swelling around my ears and into my throat and the resulting effects on my ability to open and close my jaw properly, ability to speak, to lie down to sleep (I cannot sleep on my back), to eat, even just to hold the phone up to my face causes pain like fire to radiate through my ears and accross my face, into my cheeks and jaw and neck. It's as if I've caught mumps again only the centre of the pain has been moved back from just behind my cheeks into my ears. The pain is the same, the actions that exaccerbate the pain are the same.


The comparrison between this and mumps however leads me into a little amusing tale for those who do not know me so well.

That is a picture of me and the lovely Becky and Dee when I was down with mumps. I look like a Mrs Peter Griffin. Or, as my parents so amusedly told me when I sent them the pictures, it's more Mrs Jabba the Hut.

I know what you're probably thinking, and any sane person would. If she has mumps, why the hell is she out drinking champagne (and any and all other manner of intoxicating substances) and getting generally sozzled? Shouldn't she be in bed resting up and getting better?


Well in answer to your second question, yes, yes I should have been doing just that. In answer to your first...


It was my hen party.

We'd been planning it for a few months and it was exactly four weeks before my wedding. My maid of honour, Laila, had travelled to Liverpool for the occasion, and people had been making a lovely effort to get things set straight for me.

I knew I was ill, but it came upon me so fast! On the Thursday before the party, I came down with a nasty sore throat and thought well great, this is gonna wreck things up. On the Friday, I noticed two massive lumps in my jaw, and two in my face just behind my cheeks. On the Saturday, said lumps had swollen to Bullfrog sized proportions...and that was the night of my hen do. The speed at which it went from being a sore throat to swollen glands to...well...THAT! It was quite frightening.

I didn't even think it was mumps. My mum is a nurse and she made sure by hell or high water that despite the autism controversy surrounding the MMR jab that me and my siblings were all innoculated with it. Of course though, these things are never 100% effective (I was one of the unlucky 1% or something daft like that) but the chances just ruled it out for me in my mind despite all of the classic symptoms.

The party was supposed to be started at my friends place, followed by a pub crawl of, naturally, epic proportions. Never happened though. We went to the first pub and I was absoloutely shot so we stayed for a few drinks then went back to base camp as it were. We still had a relatively awesome time though, even if I was the first to give in and say you know what...I need to go home and sleep now!

The next day I was in hospital because the pain was just so bad and my throat was closing up at a frightening rate. The doctor prescribed me some powerful antibiotics and signed me off work for the week. I spent that week taking every painkiller I could get my hands on and living on a mostly liquid diet. The antibiotics, naturally since mumps is viral, didn't touch the damn thing and a week later I was back at the doctors begging for something to help. That's when I finally got diagnosed with mumps. My face by this point was even worse than the lovely picture above.

I was really worried, it was three weeks before my wedding at this point and I was frantic...being a big girl anyway I've always been a little self concious about the puffyness of my face and this made me look even worse than I already was. Still, by this point I was beginning to recover (even if it didn't feel much like it) and the doctor, bless her, could do nothing but give me some stronger painkillers to help me through the last few days of it. The swelling in my face eventually went down and I was left with some irritating flu like symptoms which, blessedly, decided to leave me be by the time the big day came around.

 I know you've all seen this picture before but I think when you compare it to the one above, it's amazing that they were only taken a month apart. I can tell you now for certain that it wasn't down to any magical weight loss...after I recovered, I put weight on since I was finally able to actually eat proper food again!


But yes indeed...that time with mumps was probably the most ill I have ever felt and this is edging up on it in the pain factor. Thankfully the timing isn't so bad this time round...I mean it's my birthday in a couple of weeks but I should hope that by then it's resolved itself. Until then, I'm slurping down the soup and I hope to the powers that be that in a couple of hours the doc can give me something that works to kill whatever it is that's living in my ears and causing so much pain!

To flu...or not to flu?

So the minor cold I had seems to have turned into full blown flu. If that's possible. Technically it's not, but I've gone from having a few sniffles that were exaccerbated by cat allergies to having full on shivers, fever that won't go away (poor Ben is freezing cold while I sit next to a wide open window sweating every last drop of water left in my body) and aches and pains in muscles I never realised I owned.

