A Chill in the Air

Well I know I was going to take the rest of the day easy but things didn't quite go to plan.

Sorting through the salad drawer in the fridge, looking for something to nibble, I came across a packet of blueberries fast approaching the squidgy stage. I like my blueberries hard and sharp so didn't want to eat them as they were. So I hit upon the idea of muffins. Out came the bowls and mixer and before long I had a dozen muffins in the oven rising nicely. With the baking bug still working it's magic, I quickly cleaned up the utensils and found myself making a Victoria sponge. I'd plopped the mixture into the trays just as the muffins were ready so did a quick swap. In short by five o'clock I had twelve muffins and one very large sponge cake ready to be eaten by tea time. I know it seems a bit much but I have two hungry men at home at the moment so they won't last long.

All baked out, the rest of the day was mine so I lay on the settee watching an old black and white film, I don't even know what it was called, until it was time to do my meds.

In the evening I was surprised to find the X Factor had started up again, another sure sign winter is on it's way. I don't know how but I'd managed to miss all the fanfare that usually accompanies the start of this show, maybe I'd blotted it out, who knows. Anyway I loved the show when Sharon Osbourne was on it so, despite my reservations, decided to give it a go.

It had reverted to the old format of having just the hopefulls and the judges for the first audition. This I thought was much better as you could actually hear the acts and the judges comments without all the noise of an audience drowning them out.  However that was the only good thing about it. The contestants were the usual bunch of the deranged, the oblivious, the mediocre and those who believed that a few tears and a story about a falling out with their mum would get them through, sadly in this case it did. Worst of all was Mrs O's behaviour. Clearly hamming it up for the cameras I found her irritating this time round. Once again this year I'm going to give it a miss, my blood pressure just won't take it.

It was most definitely a cooler night last night than I've experienced for quite some time and as I result I slept like a baby. Today, although quite sunny, there is that unmistakable bite to the air that you only get with the approach of autumn. The back garden is awash with the leaves from the Silver Birch and my plums are ripe for picking, about the only thing I've successfully managed to grow this year. The days of summer are numbered but the weathermen say we are in for a lovely September, I hope they are right.

Today I'm trying a new recipe, cinnamon lamb tagine, I'll let you know how it goes. One thing I do like about the colder weather is the excuse to start making comforting soups and hearty stews. Although I like my salads and start craving them come April, soups and stews are my favourites. Partly because they are so easy to make, basically shove it all in a pot and hope for the best, and partly because you can make huge quantities and freezer it for the days you don't feel like cooking. I have a new recipe for a spiced sweet potato soup that I can hardly wait to try.

In the news two important events caught my eye.

Firstly the vote on whether we should take military action against Syria. The vote went against the idea and I can't understand why David Cameron is so surprised about this. The British people are fed up with war, especially wars that really have nothing to do with us. We have lost hundreds of young men and women in conflicts we had no right being in in the first place. The British people are also wary. Having been lied too by Bush and Blair it is going to take an awful lot of convincing before we trust a politician over a reason to go to war again. Besides our armed services are being slowly but surely dismantled and ultimately we can't afford another war.

The problem is that despite everyone professing to hate Margaret Thatcher, she was the last British Prime Minister, since Churchill, to take us into war and win. And every prime minister since then wants a similar legacy. They want to be remembered as great statesmen but it is hard to be great without a backbone and our recent crop of politicians would be hard pressed to find one between them. However there is hope and it lies with those who voted against Cameron, unfortunately they have also signed the death warrants for their careers. Pity!

The other story is that of Nelson Mandela who continues to be at death's door or improving with mind numbing regularity. This week's see-saw reporting first had Mandela being released from hospital, then they said that was untrue and now, this very morning, they've announced he is being released from hospital although his condition is still serious and is at times unstable. Is it just me that finds all this just a little, well, weird?

Right off to the kitchen to make this lamb dish. Did I mention Strictly starts next weekend? I did? Oh, I won't mention how excited I am then.

A Voyage of Discovery

This morning got off to a busy start as it was moving day, again, for Andrew.

