I did some shopping for Pinky today. Faye had sent Cathy a catalogue for Evans, the plus-sizes clothes shop, and I was picking up a pair of shoes Pinky wanted. I was supposed to do this last week and forgot in all the excitement. It got quite complicated, because the shop didn't have the slip she wanted and the internet site didn't have the shoes!
So anyway it seems like the only functioning branch in Edinburgh is at the Fort Kinnaird retail park, on the city's eastern outskirts. So today I drove out there. I thought I hadn't been before, but when I got there I realised I had -- I went to the bowling alley one time about ten years ago. It's definitely grown since then. It's enormous. Not only that, but the shops themselves are large. They're all the familiar High Street names though: Border Books, Comet, Boots, Gap, blah blah. There's a Pizza Hut and a McDonalds too. You could be anywhere in Britain.
Since I moved out of the city I've been to more shopping centres than in all the years before then, but it still feels like a strange experience. South Queensferry doesn't have any "proper" shops, it's all knick-knackeries and cafes, with a couple of supermarkets. I wish it was more like Stockbridge, which has several greengrocers, a deli or two, a butcher, a baker and a candlestick-maker. As well as cafes and knick-knackeries.
Fort Kinnaird also has a big cinema complex, and that reminded me of the one time I nearly saw a movie there. I was going out with a fellow from Fife at the time, it was one of our first dates. To get to Fort Kinnaird you have to drive through Craigmillar. This is one of the city's most deprived areas -- crappy council housing, lots of graffiti, bars on the shop windows etc. As we drove along the main street, my date became more and more agitated. Finally, he turned the car round, refused to go any further. I don't know what he though would happen to us: carjack? brick through the windscreen perhaps? I was NOT impressed. What he didn't understand was that Craigmillar is a really energetic community -- looks and money aren't everything.
While at Fort Kinnaird I lashed out on an impulse buy at Principles, next door to Evans: a black fake-fur gilet. It'll be lovely and cosy for winter walks with Bertie. I'll need the long sweeping skirt and Russian boots to go with it of course.
27 September 2002
26 September 2002
:: poor bertie
I'm always spoiling his fun. There's this one table, a cheap Ikea side-table, that he chews. It's in "his" room, the spare bedroom. Soon after I got it, he gnawed on the corner, so I turned the table round so the gnawed corner was hidden. He gnawed on the next corner. I turned it again. Yup, next corner went. I gave up.
The other day I finally got a replacement table, same kind (only in cheapskate white rather than elegant birch), but this time I dabbed each corner with chew deterrent. Horrible stuff -- it was hard to wash off my fingers & I got a taste of it. The main ingredient is something called Bitrex.
Shortly after I put the new table in place, Bertie went upstairs. There was a brief silence, then a kind of stifled bark followed by loud gagging and retching noises.
The table is still as good as new.
The other day I finally got a replacement table, same kind (only in cheapskate white rather than elegant birch), but this time I dabbed each corner with chew deterrent. Horrible stuff -- it was hard to wash off my fingers & I got a taste of it. The main ingredient is something called Bitrex.
Shortly after I put the new table in place, Bertie went upstairs. There was a brief silence, then a kind of stifled bark followed by loud gagging and retching noises.
The table is still as good as new.
25 September 2002
:: terraserver.com
Satellite Photos, Aerial Photography, and Images -- Look at cities from outer space.
:: jam today, more jam tomorrow
I made some jam last week as well, from plums that came from trees at the farm. I gave a jar to Fiona and she's reported back that it's delicious (I haven't tasted it yet, I'm still finishing the last of the blackcurrent and some strawberry/raspberry another friend made). I only made five jars of plum jam -- originally six, but then it didn't set so I had to boil it again and a whole jar's worth boiled away -- because I only had five jars. I use jars from other things, like honey and pasta sauce, and hadn't managed to save up very many.
But! Today I discovered that Lakeland Plastics sells jam jars by the dozen, with screw-on lids. Hurrah! A bit late for this year's jam-making, but I'm thinking it might be nice to try making some marmalade. Once I've got a jam pan. Back on the internet I made an interesting discovery -- it may be cheaper to buy an old copper jam pan in an antique shop than a new one. The cheapest antique was a sturdy-looking one, beautifully blackened on the outside, for £32. The cheapest new one was a nasty aluminium job. Yick, and still £40. Stainless steel is about £50-£60, and copper? Fuggedaboudit -- £79.
