Well there I was all gearing myself up to attempt a day at work then Monday happened.
In truth things started to go awry on Sunday evening when I felt terribly sick and breathless. I put myself to bed around eight and hoped that I'd be able to sleep it off. Although I did sleep deeply at first I was awoken in the middle of the night by pains in my arm and chest. I sat up and after a few exploratory stretches decided I must have lain heavily and once I'd got things loosened up I managed to go back to sleep. At five thirty I was jerked awake by an alarm going off. I thought I must have set my alarm for work but I soon realised that the noise was from outside and that the house was unusually quiet. We were having a power cut and the alarm was a neighbours house alarm.
By six we had given up any idea of sleep and Peter went down to boil some water for tea on the camping stove we keep for emergencies. I sipped the tea and immediately my stomach began to churn. I knew I was dehydrated so persevered only to be forced to stop half way down the cup. I lay back down and shut my eyes praying for the alarm to stop and it did! The power was back, for all of five minutes and then it disappeared again until just gone eight and the alarm just rang and rang. Honestly if I'd had a shotgun at that moment I'd have used it.
So another day was spent in bed sipping on cups of tea and fighting the nausea that followed. I have no idea what is going on but I'm becoming more and more convinced it has something to do with my meds. Over the weekend, apart from Complan, Peter, Andrew and I have all eaten exactly the same things cooked by myself. They are fine. I haven't been anywhere since my opticians appointment so it can't be a bug. A bug would have started earlier anyway. So what is left? Just the meds. I know there is something going on with them because my breathing has changed. I just hope I get an appointment with the Brompton soon and get it sorted. In the meantime I've had to get another sick note. How frustrating!
I was so ill that I couldn't manage to make up my drugs in the evening so Andrew stepped in to do them for me. I was really impressed how he handled the syringes and got to grips with everything. He was slower than me as he kept double checking everything and asking me if this or that was OK. However I preferred that to him racing ahead, making mistakes and infecting me. He even change the line for me though confessed he felt awkward fiddling around so close to his mum's boobs. Meds done I went back to sleep and woke around eight feeling a lot better and able to drink a whole cup of tea with no ill effects
.
This morning I managed two cups of tea and an unbuttered slice of toast for breakfast and although I feel quite weak and wobbly the nausea has subsided again and I feel much better. It is so strange and all I can say is I really, really hate PH at the moment.
So I'm having to make the best of a bad situation and have started to compile a rough inventory of where I want to visit on our planned massive holiday post transplant. I know it is all pie in the sky at the moment but I still have this real feeling that I'm on the verge of getting the call. It is so strong I can hardly stop myself from sitting in the hall with my suitcase. It is so strange and I've never felt like this before. I've had feelings yes, I think everyone on the list gets those from time to time, but never like this. Maybe it is just desperation having hit another period of instability. Maybe it is the only way I can see of getting out of the situation I'm in. Either way it is driving me crazy at the moment.
Also driving me crazy is Smirnoff who seems to have suddenly become fixated on me. He hardly left my side yesterday, even following me into the bathroom. He's become as clingy, if not more so, than Tarmac was and that's saying something. However there is something extremely comforting about having a purring fur ball lying next to you when you are not feeling very well.
On the good news front I found my heart. It was in the bottom of my transplant bag, how weird is that? An omen maybe or just coincidence? I guess time will tell.
In the news I was surprised and angered by the story of the man who tried to get into Buckingham Palace. The man is an illegal immigrant from Nigeria who has done a similar thing six times before. He also left a highly threatening message after this latest attempt. However who do you think is getting all the public outrage and 'questions' asked about his actions. Yes, of course, the poor guardsman doing his duty in protecting the Queen by pointing his bayoneted rifle at the offender. Why is it that British servicemen are put on trial, sometimes literally, for doing their job when scumbags, who shouldn't even be in this country, are allowed to walk free to offend again. In my world what should have happened is that Mr. Illegal was taken straight to Heathrow and bungled onto a plane back to Nigeria and the guardsman given a great big pat on the back. Maybe it is just as well I'll never make Prime Minister.
Right I'd better get myself settled for another day of Complan and toast and being called a 'stupid woman' if I dare to as much as set foot out of the living room apart from calls of nature. My men have become uber protective over the last few weeks, maybe they can feel something is on the way too.
In truth things started to go awry on Sunday evening when I felt terribly sick and breathless. I put myself to bed around eight and hoped that I'd be able to sleep it off. Although I did sleep deeply at first I was awoken in the middle of the night by pains in my arm and chest. I sat up and after a few exploratory stretches decided I must have lain heavily and once I'd got things loosened up I managed to go back to sleep. At five thirty I was jerked awake by an alarm going off. I thought I must have set my alarm for work but I soon realised that the noise was from outside and that the house was unusually quiet. We were having a power cut and the alarm was a neighbours house alarm.
So another day was spent in bed sipping on cups of tea and fighting the nausea that followed. I have no idea what is going on but I'm becoming more and more convinced it has something to do with my meds. Over the weekend, apart from Complan, Peter, Andrew and I have all eaten exactly the same things cooked by myself. They are fine. I haven't been anywhere since my opticians appointment so it can't be a bug. A bug would have started earlier anyway. So what is left? Just the meds. I know there is something going on with them because my breathing has changed. I just hope I get an appointment with the Brompton soon and get it sorted. In the meantime I've had to get another sick note. How frustrating!
I was so ill that I couldn't manage to make up my drugs in the evening so Andrew stepped in to do them for me. I was really impressed how he handled the syringes and got to grips with everything. He was slower than me as he kept double checking everything and asking me if this or that was OK. However I preferred that to him racing ahead, making mistakes and infecting me. He even change the line for me though confessed he felt awkward fiddling around so close to his mum's boobs. Meds done I went back to sleep and woke around eight feeling a lot better and able to drink a whole cup of tea with no ill effects
.
So I'm having to make the best of a bad situation and have started to compile a rough inventory of where I want to visit on our planned massive holiday post transplant. I know it is all pie in the sky at the moment but I still have this real feeling that I'm on the verge of getting the call. It is so strong I can hardly stop myself from sitting in the hall with my suitcase. It is so strange and I've never felt like this before. I've had feelings yes, I think everyone on the list gets those from time to time, but never like this. Maybe it is just desperation having hit another period of instability. Maybe it is the only way I can see of getting out of the situation I'm in. Either way it is driving me crazy at the moment.
Also driving me crazy is Smirnoff who seems to have suddenly become fixated on me. He hardly left my side yesterday, even following me into the bathroom. He's become as clingy, if not more so, than Tarmac was and that's saying something. However there is something extremely comforting about having a purring fur ball lying next to you when you are not feeling very well.
In the news I was surprised and angered by the story of the man who tried to get into Buckingham Palace. The man is an illegal immigrant from Nigeria who has done a similar thing six times before. He also left a highly threatening message after this latest attempt. However who do you think is getting all the public outrage and 'questions' asked about his actions. Yes, of course, the poor guardsman doing his duty in protecting the Queen by pointing his bayoneted rifle at the offender. Why is it that British servicemen are put on trial, sometimes literally, for doing their job when scumbags, who shouldn't even be in this country, are allowed to walk free to offend again. In my world what should have happened is that Mr. Illegal was taken straight to Heathrow and bungled onto a plane back to Nigeria and the guardsman given a great big pat on the back. Maybe it is just as well I'll never make Prime Minister.
Right I'd better get myself settled for another day of Complan and toast and being called a 'stupid woman' if I dare to as much as set foot out of the living room apart from calls of nature. My men have become uber protective over the last few weeks, maybe they can feel something is on the way too.
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