Thankfully he didn't have that much stuff to move, the bad news is that he was four floors up and no lift so my contribution was to do the driving and then wait in the car park. He seems to be getting the hang of moving now and was all packed up and ready by the time we arrived. In less than half an hour we were back in the car and stuck in traffic on the M1. We've got roughly a two week hiatus now before we are moving him into yet another room for his second year.

It was a case of early to bed and late to get up this morning but I really needed the sleep and I feel much better for it. This afternoon I was looking for something in a cupboard and clearing out rubbish as I went. Does anyone else put stuff aside in case they 'might be useful in the future'? Well I did and found myself wading through old jam jars, set aside for the jam I never made, and bags of cloth, for the patchwork quilt I never finished. As it turned out I didn't find what I was looking for but did get rid off a whole load of junk.

Right at the back of the cupboard was an ornate box which looked rather familiar. I pulled it out, it was much heavier than it looked, dusted the lid and opened it not really expecting anything exciting. Inside were two decks of tarot cards, some jewelery, two very lovely dresses and a real live crystal ball. I was instantly transported back to my twenties and thirties when I was heavily into all things hippy and mystical. In short the younger me in a box. I sat down and dealt a quick reading spread and was surprised at how much I remembered. The I lifted out the crystal ball which felt heavy and warm to the touch. That's the thing with crystal over glass. You can always tell the difference because real crystal feels warmer to the touch. I briefly pondered having a quick gaze but decided against it, my mood wasn't right and I'm way out of practice. Maybe I'll give it ago when I'm alone in the house without any distractions.

I've put the dresses to hang in the wardrobe, sorry the pictures are a bit fuzzy but I was shaking with excitement, I'd thought they were long gone. The green one is made of velvet with lace sleeves, I called it my Anne Boleyn dress, and the black is black lace over red silk, my 'vampire' dress. The jewelery needs a good clean as it has tarnished but there are some nice pieces. The Celtic pendant and dragon earrings look especially good considering how long it is since they've seen the light of day. I have no idea how I suffered the earrings, they are very large and very heavy and I couldn't wear them for long these days.

I can't believe how I managed to forget I had these things. I suppose with the arrival of children and a busy working life, like a lot of women, I put my own interests aside. Well I intend to start practicing with the cards again at least. Very soon I'm going to have a lot of time on my hands so this might be one way of stopping the cabin fever. Maybe I can start hiring myself out to fairs and village fetes, you never know.

I was very surprised and really pleased to get a call from my Australian cousin this afternoon. Jenny and her family are coming over in December and I can't wait. We had a short chat and made a few tentative arrangements. I am so excited I can barely contain myself. I just wish I was fit enough to really enjoy their visit. Please come soon transplant so I can be well on the road to recovery by December.

So all in all a very exciting day and a delve into my past that I wasn't expecting. The only thing I've kept from those far away days are my long hair and my love of incense or 'joss sticks' as some people call them. My house often smells of Patcholi or Jasmine which my husband describes as me 'burning stuff again'.

Well time for a tea and a sit down and maybe a bit of quick revision on the tarot.

P.S. Strictly starts on 7th September. Whoopie-doopie-do-dah!

Hammered

Arrggghhh!  Why is it that just when you think everything is settling down and life is getting back on an even keel yet another source of stress appears?

Last Friday I received two new pumps to replace the ones I currently have as they have to go back for their annual servicing. At the same time they took away one of my old pumps so I was left with two new and one old. The new pumps programmed really easily and I change my old pump for one of the new ones that very night. Everything went swimmingly and by Sunday I had confidently packaged up my old pump ready for collection.

Monday I arrived home from work tired and fractious, my Sunday night sleep had been destroyed by a neighbour's car alarm going off every five minutes from about five o'clock so I went to work already shattered. A busy day ensued and I came home hoping to just do my meds, change my pumps over and have an early night. One pump had other ideas. The pump I had on was fine but the one I was about to put on threw a hissy fit the minute I turned it on.  It squealed out a warning that I had air in the line. This sometimes happens so I removed the cassette and examined it carefully. I couldn't see any air in the cassette or the line so I reattached the cassette and started again. Once again the alarm went off so I re-primed the lined and reattached the cassette. Off went the alarm once again. Thinking I was making a mistake I called Peter in to check the line. I thought that as I was tired maybe I was missing something. He couldn't see anything either. On went the cassette, off went the alarm. Half an hour past and I'd re-primed the line so often there wasn't enough medication left in the cassette for me so I made up some more and completely replaced the line and cassette figuring maybe one of them was faulty. Off went the alarm again and I lost it. I threw the machine on the floor and started stamping on it, that didn't shut it up so I grabbed the nearest thing, a sandal, and beat the thing until I burst into tears and sat on the floor exhausted and howling my eyes out.