I love making jam and people really appreciate it, because hardly anyone makes jam any more and store-boughten jam is mainly pumpkin and marrow, I'm told. So! I'll be cooking with gas next summer.
But! Today I discovered that Lakeland Plastics sells jam jars by the dozen, with screw-on lids. Hurrah! A bit late for this year's jam-making, but I'm thinking it might be nice to try making some marmalade. Once I've got a jam pan. Back on the internet I made an interesting discovery -- it may be cheaper to buy an old copper jam pan in an antique shop than a new one. The cheapest antique was a sturdy-looking one, beautifully blackened on the outside, for £32. The cheapest new one was a nasty aluminium job. Yick, and still £40. Stainless steel is about £50-£60, and copper? Fuggedaboudit -- £79.
I love making jam and people really appreciate it, because hardly anyone makes jam any more and store-boughten jam is mainly pumpkin and marrow, I'm told. So! I'll be cooking with gas next summer.
23 September 2002
:: I'm back!
Blimey, long time since I wrote -- apologies to my regular readers (hi Mum, hi John). I've been busy busy busy, either too busy to write (this past week), or busy doing things that aren't that interesting (the week before that).
This past week I was on holiday (back at work tonight, sigh) and had a great time. Ana arrived on Saturday and we met up for a drink on Sunday night -- her conference ran from 9am to 9.30pm, yikes. She stayed at the venue, a university hall of residence. The topic was medieval Spain, which is her specialty and she had to present a paper, which she was quite nervous about but which went really well.
On Monday I got stuck into the garden -- planted the onions, mowed the lawn, weeded furiously. It was the hardest physical work I'd done since getting out of hospital, so it was great to swing into it and feel ok afterwards. Exhausted, sure, but OK.
Tuesday's work schedule was even more gruelling: housework. Ugh. I cleaned and scrubbed and swept and dusted and mopped and vaccumed and polished. I changed sheets and washed dishes and wiped surfaces.
Then I packed my bag and Bertie's, loaded him into the car and drove into town to collect Ana from her conference and drove us all to Cawdor. We stopped for a coffee in Aviemore, and had dinner when we got to the farm at about 8.30pm. Everyone there was in good form, we had a great evening mooning over Ana's baby photos (Beatriz is nine months old) and talking our heads off. Ana and Andrew and I all shared a flat at one point, and he and I also know Ana's husband, Jose Manuel from back then. They're lovely, and I'm dying to meet Beatriz.
Wednesday was mad. After breakfast we had a long walk around the farm and along to Kirkton of Barevan (ruined churchyard). Andrew lay in the punishment grave for a photo op and Ana posed with cows because her Madrid friends could not believe a townie like her was going to stay on a farm. Bertie loved every single minute.
Next we drove (with Andrew as chauffeur, me in the back seat with Bertie -- "Hey! This is MY seat!") to Nairn to visit Jenny at the museum, where she's manager. Check out the picture of "Cawdor School Pupils with Mr Watson c1962" -- it could be Port Chalmers primary school c1962! Is that not Donald Knewstubb in the middle of the back row? And I'm sure one of those girls in the front row is a Hill.
After that we whizzed off to Cawdor Tavern for lunch -- yum. I had chicken escalopes with haggis, delish. Next stop was Cawdor Castle, which Ana hasn't seen before. I have, and Bertie was by now very bored with sitting in the car, so I took him for a nice walk instead.
On the way back we made a detour to Andrew's aunt's cottage and bumped into John there, who reported that all was well with the cattle. They're calving at the moment, and John swapped inspection rounds so Andrew could spend the day with Ana and I. Finally we got back to the farm. We meant to have dinner, but were all so full from the lavish lunch we just couldn't manage it.
So we talked until 7pm, which was when Andrew had to take on the evening inspection round and Ana, Bertie and I headed south. The plan was to visit a work colleague and his wife en route. They were renting a cottage at Insh, a tiny village on a back road near Kingussie. He'd emailed me a mobile phone number but it was out of signal -- a common thing in the Highlands. So we followed his instructions for getting there and we made it as darkness fell. And the colleague, John, drove up at the same time!
