Saturday, 17 August 2013

Conflict of Emotions


Bonnie Tyler eat you heart out!

Yes the voice is back, albeit a croaky one. I've been quite good the last two days and kept my mouth shut for most of the time as instructed, so today is the day I can start talking again. I'm being careful though and am only speaking very softly, almost a whisper, so as not to strain anything. On the plus side my throat feels much more comfortable and I no longer feel like I have a golf ball stuck in it.


I've lived on a diet of soup, yogurt, smoothies and mashed potato so far but today I'm going to try something a bit more ambitious and am making a pasta. Frankly I'm bored and need something with a bit more bite to it, literally. And of course Laurence is coming over for lunch so I can hardly serve him a pot of strawberry yogurt.

I woke early this morning, around four, just in time to hear Andrew going to bed. He is starting another weekend of night shifts today so forced himself to stay awake as long as possible in order to adjust. This has left me with a dilemma though. His instructions were to wake him around six, so he could travel down to his digs nearer the ambulance station, where he'd continue his sleep until it was time to go to work, around four thirty this afternoon. So far I've called him at six, seven and nine. Each time he has said he'd be up in a minute and then promptly fallen asleep again. It is now ten and he is out cold. I am tempted to leave him as I know he will have a less disturbed sleep here, his neighbour plays music very loudly all day, but he'll have to get up earlier. I think I'm going to lean towards quality rather than quantity on this occasion. It may mean he is more tired tomorrow morning coming off shift but that might mean he sleeps through his neighbours music. Just hope he sees it that way.


I had a weird dream/nightmare last night and can't make sense of it. I was at a hospital and I'd obviously had my transplant as the doctor was telling me that my lungs hadn't taken and I only had eighteen months to live at best. The next thing I know I'm at a party and am cheerfully telling people that I'd had a transplant and was so happy. The dream ended there but I can't make sense of it. Why would I be released if the lungs hadn't taken? And why give me such a long prognoses? Very weird, but then since Anne's death I have been having some very strange dreams. I'm also having problems when awake. One minute I'm desperate to get the call, the next moment I'm almost in a state of panic that I might actually get the call. Underneath it all is the dread that, after all the waiting and fighting to get on the list, that when the call does come I'll refuse the transplant.

I really do not know what to do about this. I was so sure that I wanted to have the transplant and now I'm not so sure. When I'm well I think 'well PH isn't that bad, I can still work, I'm still out and about'. Then I think 'I hate this machine, I just want to be able to go for a walk, climb a hill or go swimming'. I'm not usually indecisive or unsure of myself but for some reason I now just constantly swing from one extreme to the other. I've spoken to my counselor about this and she says it is normal to have doubts, she'd be more worried if I didn't. So I guess I'm just going to have to work through it and hope that when the call does come I'll have the courage and confidence to say 'yes'.

Well that's just about it for today. I'd better get myself down to the kitchen to prepare for lunch. At least I'll get to feed Andrew before he goes, just hope he sees that as a benefit.