Once the storm had passed Peter appeared with the old pump which we attached without any problems, he knows when to stay out of the way after many years of practice. In that one moment all my anger and frustration that I'd kept inside about having to wear the damned thing in the first place just came pouring out and I felt so much better. As we were sorting out the pumps I told Peter that if I'd had a hammer I'd have probably broken it into pieces. 'Why do you think I keep the hammers locked in the shed,' he replied sweetly and we both burst out laughing.

The problem of the pump remained though and I decide to call Carl at the Brompton after work the following day and run it past him.

Tuesday and I called Carl who sympathised and said the best way to deal with it in the short term was to turn the air detector off. We spent almost an hour, me pressing buttons while he read out the instructions over the phone. We managed to stop it squealing but couldn't turn the air detector off. Carl decided that the pump was obviously faulty and said he would get in touch with the supplier in the morning and ask for it to be replaced. A new pump arrived Wednesday evening and so far so good but I hate to think what I'd be capable off if one of them breaks down again.

The week has been a trying one with broken nights, if that car alarm doesn't get fixed soon I swear I'll be having words, and busy days. I'm certainly feeling it at the moment. I don't have the get up and go I once had and have had to talk myself out of bed everyday. It could just be lack of sleep or it could be another step on the slippery slope. I'm thinking of asking to reduce my hours again. Currently I do thirty one hours per week but I'm wondering whether a drop to twenty five or even twenty might be beneficial, especially with winter fast approaching. I'm seeing my teams at both the Brompton and Papworth at the end of September so will delay my decision until then but I definitely think a reduction is on the cards.

Tomorrow we move Andrew back home as his summer placements come to an end. Despite the panic of not having enough hours to pass the course he has now done thirty hours over quota as he loves it so much. The only thing he's failed to get signed off is a birth but that is one of those things he can carry over into next year anyway as they are notoriously rare. He's home for two weeks and then we move him into his new place for the start of the autumn term. I cannot believe my little boy is already in his second year. This time next year he'll be out working full time with a mentor for his final year but at least he will be earning while he learns, which takes the pressure off us.

Laurence celebrated his twenty fifth birthday on Tuesday and I cannot believe it. I am so proud he has grown into the man he has become. Unfortunately I won't be seeing him this weekend as he is working but hopefully I will next weekend and will be making him a birthday cake.

Well my stomach is rumbling, I woke up late so haven't had any breakfast, so it's off to the kitchen to rustle up some barbecue chicken and rice.

Oh did I say? I saw the trailer for Strictly last night, so, so excited. Not quite so excited at Vanessa Feltz being a contestant but there you go, you can't have everything.

Painted Ladies

I nearly choked on my tea this morning. I was flipping through my morning paper when I came upon the unedifying sight of Cheryl Cole's bottom covered in the most hideous tattoo I'd ever seen.

Why do people do that to themselves? Now don't get me wrong I have nothing against tattoos as long as they are discrete and tasteful. This one is neither of this things. Some will argue that it will be covered up most of the time so what's the problem? Well for one she has splashed her bottom all over the papers, that doesn't sound much like she intends to keep it covered does it. Small tattoos can be very classy, big, hideously coloured ones? Well, they don't call them tramp stamps for nothing. Cheryl my dear, your roots are showing and I'm not talking about your hair. To be frank this tattoo smacks of desperation. Desperate to prove she is still young enough to be rebellious. Desperate to keep her name in the headlines. Desperate to prove that her career is not at an end. Excuse me? When did she last sing? One thing I can be 98% sure of is that give another decade and we'll be reading about how she regrets ever getting the thing because tattoos are so 'uncool.'

Tattoos look better on men.