It turned out he'd given up on us and was driving to the pub for a drink -- but keeping an eye on oncoming traffic in case we were coming. He recognised my car, did a U-turn and followed us back. His wife had gone back to Edinburgh for a conference the next day. Their Cairn terrier Oz fell on Bertie with glad cries (he's only nine months old and loves big dogs) and they amused themselves running in and out of the house while we sat down to a cuppa and a chat. Great cottage -- it reminded me of an NZ crib.
We eventually got back to Queensferry at 11pm, whew. Next day I took Ana to the airport and then collapsed -- I was completely done in.
Friday I'd recovered sufficiently to get back out into the garden, this time to dig another new plot for the garlic -- the onions took up the whole plot I'd dug earlier. In the evening I went to see My Big Fat Greek Wedding with Fiona, an ex-workmate and a friend of hers. I enjoyed it -- very funny film, albeit full of stereotypes.
The last day of my holiday, yesterday, I bundled Bertie in the car and went to Tentsmuir, a beach/forest area we both love. He got into trouble for barking at some kids on bikes, but mostly it was ok. A lot of people were out picking mushrooms among the trees. I saw a lot of toadstools but nothing I would dare eating. On the way home I stopped in Anstruther for a fish and chip supper at the award-winning chippie there -- triple yum! It was superb.
This past week I was on holiday (back at work tonight, sigh) and had a great time. Ana arrived on Saturday and we met up for a drink on Sunday night -- her conference ran from 9am to 9.30pm, yikes. She stayed at the venue, a university hall of residence. The topic was medieval Spain, which is her specialty and she had to present a paper, which she was quite nervous about but which went really well.
On Monday I got stuck into the garden -- planted the onions, mowed the lawn, weeded furiously. It was the hardest physical work I'd done since getting out of hospital, so it was great to swing into it and feel ok afterwards. Exhausted, sure, but OK.
Tuesday's work schedule was even more gruelling: housework. Ugh. I cleaned and scrubbed and swept and dusted and mopped and vaccumed and polished. I changed sheets and washed dishes and wiped surfaces.
Then I packed my bag and Bertie's, loaded him into the car and drove into town to collect Ana from her conference and drove us all to Cawdor. We stopped for a coffee in Aviemore, and had dinner when we got to the farm at about 8.30pm. Everyone there was in good form, we had a great evening mooning over Ana's baby photos (Beatriz is nine months old) and talking our heads off. Ana and Andrew and I all shared a flat at one point, and he and I also know Ana's husband, Jose Manuel from back then. They're lovely, and I'm dying to meet Beatriz.
Wednesday was mad. After breakfast we had a long walk around the farm and along to Kirkton of Barevan (ruined churchyard). Andrew lay in the punishment grave for a photo op and Ana posed with cows because her Madrid friends could not believe a townie like her was going to stay on a farm. Bertie loved every single minute.
Next we drove (with Andrew as chauffeur, me in the back seat with Bertie -- "Hey! This is MY seat!") to Nairn to visit Jenny at the museum, where she's manager. Check out the picture of "Cawdor School Pupils with Mr Watson c1962" -- it could be Port Chalmers primary school c1962! Is that not Donald Knewstubb in the middle of the back row? And I'm sure one of those girls in the front row is a Hill.
After that we whizzed off to Cawdor Tavern for lunch -- yum. I had chicken escalopes with haggis, delish. Next stop was Cawdor Castle, which Ana hasn't seen before. I have, and Bertie was by now very bored with sitting in the car, so I took him for a nice walk instead.
On the way back we made a detour to Andrew's aunt's cottage and bumped into John there, who reported that all was well with the cattle. They're calving at the moment, and John swapped inspection rounds so Andrew could spend the day with Ana and I. Finally we got back to the farm. We meant to have dinner, but were all so full from the lavish lunch we just couldn't manage it.
So we talked until 7pm, which was when Andrew had to take on the evening inspection round and Ana, Bertie and I headed south. The plan was to visit a work colleague and his wife en route. They were renting a cottage at Insh, a tiny village on a back road near Kingussie. He'd emailed me a mobile phone number but it was out of signal -- a common thing in the Highlands. So we followed his instructions for getting there and we made it as darkness fell. And the colleague, John, drove up at the same time!