Not sure why this has happened. I had felt I was getting over the cold I had, but alas I am wrong. Have to wonder if it's anything to do with the steroids the lovely doctor at the hospital gave me...it did say they can worsten viral infections in the leaflet. It says specifically to be wary of Chicken pox and Tuberculosis, but somehow I don't think I have either of these ;)

So if I'm no better by the morning, I'm heading back to the doctor to...well, I don't know, because it seems like a sensible thing to do? I know it's most likely a viral infection and there's nothing that can be done for that...but the whole asthma thing...

Well anyway. My point is, I've stayed in bed most of the day shivering away and slurping down lemsip so there's nothing much to report on I'm afraid. I hope I find you all well and in much better health than I :)

Now for something more substantial

Ok, well first off, appologies for the lack of response to comments etc, as you know I've been quite busy this week and it's been all I can do to make sure I'm posting at least once every day for the sake of NaBlo, even when I have been ill and briefly in hospital, but more on that later!

After all, I have my entire week to expand upon, and pretty photographs to illustrate all the fun things I've been doing :D

Anyhow, last Sunday my lovely mother in law came to visit the hubby and I, and on Monday we took her out into Liverpool. It was a bit grey :( but I did get to spy a sculpture I'd been wanting to see...

"X-ray Ted Golf Bug" is made from recycled materials including those from a motorbike and golf clubs (though the motorbike part is more obvious, I didn't actually realise they were golf clubs at the time lol). I know this particular picture that Ben took doesn't really show it off to its best angle but it is pretty impressive. It comemorates two medical breakthroughs made in Liverpool; the use of an X-ray by Charles Barkla in 1896 to show a bullet in a boy's wrist, and the discovery that Malaria is transmitted to humans by mosquitoes by Ronald Ross in 1902. I'd recommend anyone passing through Liverpool at the minute to go take a peek at it as it is rather impressive. It can be found at the bottom of Bold Street.

And if you needed any other excuses to go see it, it happens to be just opposite a rather awesome sweet shop SugaCane (I think that's the name....) which is where we were on our way to when we saw it so...you know...go get some sweeties and appreciate some culture too!

Anyhow, after satisfying our sweet tooth and ogling the giant motorbike mosquito, we made our way through town to Liverpool One to go to Jamie Oliver's Italian restaurant down there. Once again, highly recommended. I'm not a huge fan of Italian Food but...wow...just wow...that is all I have to say on the matter.

On our way down there we saw some pretty hearts hanging up, remnants of Valentines Day...

They are of no great significance, but it just so happened to be mine and Ben's 2nd wedding anniversary ^_^ so they made me feel happy, and I made him take a photograph so that I could share it here :D

Anyhow, Tuesday saw us taking to the coach to come up to County Durham, and after settling in we spent Wednesday with Mum, Gran and baby brother Natty, out for a yummy meal. It was a pretty relaxing day, nothing much to report.

Thursday we took Natty out to pick up his new glasses and when we got home we watched "Valhalla Rising". I'd attempt to seriously review it for you, however we got maybe 20 minutes in and mum decided to "fast forward" through the DVD to "get to th action". Sadly, whether it was because she skipped too fast or because our conclusion was correct, there was no more action until a few deadly arrows and then a bludgeoning to death at the end. Now...someone I was speaking to recently mentioned Valhalla Rising to me but I can't for the life of me remember who it was who did so whoever it was...but whoever it was seemed to like it, so I was quite looking forward to it. It also promised action and blood and guts which I, as a bloodthirsty shock craving psychopath, was quite looking forward to. There was action and there was blood and guts, but after a couple of particularly gory opening scenes involing the rather graphic ripping out of one unfortunate's intestines, the action and blood seemed to take a down turn.

Still, I think I may well have to give it another watch with a fresh pair of eyes. Knowing now that it's not all action (and mostly not much dialogue either) perhaps I can appreciate it more. That said, most of what I did see in the first 30 minutes or so was pretty much...