Another aging 'pop princess' has also been desperately trying to prove she is still 'up with the kids' by wearing a hideous gold metal grill over her teeth. This is apparently the height of fashion. I remember when fashion was there to enhance your looks and make you as attractive as possible. Now it seems the uglier the better. I am, of course, talking about Madonna. When she first came to notice back in the eighties she was truly gorgeous. Now she looks like a shop dummy whose teeth have been left unfinished. A bit like Edward Scissorhands only in this case Madonna Scissorteeth. She's no stranger to the tattooists needle either.

They say that when you reach a certain age a woman has to choose between her face or her body. When you hit middle age it is natural to 'fill out' a little and there is a reason for this. Extra weight acts as padding for more delicate bones, protecting us from breaks and fractures. Most people will not like being heavier but a fuller face means less wrinkles, it's natures version of botox. So you have to choose, carry a little extra weight and have a younger looking face or work like a Trojan to get the weight off and risk a thin gaunt face with loads of wrinkles. Madonna, as we all know, chose her body, which is why her face has more plastic in it than my microwave. There are even rumours that she has had fat pads put in to give herself plumper cheeks. Why spend so much money when a Mars bar or extra Yorkshire pudding  at Sunday lunch will do exactly the same for a fraction of the cost? I just don't get it, I really don't. And to be honest, despite all the work, Madonna's super fit body may be sculptured, she may have biceps of steel and a washing board stomach but is it attractive?

Yesterday I did my annual round up of my PH journey so far and I am amazed at how many of you related to what I'm saying. Almost every single one of those that contacted me via facebook or email started their PH journey with a diagnoses of Asthma. Maybe it is time that Asthma clinics and PH clinics got together and worked on a plan to sort out the real asthmatics from the PH suffers as quickly as possible. We all know that early diagnoses means a longer life expectancy but most of us are WHO class three or four when we are diagnosed, which is far, far too late. Joint clinics maybe? At least at the diagnostic stage to determine exactly what it is surely would be sensible. Thank you for listening to my ramble yesterday, it was really great to get it all off my chest. I feel more settled now and ready for the next step.

It is another dreary day at Chez Roberts. The rain hasn't stopped since early Saturday morning and it is so dark I've had to turn the study light on in order to see my keyboard. I was rather hoping for a lie in but was rudely awoken by a text from Andrew at half past six stating his bike was playing up. He made it to work and thinks he'll get home but I have been put on standby in case I have to do a rescue mission. At least  it is the last day of his placement so we will have a few days to sort it out. Apart from that little bit of excitement the only thing I've got to look forward to is the Grand Prix this afternoon. With three Brits in the top ten of the grid it should be quite exciting, especially if the rain is coming down in buckets like it is here.

Peter is braving the rain this morning to attend a computer fair in the hope of picking up some cheap bits and pieces so I am at home on my own for a change. However the scope for mischief has been severely curtailed by the weather so I'm off to make some blueberry muffins instead.

When September Comes

Five years ago today I was still blissfully unaware I had PH. I'd spent most of the summer planning my lessons for the next year and I remember being particularly pleased with myself because I'd designed a term of lessons for my year sevens based on The Apprentice. As it turned out they loved it and it earned me a high praise from Ofsted. I was also looking forward to enrolling in a part time university course. I was going to do a degree in Child Psychology. I figured if I understood how the little darlings thought I'd be more effective at teaching them. I was happy at my school, happy with my home life and for once I couldn't see anything but good things on the horizon.

On September 12th 2007 I was given the diagnoses of Pulmonary Hypertension and felt relieved. If only I'd realised what it meant maybe I wouldn't have been so delighted. So why was I so happy to find out I was ill?

My problems started about three years before. I'd always been fit. I swam, I walked everywhere, I did weight training and I had an exercise bike and stepper (a machine you walk on which offers resistance so you are always going up hill) at home for when I didn't have the time or inclination to go out. I began to feel breathless during swimming and found it hard to do as much as I had been doing. Then when out walking I found myself stopping to catch my breathe after a steep hill or flight of stairs. I went to my GP who diagnosed a worsening of the asthma I'd had since early childhood. My inhalers were changed and for a while I felt there had been some improvement. I had been under a lot of pressure at the time. I'd just completed my teaching degree and was working at the worst school in the area. My head of department had upped and left half way through the year leaving just me and another newbie to run the department and take over his classes. In short I hadn't had the time to do much exercising and felt my fitness was waining, so I threw myself back into it and for a time all appeared well.