It turned out he'd given up on us and was driving to the pub for a drink -- but keeping an eye on oncoming traffic in case we were coming. He recognised my car, did a U-turn and followed us back. His wife had gone back to Edinburgh for a conference the next day. Their Cairn terrier Oz fell on Bertie with glad cries (he's only nine months old and loves big dogs) and they amused themselves running in and out of the house while we sat down to a cuppa and a chat. Great cottage -- it reminded me of an NZ crib.
We eventually got back to Queensferry at 11pm, whew. Next day I took Ana to the airport and then collapsed -- I was completely done in.
Friday I'd recovered sufficiently to get back out into the garden, this time to dig another new plot for the garlic -- the onions took up the whole plot I'd dug earlier. In the evening I went to see My Big Fat Greek Wedding with Fiona, an ex-workmate and a friend of hers. I enjoyed it -- very funny film, albeit full of stereotypes.
The last day of my holiday, yesterday, I bundled Bertie in the car and went to Tentsmuir, a beach/forest area we both love. He got into trouble for barking at some kids on bikes, but mostly it was ok. A lot of people were out picking mushrooms among the trees. I saw a lot of toadstools but nothing I would dare eating. On the way home I stopped in Anstruther for a fish and chip supper at the award-winning chippie there -- triple yum! It was superb.
8 September 2002
:: ow
I've got a blinding headache, but I'm not taking any paracetamol, no I'm not. In fact I'm pretty sure the headache is from paracetamol withdrawal. I've been taking pretty much the maximum dosage every day for nearly three weeks now. This morning I thought about taking some and decided against it. So far I haven't had any abdominal pain, just this headache. I'll take a codeine tonight maybe, if there are any twinges, and the anti-inflammatory pill. But that's it for paracetamol. Give my liver a break.
Yesterday I mowed both lawns, hurrah. Didn't get the onions planted though. Last night as I was walking Bertie down the road I heard a strange pattering in the trees across the road. Wow, what's that? I thought. Soon got the answer: torrential rain. It bucketed down! Not only that, but shortly afterwards a thunderstorm arrived, and raged through the night, right up to midday. So I didn't get the onions planted today either.
Yesterday afternoon's walk was a hoot: we met a couple of Bertie's young fans, twin girls who have an Alsatian at home so aren't afraid of big stupid dogs. They were intrigued by his fear of them, and begged me to let him off the lead so they could see him running. I explained about him barking at kids, then let him off.
They had a great time! The girls ran about shrieking and laughing while Bertie wore himself out chasing them. He barked at them at first, but soon ran out of puff. I don't know how therapeutic it was for him, he was absolutely terrified, but at least it reassured me that he'll never ever bite a child -- he wouldn't dare get that close.
Today I picked blackberries, there's a really good crop this year. Quite a few people are picking them but there are plenty for everyone -- there are several good stands at the park and some excellent patches at the back of the marina.
Yesterday I mowed both lawns, hurrah. Didn't get the onions planted though. Last night as I was walking Bertie down the road I heard a strange pattering in the trees across the road. Wow, what's that? I thought. Soon got the answer: torrential rain. It bucketed down! Not only that, but shortly afterwards a thunderstorm arrived, and raged through the night, right up to midday. So I didn't get the onions planted today either.
Yesterday afternoon's walk was a hoot: we met a couple of Bertie's young fans, twin girls who have an Alsatian at home so aren't afraid of big stupid dogs. They were intrigued by his fear of them, and begged me to let him off the lead so they could see him running. I explained about him barking at kids, then let him off.
They had a great time! The girls ran about shrieking and laughing while Bertie wore himself out chasing them. He barked at them at first, but soon ran out of puff. I don't know how therapeutic it was for him, he was absolutely terrified, but at least it reassured me that he'll never ever bite a child -- he wouldn't dare get that close.
Today I picked blackberries, there's a really good crop this year. Quite a few people are picking them but there are plenty for everyone -- there are several good stands at the park and some excellent patches at the back of the marina.
6 September 2002
:: more american opinions
While I'm about it, this -- Pax Americana with Michael Goldfarb : WBUR Boston -- is a link to something I heard excerpts from on Radio 4 this morning.
It was on a show called A World in Your Ear, in which they trawl English-speaking radio stations around the globe for interesting stuff. Today it was all about September 11.
