A busy, sad, scary, exhausting week.
Start of the week was as normal. We had Cerys our baby grandaughter Monday and Tuesday. Plus we have the builders in which is never good and even less so when you have a husband like mine. For want of a better phrase, He does my head in – il abbreviate this to DMHI as I will undoubtedly use it a lot. He is at the window at 8.30 am waiting for said builder to arrive, if he’s late he is prowling round the place like something possessed. At 8.35 he messages him, if he hasn’t replied by 8.37 he messages again . He really is unbearable. On saying that, things aren’t going that great. The builder is A big tall jolly chap with a massive red beard – he is also Mr. Massively Disorganised (MMD), whom, I get the impression, is juggling 50 jobs without telling us and is getting grief from everyone. He is always late and then disappears or spends an hour in his van on his phone. The promised brickie, carpenter and tiler are very conspicuous by their absence. He is running way behind schedule, the bricks he ordered were the wrong ones, after me going to brickyard to pick them 😡 When he is here he works hard and I think he will get the job done…….eventually. DMHI cannot cope with such indiscipline and is in danger of leaving us builderless and /or getting done for GBH……..
Thursday arrives and we are off to see The Expert in London. We went on the train which was good with no problems. We arrived at London Paddington and headed for the tube. I can’t say I’m a lover of London or the underground and as I’m never fully well, I found it a strain. Lots of walking and stairs, I struggled. At Earl’s Court a large group of young men came on chanting and shouting, I think it was a stag do – I felt afraid and lost. My husband marches ahead with seemingly no thought of me trailing miles behind. We get to the hotel after yet another long walk and I just feel so tired. After a little break we get back on the district line and make our way to Harley Street. I didn’t ask to go to Harley Street and I am not wealthy but the guy I was seeing is a friend of my consultant and that’s where he sees patients. Why do I need to explain that – I find the fact I’ve been to Harley St embarrassing for some reason, my low self esteem again torturing me. We arrived early at the impressive Georgian building and are directed to the waiting room- a large space decorated in muted shades of grey with matching coloured furniture. We sat and had a very mediocre coffee from an over complicated machine. I had to complete a form to make sure they got their cash one way or another. I shut my eyes and tried to organise my thoughts for this very important meeting. We were eventually called and had to walk up a massive spiralling staircase – I was worried I’d be breathless when I met The Expert. But I was ok and he was lovely, as you’d expect. We had formulated some questions but he answered most of them without us asking. He examined me briefly and said he expected me to be in a wheelchair after all that had happened. My robust constitution was obviously doing its job, he said. So for now he says, we do nothing. I must try and live with it and look after myself. He said next year I will need more tests and if more surgery was needed, he could come to Cardiff and operate on me which was reassuring, wasn’t it ? He likes a challenge obviously. There are no drugs for this as there is no obvious disease, I am well and my body is coping. Yes I thought, but my mind isn’t………
I did however leave there feeling lifted so we went to John Lewis as I wanted to get something for the children and fancied some perfume. Now my husband isn’t a shopper and if we go to a shop there has to be a PLAN. If I touch something he thinks I want it and then asks why I’m not buying it, he really has no concept of browsing. I don’t get out much and John Lewis is something of a massive box of chocolates to me. I buy nothing. He buys orange juice and wine. The perfume was more expensive than I thought. I felt old and broken, the perfume lady was young and beautiful ( if not a tad annoying as she couldn’t understand my Welsh accent ) – I just wanted to go home. We got a taxi back to the hotel and I just collapsed on the bed, I didn’t want to go for food which didn’t go down too well. DMHI had a minor tantrum and teddy was well and truly hurled from the pram. I had some pizza in the room, and talked to my daughter about a family funeral that had clashed with my appointment. My uncle had died very suddenly 10 days ago – without warning he suffered a massive heart attack – he was 66. He was also carer to my aunty so all in all a complete nightmare. The funeral went ok, a nice send off . I felt awful for missing it but my aunty insisted I keep my appointment. I don’t know how she will cope without him, he adored her and looked after her every need. Life is just rubbish at times.