Mads Mikkelsen staring mysteriously off into the distance...

Anyhow, yesterday came along...the day I've been waiting for since I was getting a new hair do :D going short again for the first time in 3 years. Anyhow, after my earlier post I did indeed decide on the sleek and sexy look...

 

And it translated as so on me...

If I can be picky, and I can, it's not precisely what I asked for...I even showed her the picture, and expected it to be a little more choppy...but it does still look very good! I'm loving the fact that my hair looks a lot lighter and much more platinum like how I wanted it when I first dyed it blonde when it's this length. Of course, my hair being naturally curly we have yet to see what it will do after a tumble without a hair dryer, but then again it's already gone wavy after the humidity of my shower this morning and it still looks really lovely!

Indeed, it was already getting to that point a couple of hours after that picture was taken...

Mmmmm...sexy sexy. Ben thinks this particular picture is cute. But then, he would :p Dad thinks it looks like it was taken in the psychiatric ward. Dad, if you're reading this...cheers!

Anyhow, that was in Durham, and when we came home from Durham we had a lovely takeout with the family and watched Outlander. Sadly, like Valhalla Rising, I can't really review it for you as I ended up in hospital as you may have guessed from yesteday's blog. I had a really bad do with my asthma and couldn't breath at all, most likely from my cat allergy. So after I nearly blacked out from a panic attack when my throat very, very briefly closed up (but seemed to get better afterwards) they sent me down to my Grans blessedly cat free home, but when mum dropped me off I got worse again. I mean, lying on the sofa gasping for breath and barely even able to talk worse...

She was about to rush me off to A&E when it clicked that our local A&E had closed and we'd actually have to travel further. However, where said A&E had been, there is now an urgent care centre, but you need to call up for a an appointment. After asking about your symptoms they decide whether to keep you at home, bring you in, or call for an ambulace to rush you.

Well. Considering I was gasping for air and having what was obvious to me having dealt with my condition since childhood, and what should have been a relatively short phone call, mum ended up on the phone for 20 - 30 minutes while the woman on the other end of the phone pretty much argued the hell out of her over whether I was having a heart attack or not. At first it was fair enough, standard fare when someone has a tight chest...does she have pain in her chest, is the tightness like a belt around the chest, is there pain in the arm, is there pain in the chin etc etc...the kind of stuff that you'd expect...which kind of narked my mum because she's a nurse herself and she's been looking after me and my asthma since I was a small child...and she had repeatedly said...no...it's just an asthma attack, can we please come and see the doctor here instead of going to A&E...

But these things must be done, and it's fairly understandable. What really narked my mum...and Ben and my Gran...and me, understandably, since I wanted to go and get all nebulized up so I could breathe again...was when she started asking the exact same questions again...only with "stabbing pain" " sharp pain" "tight pain" and "throbbing pain". At one point, mum plain stopped and said "look, she isn't in pain, she just has a tight chest because she's having an asthma attack and she can't breathe!". To which the lovely lady on the other hand, instead of carrying on with the script because, you know, as my dad said earlier in the night when I was arguing over whether or not to stay the night at my Grans..."not breathing, that's one of the symptoms of death, isn't it?"...she began arguing with my mum, that tightness was actually a kind of pain...

Then she found out I didn't live locally and started probing about my recent journey incase it was a blood clot in my lung. Hey Einstein, don't you think by the time you'd questioned about stabbing, throbbing, radial, sharp, fairy related pains in every last corner of my body I'd already be dead if it was a clot in my lung?