About a year later things started to deteriorate again so I increased my exercise and hoped for the best. I was now at a much nicer school and was in my second year so was no longer the newbie teacher everyone played up. One morning while preparing for class with Ashaf, one of the technicians I worked with, I suddenly collapsed. I couldn't catch my breathe, I was grey and sweating and Ashaf thought I was having a heart attack. Other teachers arrived and started to do strange things such making me breathe into a paper bag. The paramedics arrived, took my blood pressure, turned white and blue lighted me into hospital. This event was the beginning of two years of patient ping pong.

The cardiac department said it was a lung problem while the lung department said it was a cardiac problem. Over the course of two years I was given diagnoses that ranged from the sublime (severe asthma) to the ridiculous (you wear your bra too tight) but I just kept on deteriorating. Eventually my cardiologist said he would refer me to a psychologist as he thought most of it was 'in my mind'. I wasn't happy about this but had secretly begun to doubt my own sanity so agreed to at least attend the initial appointment. In the meant time I was told to keep exercising and things would get better.

Then things took a turn for the worst. I was on my stepper in the back garden pounding away with my music blaring in my ears and about five minutes from the end of my timed session. I suddenly felt overwhelmingly drained but I pushed on and then staggered into the kitchen where I grabbed a drink and slowly did some warm down stretches. Normally my heart rate returned to normal fairly quickly but today it just kept going and then started to increase until it got to 182 bpm. I couldn't breathe and I felt sick. I called for Peter, who thankfully was home that day and he drove me straight into accident and emergency. I was put in the waiting room and after an hour a bored looking nurse came out and sat next to me to take my pulse. Things moved very quickly after that and I ended up on the cardiac ward for a week. The psychiatrist was cancelled but they still had no idea what was going on. I was sent home with instructions to stick to gentle exercise for the next month. Two weeks later I was watching TV when my heart thumped. Within minutes it started racing again and I was back in hospital. This time the drug didn't work so they had to cardiovert me (shock my heart back into rhythm) and then referred me to Harefield for an ablation as they now thought I had Atrial Flutter or AF.

My appointment duly arrived and in June 2007 I arrived for a pre-op consultation. The procedure was explained to me and loads of tests were carried out then I had to wait to see the consultant. When he arrived he looked very grave. He explained to my that the ECG my local hospital had sent of my heart rate while in flutter and the tests they'd just done had thrown up some surprising results. He thought that my dodgy heart rhythm was a symptom of something much more serious and not just a stand alone condition as first thought. I was asked if I was in any hurry as he wanted another doctor to see me. This doctor was a specialist in Pulmonary Hypertension. I'd never heard of that but figured from the wording it had something to do with blood pressure and lungs.

Dr. Swann was lovely. She explained what PH was and went through my entire health history before announcing that she wanted me to attend the Royal Brompton for a series of tests including a right heart catheter test, I didn't like the sound of that but was so fed up I just wanted a yes or no answer so agreed. I received a letter the following week booking me in for 10th September, which was a pain because it was right at the start of the school year. My employers though were extremely sympathetic, told me not to worry and to go for it.

September arrived and I had a very busy week. I think they tested everything except my eyes and my IQ. On Wednesday morning several important looking doctors and a gaggle of nurses gathered around my bed. Yes I had PH, worse I was extremely ill and was on the border of WHO class four (this is end stage). My extreme fitness had worked against me and kept my symptoms at bay until my poor heart could no longer take the pressure and was sending out frantic danger signals. The reality check was being told I'd be unlikely to see my fiftieth birthday, at that time I was just coming up to forty eight. Despite all this the relief of actually being told I was ill and it wasn't all my imagination made me smile like an idiot, it was only when I sat in bed reading the literature they had given me that it began to dawn on me that I was in serious trouble. Because of the severity of my condition they started me on drug therapy straight away and I was told not to go into work until I was stable.