Next morning, we were awoken by mayhem outside. Sirens, lots of sirens – emergency vehicles screaming past our hotel at a great speed of knots. Normal for London but obviously something kicking off I thought. We had planned to go to The Shard for the champagne experience but as I turned the TV on we saw on the news about the apparent bomb on the district line. Our area of West London had descended into chaos and the district line was closed. We decided to go straight home after breakfast. The hotel staff didn’t seem too phased by events and breakfast was quite relaxed. The music was a bit sad and I watched a family eat breakfast whilst the dad sang ‘all of me loves all of you’ to his children, which was pretty lovely. ( although it did cross my mind it was a bit weird and was he actually a paedophile). I dismissed that thought, the children looked happy and they knew the words to the song so that was ok. Overthinking is a big problem of mine. Obviously.
We got a taxi to Paddington having to take the back streets as many streets were closed off, the meter on full pelt £££. The train was on time and absolutely fine, DMHI moaned about everything especially the Chinese lady in front of us who happened to be talking on her phone, in Chinese. It irritated him. I pretended to fall asleep and leave sulky pants to his own misery. In his defence, he is not a miserable person usually but having a wife with fistula is getting to him big time.
We got home to find the builder had left several hours previously and there was now a doorway minus the door from our house into the garage. Plus dust, lots and lots of dust. I did a cursory clean up and he unpacked. I coughed and sneezed and felt rough. He made me lemsip and a sandwich and I fell asleep. I risked a bath – now on the basis I have these holes in my stomach I’m never sure about a bath – I envisage filling full of water and just sinking to the bottom never to be seen again. That didn’t happen but I did fall asleep. Lots of sleeping. Saturday was quiet and restful. Builder had messaged to say he was calling later that day. I had mixed thoughts about this as an inspection had already taken place by DMHI. The floor was springy and he wasn’t happy. So we waited for said builder to arrive and yes you guessed it, no show. Messages were sent and not responded to. Tempers rising………DMHI was really DMHI.
Sunday arrives and I felt rubbish, slight temperature, shivery and that familiar pain in pelvis. What now I thought. Hubby was pacing and asking me constantly if I was ok. He had messaged builder to tell him the bricks were the wrong colour and the floor was still springy and WAS HE CALLING OR NOT. At this point the prospect of being admitted to hospital was quite appealing, no stress, no tantrums just peace and quiet. DMHI looked like he was about to have a cardiac arrest. I could hear lots of noise coming from the garage – it sounded like DMHI was taking the floor up….. I took matters into my hand and messaged builder and asked him two questions –
Was he coming today &
Where were we financially.
He arrived 20 mins later with his usual mantra – all was good. The springy floorwas fixable and the bricks would be changed. He had a brickie who was coming on Monday and a carpenter booked for Wednesday . Peace restored. DMHI happy chappy. I’m not as easily convinced but at this moment in time, I didn’t care.
My temperature was up and I felt really rough. Ended up seeing out of hours GP who felt I needed to be seen ‘ by the surgical team ‘. Here we go again. DMHI was not a happy puppy at ‘spending another day of his life in hospital with me’ (because I of course just love it ). A bit of luck in that the registrar was from Cardiff and she knew me -hooray ! So no look of horror when she saw my battered stomach, she was quite laid back about it all and took some blood. I was found a bed and it was all very peaceful. Two hours later I was told my bloods were ok (for me), I didn’t have sepsis and could go home. But if things get worse, come back……..hate it when they say that. No wonder I am anxious !
So that’s my week. I feel ok tonight and had a large glass of prosecco plus two chocolate mini rolls, oh and a bag of quavers. Not very healthy. Tomorrow is another day. Builder supposed to be here at 830am so good luck with that one, think I.
If anyone has any room for a quiet type of person, I don’t eat much and sleep a lot bit like a friendly pet hamster – I’d be very grateful……….need to escape from bearded builders who promise the world and one very grumpy husband who is most definitely DMHI.