The WBUR Boston site is particularly interesting, it's well laid out and has lots of links to all kinds of things related to the stories. As with BBC radio, you can listen to the programmes too, once they've been broadcast. Well worth a look.
It was on a show called A World in Your Ear, in which they trawl English-speaking radio stations around the globe for interesting stuff. Today it was all about September 11.
The WBUR Boston site is particularly interesting, it's well laid out and has lots of links to all kinds of things related to the stories. As with BBC radio, you can listen to the programmes too, once they've been broadcast. Well worth a look.
:: meanwhile...
Life goes on. I'm a bit tired, due to not enough sleep, due to Bertie's annoying habit of waking me up good and early so we'll get out on our walk at a reasonable hour. Midday is not reasonable, in his view. He realises it takes me a good hour to have breakfast and read the paper, so he usually wakes me up at about 9 or 10am or so (shaking his head so his collar tags tinkle, or whining if that doesn't work). Once I'm up he goes back to bed and sleeps until I say the magic words: "Are you ready?"
This morning, he woke me at 8.15am, which really is not on. But I had to get up early anyway, because I had an appointment with the chiropracter. So now I'm tired out.
Tomorrow's plan is to plant my onion sets (hope the rabbits don't like onions), mow the lawns and maybe go to a movie. Work on Sunday, and off again on Monday, followed by four days of work and then a week's holiday! Yay!
This morning, he woke me at 8.15am, which really is not on. But I had to get up early anyway, because I had an appointment with the chiropracter. So now I'm tired out.
Tomorrow's plan is to plant my onion sets (hope the rabbits don't like onions), mow the lawns and maybe go to a movie. Work on Sunday, and off again on Monday, followed by four days of work and then a week's holiday! Yay!
:: Drudge Report exclusive
Can't wait to read this in the Sunday Times this weekend.... Witty, savage -- and just what I've been thinking myself...
My favourite Mailer quote: "Clinton made a point of surrounding himself with people who might be 90% as intelligent as himself, but never his equal. Bush is smart enough to know that he couldn't possibly do the same, or the country would be run by morons."
My favourite Mailer quote: "Clinton made a point of surrounding himself with people who might be 90% as intelligent as himself, but never his equal. Bush is smart enough to know that he couldn't possibly do the same, or the country would be run by morons."
4 September 2002
:: back at work
Sigh, yes, I'm back at the coalface. I'm still taking paracetamol and a codeine at night, but I'm feeling 100%. Most of the floral tributes went into the bin today, apart from Mum's bouquet, which for some reason is still going strong. I picked out a few stems from the rest that were still ok and put them in with her bunch.
My real recovery started on Thursday, when I drove into town for a dental appointment. I left the car in the suburbs and bussed the rest of the way, not trusting myself to heavy traffic. It went ok though. I ended up walking a lot, did some shopping as well. I was a bit tired after all that, but not shattered.
Bertie arrived home on Saturday afternoon. He was pleased to see me, but wanted to go "home" when Colin left and seemed a bit confused for a couple of days. He's back into the routine again now though -- especially since we visited the pet supermarket yesterday and stocked up on treats. It's been good getting back to regular walking.
Also at the weekend I washed the car and mowed the lawn. For carwashing I used the hose I bought the day I went to the dentist. It turned out to be fiendishly complicated to fit all the bits on, so the whole operation took half the day. Again, it was tiring but not shattering.
Right now I feel like I could do with a nap -- it's 11pm, two hours to go before home time.
For anyone who's interested, here's a blow-by-blow of my hospital visit:
Day one: Caught the bus to town at some ungodly hour in the morning, walked through town to the old hospital. Made a tour of various departments before finding the right one. Stripped off in cubicle, donned chic hospital gown and was fitted with charming anti-embolism stockings by nurse. (Ironic given I was there for an embolisation procedure.)
The anaesthetist fitted me to the morphine pump and I lay around for a while on a trolley watching other patients coming and going. Finally I was wheeled into the theatre. Compared to the outer area this was a Star Trek set. I was offloaded on to a motorised table, next to a set of computer monitors on a motorised arm and under a huge X-ray camera, also motorised. All the personnel -- and there seemed to be dozens -- wore lead aprons or were behind glass in a separate control room, watching more monitors.
