Anne is being allowed out of hospital at the weekend so she can enjoy a meal with her family. How brilliant is that! Only two weeks post transplant and she's already out and partying. She'll have to go back though and there is no news yet as to when she'll actually be sent home but at this rate I'm guessing soon.
All this news about transplants and false alarms have been playing on my mind and I had a little cry last night. I set up my equipment for my usual evening drug prep and wondered how much longer I'll have to do this. To be honest I've had enough now. Not only does the prep take up a good forty minutes to an hour but every time I change my line I'm violently sick afterwards. I've discussed this with my PH center and no one can work out why this happens. One theory is that the movement involved unscrewing the old line and attaching the new might tip more of the drug than I need into my system, and as I'm really sensitive to it it makes me sick. Another is that subconsciously I'm revolted by the line and seeing it enter my body makes me sick. I think this is the least likely as I'm not squeamish about such things. The final theory, and the one I feel most probable, is that the sudden input of fresh drug (remember the stuff I'm removing is twenty four hours old and deteriorates with time), is just that bit too strong and sets me off.
Setting it all out and knowing what was coming just suddenly felt overwhelming and I had to stop so my tears wouldn't contaminate the sterile stuff. Once I'd gathered myself together the old philosophical me returned and I got on with it. I have no choice if I want to live long enough to get my transplant. I'm crying a lot more often these days and I hate that I feel so sorry for myself. There are other worse of than me after all.
As far as my cold/virus/whatever is concerned I'm feeling a lot better today. My throat no longer has that freshly grated feel, proving that gargling works, and I managed some bread and butter for tea. I still have an annoying cough but that is also much better. My breath though could still floor an elephant at fifty paces so there is some work to do on that. In myself I'm quite perky and am hoping the worst is over. Another day on the settee and I think I'll have sent whatever it is packing. Thank goodness for that.
Peter did not pick Andrew up from the airport this morning because Andrew wasn't there. I'd got my dates mixed up and he is actually home on the 28th.
In the news two stories have caught my interest, and both involving air.
The first and most obvious of course is the terrible tornado that levelled a town in Oklahoma. So many have been killed and injured but mercifully not as many as could have been. By the very unpredictability of a natural disaster some have emerged unscathed while all round them nothing is left while others have perished in areas that look virtually untouched.
While I really feel for this people I cannot help but wonder at the wisdom of building wooden buildings in an area know as Tornado Alley. Have they not heard of the Three Little Pigs?
When they rebuild I sincerely hope it is with brick and each building is given a cellar. If they do this then yes, they will lose their roofs, and yes, they will probably lose their windows but they won't lose their lives.
The second story involves a airhead and a cyclist.
Emma Way saw fit to Tweet the following message after racing through the narrow country lanes where she lives.
'Definitely knocked a cyclist off his bike earlier - I have right of way he doesn't even pay road tax! #bloodycyclists'
From that I can only conclude that Emma views pedestrians, small children and animals in the same vein and considers it her God given right to mow them down if they dare interfere with her progress. My mouth actually fell open when reading this I was so shocked. What Emma failed to realise is that Tweets can be read by anyone, they are not restricted to just family and friends as on other social media sites. She must have assumed that as cyclists are universally disliked by drivers she was on safe ground. She obviously did not think that her message would also be ready by cyclists, friends and relatives of cyclists who've died in collisions with cars on narrow country lanes, and those who just felt it was the wrong thing to do.
Now I've had my fair share of run ins with cyclists, as has anyone regularly driving in London. They hare along ignoring traffic lights, crossings and one way streets and then complain if someone challenges them on their behaviour. However not all cyclists are like that, just as not all drivers are the bad guys in every unfortunate encounter.
Having heard of this boasting the cyclist, who was fortunately unhurt and had not reported the incident for fear of upsetting his girlfriend, came forward and made a statement to the police who are now investigating the incident.
As for Emma well she has stopped posting on Twitter, for now, and has been suspended from her job with a respectable accountancy firm who are less than impressed with her antics. She certainly faces charges, maybe points or even a short ban. If she had killed the cyclist she could have gone to prison, a fact I doubt has even wafted through the vacuum of her mind. When asked for a comment Emma, wisely for once, decided to keep her mouth firmly close, however who needs enemies when you have friends.
'She stopped, but the other guy didn't stop. She looked in the mirror and he was gone.'
Of course he was gone, he'd just been punted into a hedge by your mate, but it gets worse.
'It's absolutely ridiculous. There was nobody marshalling the cyclists and they were going really fast.'
Clearly not as fast as you mate, and now the clincher.
'She's a village girl who knows every pothole on every road around here. She made a stupid remark on Twitter and it's all got out of hand.'
When my father in law was losing his sight but refusing to give up his driving licence we didn't realise how bad he'd got until he was driving my sister in law home one night and remarked that he couldn't really see but it was OK because ' I know the road.' Needless to say he never drove her home again and had his licence revoked soon afterward.
Knowing the road well is no guarantee of safe driving. In fact it is often the opposite and has been proven to make drivers complacent about their surroundings rather than more aware. They go into an automatic pilot state and actually find it more difficult to deal with the unexpected when it occurs. Personally I find it difficult to believe that Emma has never ever come across a cyclist, or horse rider for that matter, along this stretch of road in her entire driving career. If it was up to me I'd ban her from driving until she grew a brain but it isn't so we wait with baited breath.
Well it is back on the settee for me and a desperate fight not to offer to help in the kitchen. Peter is finally getting around to making the frozen yogurt this afternoon. In the meantime I'm trying to figure out what to make for lunch as my appetite is returning. I'm thinking something soft,creamy and cheesy.