Three months and several drug changes later I was finally stable on Sitaxentan. My life returned to normality, more or less. I was given permission to do some light exercise so I still went swimming and I walked. I had a lot of thinking to do and walking was my therapy. Sometimes I'd find a quiet spot and sit and cry my eyes out. Mostly I just seethed with anger. I became, for a short while, not very nice. I took my frustration out on everyone, my medical team, my family, my friends, my work colleagues, my students and even strangers on a PH support forum who tried to help me through coming to terms with my illness. Going back to work helped. I didn't have time to think properly but it also revealed how ill I really was. Back in June I was still operating at full tilt. After a six month break I found the going tough. My normal school day started at eight and ended at four, then I'd go home have something to eat and read the paper. Then I'd play with my boys, take them swimming or for a walk or up the park. Tea was at six then the boys were dispatched to bed or to do homework and I settled in the dining room to mark books and go through the following day's lessons. I'd pack up around nine or ten, watch the news and go to bed. Now I'd arrive home at four, lie on the bed and sleep until six. Thankfully Peter was working from home by this point so he was able to deal with the boys. I'd eat, spend about an hour on my school work and then flake in front of the TV. My work and home life began to suffer.

A year later I moved to a school closer to home and worked as a cover teacher. This kept me in the classroom but relieved me of all the stuff that went with it such as the planning and marking. My idea of doing another degree went to the wall about this time too. After just one year I decided I couldn't do it anymore and found the job I do now. I'm still required to use my brain but I spend the day sitting down and can go at my own pace.

Since diagnoses I've gone through every drug on the market culminating in the IV Flolan I use now. I've had three further cardioversions and finally had my ablation in 2011. I've nearly died, twice. I'm now on the transplant list and I have outlived my use by date by three years.

When I think back over all I've been through, all I've achieved and all the set backs I am amazed I'm still here. I've lost a lot of PH friends over those five years and each loss makes me wonder how much longer is left for me. I could defy all medical predictions and live another five years or more. I could get the much longed for call for transplant and end up having another thirty years in front of me. All I know for sure is that my time is running out. Every August/September I reflect on my PH journey and count off another year. My biggest wish is that next year I can start counting off the years post transplant.

When Sliver Turns To Gold

Yesterday I arrived home from work, went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea and glanced out of the window.

To my utter dismay I saw a few flecks of yellow among the green of the Silver Birch. September is only next week and autumn is already making it's presence felt. Now I love autumn, it is my favourite time of year but it's arrival always catches me by surprise and makes me feel sad that the opportunity for sitting in the garden and reading is fast diminishing. I always imagine myself sitting outside on a crisp sunny autumn day, wrapped in blankets, a steaming cup of tea by my side and perfectly happy. In reality the effort of setting up the furniture and taking everything I need to keep warm out into the garden is just too much effort.

Goodbye until next year.

Part of the problem is my PH. I feel the cold more than I used too and cold air badly affects my breathing. So in order to enjoy any cold day I have to resemble Scott of the Antarctic. Wearing so much clothing tends to take the enjoyment away. Maybe I'll find it easier after my transplant.

Talking of which it is now eight months since I went on the list and I've finally stopped jumping when the phone rings. In fact now I look on rogue phone calls with a mixture of resignation and disappointed. When I first went on the list I was excited and, probably foolishly, convinced I'd be getting a call almost as soon as I'd arrived home from hospital. In fairness some of my expectations had been fuelled by the transplant coordinators telling me that although they couldn't say when I would get my call, 'it could be tonight, tomorrow or next week'. Yes they did also say I should be prepared for a long wait and also consider the possibility that my call might never come. Being forever the optimist I didn't really consider that as a possibility but now the reality has kicked in and I've bedded down for a long wait.

Right! Enough of feeling sorry for myself, how was my return to work?

Well I have to admit on Wednesday I really thought I'd made a mistake. I also thought I was coming down with another chest infection as my chest hurt. However Thursday was much better as I got into my stride. However I don't think I was functioning at my best and I found it difficult to concentrate. I now have three days off so I'll rest up and hope I'm back to fully functioning by Monday.