Dr Ingram arrived first and administered the local before making the incisions and getting the catheters set up. At least I think that's what she was doing. Before she set to work my table was whizzed back and the camera came down -- right in front of my face. After a bit Dr Gillespie arrived too and they really got down to business, which was threading the catheters through to the womb.
"You've got very weird anatomy," Dr Gillespie said. "Your arteries should come to a V, but they're like trouser legs."
"What he's trying to say is that you're a very complex woman," said Dr Ingram.
At one point Dr Gillespie said the catheter had "turned back on itself" and pulled it out. "Get me a Sidewinder," he told one of the nurses, and she went to a big cupboard full of long packets on hangers and brought him one. It seemed to do the trick.
After the procedure, the two doctors stood on either side of me with their thumbs pressed on to the incision sites for ten minutes, to make sure they didn't bleed. Then Dr Gillespie went through the pictures with me, showing me my wonky arteries and the big blobs of fibroids. It was very interesting and I wish I could have watched as it happened.
After that excitement I was flopped back on to a trolley and pushed back out to the recovery area, where I dozed away a couple of hours waiting for the ambulance to take me to my bed in the new hospital. The research sister, Helen Dewart, was with me through the transfer, must have been boring for her. Riding in an ambulance was odd -- you can't see out the windows so you have no conception of where you are.
But eventually I was wheeled in to the ward and slid on to the bed, where I had to lie flat for at least four hours. People kept asking me if I could eat. "I think so, I didn't have a general anaesthetic, and I'm very hungry," I'd say pathetically. "I'll just go and ask the nurse/sister/doctor," they'd say and disappear. Finally I was allowed to sit up and have some toast and soup. Delicious! After a little while longer I staggered off to the toilet unaided, trailing my little wheeled morphine dispenser behind me.
That night I slept like a log.
Day two: Pretty much a drug-assisted haze, with meals a highlight. In hospital the day starts early, about 6am it seemed, with a visit from the night nurse. Various medical personnel visited through the day: Dr Ingram; Sister Dewart; Dr West, whose ward I was in, and her entourage of students; the nurses.
I read most of the novel I brought in and chatted with my three ward mates. After they were discharged I succumbed to boredom and shuffled off in search of the machine that dispenses cards that work the bedside tv/phone combo. I didn't have the right change, so shuffled off further afield in search of the shop, where I had to buy something to get change. Shuffled back off upstairs and discovered the machine was out of £3.50 cards, so had to buy a £5 card. Shuffled back to bed, where I discovered the headphones didn't work right. Shuffled around the ward swapping headphones and found that mine were in fact the ward's finest pair. Sigh. Watched TV and dozed and read and ate. Faye's flowers arrived, a huge beautiful bunch with acres of cellophane and big ribbons.
There was a drama in the evening with the arrival of a young woman who I think was either miscarrying or had an ectopic pregnancy. She was very upset anyway, and so was her family -- husband and parents were all there. She was taken straight into the theatre.
Slept like a log again, after a slight hiccup. I hadn't used much of the morphine; so little in fact that the stent clogged up. I realised there was a problem after I clicked for my night-night dose and instead of drifting off I slowly become more and more alert. The nurse tried to clear it with an injection of saline, then called the duty doctor. She managed to clear it with an injection of blood-thinner, and gave it a click. Added to my earlier dose, still in the pipeline, that sent me off to dreamland like a mallet on the head.
Day three: A flurry of medical visitors in the morning, with a promise of early release. I called Leslie from the bedside bat-phone and she said she and Chad would collect me at about noon. And they did! I felt a tiny bit woozy, but walked to the van without any problem. Once home I even made them a cup of tea. Later in the afternoon I ventured out to collect some more flowers that had been left next door and also went down to the library.
So there you go: a big anticlimax given all the scare stories I've been given. I've been really very lucky as far as recovery goes, but I put at least some of it down to positive mental attitude. I think pushing the envelope a bit with gentle exercise and so on helps recovery by keeping the blood circulating.
Next step is to see Dr Gillespie again in a couple of weeks -- him or Helen Dewart, I'm not sure. Then at six months I have another MRI scan to see what progress has been made. I'm supposed to be keeping a diary of symptoms etc, but there hasn't been anything to report so far.