Ok ok I really appreciate the NHS, I am a huge supporter and it has done nothing but good by me, but it just seemed that 1) this particular woman, having gotten upset by the fact that my mum was loosing her temper was beginning to get narky and irritable back but then, I know pleanty of call centre workers who have to deal with such people on a day to day basis (Ben being one of them) and they can't just get narky and agressive back. I understand her position at having to tick boxes, but if she's going to work the job she has, surely she has to understand that people are going to get narky and upset and panicky if they have to go through this during an event in which they are watching their loved ones suffer and struggle to do something like breathing? In such a situation...surely you shouldn't start arguing over what is or isn't pain, and get on with the phone call. 2) Who the hell decided it would be a good idea to have someone go through all those questions in the first place? Look, heart attacks aren't the only things that can kill people which involve a tightening of the chest or difficulty breathing. Let me get this straight..I wasn't so bad just yet, but I was on the verge of passing out...I couldn't think, I could barely coherently answer my mums questions which she relayed from this woman on the phone. My gran was telling her to hang up the phone and dial 999 but we knew from experience that I didn't need rushing in to A&E...my mum could have driven us to the urgent care centre in perfectly good enough time...all I needed was a nebulizer...but we needed to let them know we were coming and thanks to so many questions, it was delayed.

Seriously, by the time this Q&A system was over, we could have been there. Anything could have happened in the mean time. And it wasn't even the concept of being questioned that was the problem...it was the ammount of basically repeated questions. If you answer "no" to "is there pain in your arm" then it stands to reason that the answer is still going to be "no" if the question is "is there stabbing pain in your arm".

Anyhow...enough of the ranting :D seriously, someone needs to chop away this red tape because things could run so much more efficiently without it...what really reflects on this is that as soon as we arrived the receptionist had me get in a wheelchair and have the nurse come for me immediately rather than wait for my appointment.

Anyhow, it was as I had expected a case of the doctor listening to my chest and strapping on a nebulizer mask and giving me some steroids to take. These came in soluable form and were really quite disgusting...

As you can see, I did not approve of their vile flavour. Haha. But don't worry, this isn't as sick or inappropriate picture as you may think...by this point I'd taken most of the Salbutamol in the nebulizer and was actually able to breathe properly. I was cracking sick jokes and the photo somehow seemed like a good idea "for my blog". Under normal circumstances I probably wouldn't have made said suggestion...but like I said, I'd been a little oxygen depraved and wasn't thinking straight. Ben thinks it should still be put up here because "it's an account of the week". So here you have it, me getting high in a salbutamol den.

Doctor was a lovely lady who had asthma herself, which was great because I often think people who don't have asthma don't understand it. They either think it's a condition which is no more than a minor irritance...a chronic bad cough...or they think it's a debilitating deadly condition which needs mollycoddling. The truth is it can be both and everything inbetween depending on the severity within the patient and how well the condition is managed. With good managment it doesn't have to be a problem, but if someone comes into contact with their "trigger" it can turn nasty pretty quickly. My triggers happen to be allergens and exercise (which is probably why my weight has spiralled out of control, though the sad fact is that weight also exacerbates asthma). I've had doctors poo poo it off before, and I've also been warned heavy handedly by nurses not to be so flippant about having it. Last nights case was a rareity...the last time I was anywhere near as bad as that was over 3 years ago.

Anyhow, today I spent chilling out and relaxing. The problem with asthma attacks is that after having been fighting for air your lungs feel like they've been sandpapered and every muscle in my body aches where I've been tense and flailing (well...flailing is a bit extreme but I can't think of another word to describe it). I was worried about coming back to Liverpool as I'd have to come on a coach where they spray harsh chemicals in the toilet and more often than not the passengers are spraying deoderants and perfumes etc. Thankfully my lovely dad stepped in and drove us down instead. Still having to use my Salbutemol inhaler the doctor gave me every couple of hours because I'm getting chesty again but I think it's just the after effects...lungs that, ironically, have become raw and inflamed after the very act of having an asthma attack.

I hope I haven't bored you all with my accounts of hospitalization and what could possibly be terrible terrible films. I leave you on a much lighter note...which custom Beetle spied on our travels is in poorer taste...

Pink Beetle with custom liscense plate:

 

If you hadn't noticed, this car is painted in the colour "pink"

Or yellow Beetle with custom surfing paint job...

If I can be honest with you, I wouldn't mind owning either of these cars...

Asthma kitties

No post today other than this brief hello as i just arrived at my grans cat free home after a trip to hospital. more on that tomorrow. Even hospital cannot stop me from completing nablo!