All this news about transplants and false alarms have been playing on my mind and I had a little cry last night. I set up my equipment for my usual evening drug prep and wondered how much longer I'll have to do this. To be honest I've had enough now. Not only does the prep take up a good forty minutes to an hour but every time I change my line I'm violently sick afterwards. I've discussed this with my PH center and no one can work out why this happens. One theory is that the movement involved unscrewing the old line and attaching the new might tip more of the drug than I need into my system, and as I'm really sensitive to it it makes me sick. Another is that subconsciously I'm revolted by the line and seeing it enter my body makes me sick. I think this is the least likely as I'm not squeamish about such things. The final theory, and the one I feel most probable, is that the sudden input of fresh drug (remember the stuff I'm removing is twenty four hours old and deteriorates with time), is just that bit too strong and sets me off.
Setting it all out and knowing what was coming just suddenly felt overwhelming and I had to stop so my tears wouldn't contaminate the sterile stuff. Once I'd gathered myself together the old philosophical me returned and I got on with it. I have no choice if I want to live long enough to get my transplant. I'm crying a lot more often these days and I hate that I feel so sorry for myself. There are other worse of than me after all.
As far as my cold/virus/whatever is concerned I'm feeling a lot better today. My throat no longer has that freshly grated feel, proving that gargling works, and I managed some bread and butter for tea. I still have an annoying cough but that is also much better. My breath though could still floor an elephant at fifty paces so there is some work to do on that. In myself I'm quite perky and am hoping the worst is over. Another day on the settee and I think I'll have sent whatever it is packing. Thank goodness for that.
Peter did not pick Andrew up from the airport this morning because Andrew wasn't there. I'd got my dates mixed up and he is actually home on the 28th.
In the news two stories have caught my interest, and both involving air.
The first and most obvious of course is the terrible tornado that levelled a town in Oklahoma. So many have been killed and injured but mercifully not as many as could have been. By the very unpredictability of a natural disaster some have emerged unscathed while all round them nothing is left while others have perished in areas that look virtually untouched.
While I really feel for this people I cannot help but wonder at the wisdom of building wooden buildings in an area know as Tornado Alley. Have they not heard of the Three Little Pigs?
When they rebuild I sincerely hope it is with brick and each building is given a cellar. If they do this then yes, they will lose their roofs, and yes, they will probably lose their windows but they won't lose their lives.
The second story involves a airhead and a cyclist.
Emma Way saw fit to Tweet the following message after racing through the narrow country lanes where she lives.
'Definitely knocked a cyclist off his bike earlier - I have right of way he doesn't even pay road tax! #bloodycyclists'
From that I can only conclude that Emma views pedestrians, small children and animals in the same vein and considers it her God given right to mow them down if they dare interfere with her progress. My mouth actually fell open when reading this I was so shocked. What Emma failed to realise is that Tweets can be read by anyone, they are not restricted to just family and friends as on other social media sites. She must have assumed that as cyclists are universally disliked by drivers she was on safe ground. She obviously did not think that her message would also be ready by cyclists, friends and relatives of cyclists who've died in collisions with cars on narrow country lanes, and those who just felt it was the wrong thing to do.
Now I've had my fair share of run ins with cyclists, as has anyone regularly driving in London. They hare along ignoring traffic lights, crossings and one way streets and then complain if someone challenges them on their behaviour. However not all cyclists are like that, just as not all drivers are the bad guys in every unfortunate encounter.
Having heard of this boasting the cyclist, who was fortunately unhurt and had not reported the incident for fear of upsetting his girlfriend, came forward and made a statement to the police who are now investigating the incident.
As for Emma well she has stopped posting on Twitter, for now, and has been suspended from her job with a respectable accountancy firm who are less than impressed with her antics. She certainly faces charges, maybe points or even a short ban. If she had killed the cyclist she could have gone to prison, a fact I doubt has even wafted through the vacuum of her mind. When asked for a comment Emma, wisely for once, decided to keep her mouth firmly close, however who needs enemies when you have friends.
'She stopped, but the other guy didn't stop. She looked in the mirror and he was gone.'
Of course he was gone, he'd just been punted into a hedge by your mate, but it gets worse.
'It's absolutely ridiculous. There was nobody marshalling the cyclists and they were going really fast.'
Clearly not as fast as you mate, and now the clincher.
'She's a village girl who knows every pothole on every road around here. She made a stupid remark on Twitter and it's all got out of hand.'
When my father in law was losing his sight but refusing to give up his driving licence we didn't realise how bad he'd got until he was driving my sister in law home one night and remarked that he couldn't really see but it was OK because ' I know the road.' Needless to say he never drove her home again and had his licence revoked soon afterward.
Knowing the road well is no guarantee of safe driving. In fact it is often the opposite and has been proven to make drivers complacent about their surroundings rather than more aware. They go into an automatic pilot state and actually find it more difficult to deal with the unexpected when it occurs. Personally I find it difficult to believe that Emma has never ever come across a cyclist, or horse rider for that matter, along this stretch of road in her entire driving career. If it was up to me I'd ban her from driving until she grew a brain but it isn't so we wait with baited breath.
Well it is back on the settee for me and a desperate fight not to offer to help in the kitchen. Peter is finally getting around to making the frozen yogurt this afternoon. In the meantime I'm trying to figure out what to make for lunch as my appetite is returning. I'm thinking something soft,creamy and cheesy.
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