My real recovery started on Thursday, when I drove into town for a dental appointment. I left the car in the suburbs and bussed the rest of the way, not trusting myself to heavy traffic. It went ok though. I ended up walking a lot, did some shopping as well. I was a bit tired after all that, but not shattered.
Bertie arrived home on Saturday afternoon. He was pleased to see me, but wanted to go "home" when Colin left and seemed a bit confused for a couple of days. He's back into the routine again now though -- especially since we visited the pet supermarket yesterday and stocked up on treats. It's been good getting back to regular walking.
Also at the weekend I washed the car and mowed the lawn. For carwashing I used the hose I bought the day I went to the dentist. It turned out to be fiendishly complicated to fit all the bits on, so the whole operation took half the day. Again, it was tiring but not shattering.
Right now I feel like I could do with a nap -- it's 11pm, two hours to go before home time.
For anyone who's interested, here's a blow-by-blow of my hospital visit:
Day one: Caught the bus to town at some ungodly hour in the morning, walked through town to the old hospital. Made a tour of various departments before finding the right one. Stripped off in cubicle, donned chic hospital gown and was fitted with charming anti-embolism stockings by nurse. (Ironic given I was there for an embolisation procedure.)
The anaesthetist fitted me to the morphine pump and I lay around for a while on a trolley watching other patients coming and going. Finally I was wheeled into the theatre. Compared to the outer area this was a Star Trek set. I was offloaded on to a motorised table, next to a set of computer monitors on a motorised arm and under a huge X-ray camera, also motorised. All the personnel -- and there seemed to be dozens -- wore lead aprons or were behind glass in a separate control room, watching more monitors.
Dr Ingram arrived first and administered the local before making the incisions and getting the catheters set up. At least I think that's what she was doing. Before she set to work my table was whizzed back and the camera came down -- right in front of my face. After a bit Dr Gillespie arrived too and they really got down to business, which was threading the catheters through to the womb.
"You've got very weird anatomy," Dr Gillespie said. "Your arteries should come to a V, but they're like trouser legs."
"What he's trying to say is that you're a very complex woman," said Dr Ingram.
At one point Dr Gillespie said the catheter had "turned back on itself" and pulled it out. "Get me a Sidewinder," he told one of the nurses, and she went to a big cupboard full of long packets on hangers and brought him one. It seemed to do the trick.
After the procedure, the two doctors stood on either side of me with their thumbs pressed on to the incision sites for ten minutes, to make sure they didn't bleed. Then Dr Gillespie went through the pictures with me, showing me my wonky arteries and the big blobs of fibroids. It was very interesting and I wish I could have watched as it happened.
After that excitement I was flopped back on to a trolley and pushed back out to the recovery area, where I dozed away a couple of hours waiting for the ambulance to take me to my bed in the new hospital. The research sister, Helen Dewart, was with me through the transfer, must have been boring for her. Riding in an ambulance was odd -- you can't see out the windows so you have no conception of where you are.
But eventually I was wheeled in to the ward and slid on to the bed, where I had to lie flat for at least four hours. People kept asking me if I could eat. "I think so, I didn't have a general anaesthetic, and I'm very hungry," I'd say pathetically. "I'll just go and ask the nurse/sister/doctor," they'd say and disappear. Finally I was allowed to sit up and have some toast and soup. Delicious! After a little while longer I staggered off to the toilet unaided, trailing my little wheeled morphine dispenser behind me.
That night I slept like a log.
Day two: Pretty much a drug-assisted haze, with meals a highlight. In hospital the day starts early, about 6am it seemed, with a visit from the night nurse. Various medical personnel visited through the day: Dr Ingram; Sister Dewart; Dr West, whose ward I was in, and her entourage of students; the nurses.
I read most of the novel I brought in and chatted with my three ward mates. After they were discharged I succumbed to boredom and shuffled off in search of the machine that dispenses cards that work the bedside tv/phone combo. I didn't have the right change, so shuffled off further afield in search of the shop, where I had to buy something to get change. Shuffled back off upstairs and discovered the machine was out of £3.50 cards, so had to buy a £5 card. Shuffled back to bed, where I discovered the headphones didn't work right. Shuffled around the ward swapping headphones and found that mine were in fact the ward's finest pair. Sigh. Watched TV and dozed and read and ate. Faye's flowers arrived, a huge beautiful bunch with acres of cellophane and big ribbons.