Last night was the start of Celebrity Big Brother. Last year I watched the first show to see if there was anyone worth watching, there wasn't so I gave it a miss. This year I couldn't even bring myself to watch the opener and having now seen the list of who is in there I'm glad I didn't waste my time. I only knew two names for sure and neither held any particular interest.

In the news I have to say I am alarmed and sadden by the news coming out of Syria. How any leader in his right mind could poison his own people, especially women and children, is beyond me. As horrible as this event was I'm hopeful that some good will come of it. Saddam Hussain did something similar and look what happened to him.

Well it is grocery day and I need to get myself into gear and get on with it. Then I'm battening down the hatches until Monday and resting. One day I'll be able to tell you I am spending my weekend climbing a mountain or walking around a country house with a lot of gardens. Wouldn't that be nice?

The Transplant Games

Feeling so much better today.

Yesterday I was convinced my infection had descended to my chest as my breathing got worse and worse but I was puzzled because I had no pain, no cough or any of the other signs. Then I thought I might have a line infection, I've been paranoid since my friend Stacie got one and didn't realise until it was quite advanced. Again though I had no pain and checking the wound it was clean and odourless. So I was left scratching my head and then it dawned on me. I went and read the leaflets that came with the meds for my bad throat. I usually read everything but had only bothered with the leaflet from the antibiotic as I figured it was most likely to cause problems. The antibiotic was fine but the most common side effect of the spray was shortness of breath. Terrific, if I'd bothered to read it I would never have used it. So I stopped taking the stuff straight away, I had been using it every two hours, and this morning my breathing is better. Not quite as good as before I became ill but I suppose it will take a day or two to calm down.

Today I'm going to spend my time doing nothing, much like yesterday really. I slept really well last night and Peter had to wake me with a cup of tea to do my meds. This may be why I'm feeling so much better. Yesterday I kept drifting off on front of the TV I was so tired but I made myself stay awake as much as possible knowing that if I slept during the day I wouldn't get any sleep again overnight. My tactic worked and so I'm fairly bright and breezy this morning. If the weather is good I might even venture out to read in the sunshine and get a bit of fresh air. I know if my little problem reads this they'll probably complain, they have before, but it is ridiculous to think I , or anyone else, can go from sick bed to work without testing the waters first. And personally I don't see where the problem lies with sitting out and getting some fresh air when you are sick, it's not like I'm out hiking in the hills or anything.

Last night I saw the first advert for this year's Strictly Come Dancing. I am so, so excited I can't tell you. It is my all time favourite programme, only 'I'm a Celeb' comes close. So now of course I'm anxious to know who's on it. I've read rumours and speculation but you never really know until the first programme when they team everyone up.

Of course there is also a certain sadness to the start of Strictly as it's arrival heralds the end of summer and we know we are soon going to be plunged into dark evenings and cold, wet days. If the last couple of years are anything to go by we will have snow before Christmas. Although Autumn is my favourite time of year I do feel a certain sadness for the passing of the long hot days spent reading in the garden. This year winter will be slightly different for me than previous years though. Now I work shorter days I will at least see some daylight. I used to drive to work in the dark and drive home in the dark. Now I will at least see some daylight leaving work at four.

While off work I've been keeping an eye on the Transplant Games that are taking place at the moment. I must admit to feeling a twinge of jealousy when reading about people running, jumping and swimming. I so, so miss that part of my life. I hope that I too will be able to take part one day, maybe the next games, you never know. With autumn coming and my eighth month on the transplant list being marked tomorrow I can't help thinking now would be a very good time to have the operation. I can recover at home and take walks in the crisp cool air and not worry about how to get into work during a snow fall. In fact it would be the perfect time because come summer again I should be fit enough to at least go and paddle in the sea in Aberystwyth. Knowing my luck I'll get the call during the Strictly final.

Also in the news are the first official pictures of Prince George. These pictures are sweet, natural and gives not doubt that Kate and William are blissfully happy. However there is controversy. Why? Because these pictures were not taken by a stuffy court photographer in an ornate palace room. These were taken by Kate's dad in his back garden. Yes they are informal and unstuffy but isn't that what first baby pictures are supposed to be?

Well time to go and eat. I weighed myself this morning and I'm back down to seven and a half stone so I've got yet another mountain to climb. It just never seems to end.