There was a drama in the evening with the arrival of a young woman who I think was either miscarrying or had an ectopic pregnancy. She was very upset anyway, and so was her family -- husband and parents were all there. She was taken straight into the theatre.
Slept like a log again, after a slight hiccup. I hadn't used much of the morphine; so little in fact that the stent clogged up. I realised there was a problem after I clicked for my night-night dose and instead of drifting off I slowly become more and more alert. The nurse tried to clear it with an injection of saline, then called the duty doctor. She managed to clear it with an injection of blood-thinner, and gave it a click. Added to my earlier dose, still in the pipeline, that sent me off to dreamland like a mallet on the head.
Day three: A flurry of medical visitors in the morning, with a promise of early release. I called Leslie from the bedside bat-phone and she said she and Chad would collect me at about noon. And they did! I felt a tiny bit woozy, but walked to the van without any problem. Once home I even made them a cup of tea. Later in the afternoon I ventured out to collect some more flowers that had been left next door and also went down to the library.
So there you go: a big anticlimax given all the scare stories I've been given. I've been really very lucky as far as recovery goes, but I put at least some of it down to positive mental attitude. I think pushing the envelope a bit with gentle exercise and so on helps recovery by keeping the blood circulating.
Next step is to see Dr Gillespie again in a couple of weeks -- him or Helen Dewart, I'm not sure. Then at six months I have another MRI scan to see what progress has been made. I'm supposed to be keeping a diary of symptoms etc, but there hasn't been anything to report so far.
26 August 2002
:: top tip for successful recuperation
Keep taking the painkillers. The reason you're not feeling any pain is because the painkillers are working.
Yes, I got over-confident and cut down on the painkillers. This morning I took full doses of everything and lay very still waiting for them to kick in. The rest of the day I've been taking it very, very easy; reading, watching tv, sunbathing.
I had visitors: Richard and his wife (a lovely woman whose name completely escapes me for the moment), who are up from England for the festival. Richard's lived in New Zealand so he knew I'd be unphased by an unannounced visit, but his wife was astounded at how well I took it. "I'd be all over the place!" she marvelled. Yesterday John from work and his wife Penny and their wee dog Oz visited.
I also had a visit today from a nice young man who offered to replace all my windows for free. I said goodbye three times, but he was still talking when I shut the door.
I know I haven't gone through the whole hospital stay and what happened and so on. One day I'll do it, maybe tomorrow.
Yes, I got over-confident and cut down on the painkillers. This morning I took full doses of everything and lay very still waiting for them to kick in. The rest of the day I've been taking it very, very easy; reading, watching tv, sunbathing.
I had visitors: Richard and his wife (a lovely woman whose name completely escapes me for the moment), who are up from England for the festival. Richard's lived in New Zealand so he knew I'd be unphased by an unannounced visit, but his wife was astounded at how well I took it. "I'd be all over the place!" she marvelled. Yesterday John from work and his wife Penny and their wee dog Oz visited.
I also had a visit today from a nice young man who offered to replace all my windows for free. I said goodbye three times, but he was still talking when I shut the door.
I know I haven't gone through the whole hospital stay and what happened and so on. One day I'll do it, maybe tomorrow.
24 August 2002
:: floral tributes
Just logging on for a minute before going for a walk, to post pictures of the flowers from Faye and Pinky. I haven't taken a picture of the bouquet Mother and John sent yet -- it arrived yesterday.
Pinky's basket. She actually ordered a bouquet because she thought the baskets looked "naff", but I think it's pretty. The pink stargazer lilies are my favourite flower.
Faye's bouquet. It came beautifully swathed in purple tissue and cellophane, with a big lavender bow.
It has some unusual flowers in it too -- I don't know what this is.
Pinky's basket. She actually ordered a bouquet because she thought the baskets looked "naff", but I think it's pretty. The pink stargazer lilies are my favourite flower.
Faye's bouquet. It came beautifully swathed in purple tissue and cellophane, with a big lavender bow.
It has some unusual flowers in it too -- I don't know what this is.
22 August 2002
:: home safe
Just a quick note to say I'm back from the hospital and feeling great. I even went for a wee walk down the street to the library (which was closed); felt a bit woozy but otherwise ok. I spent most of the day lazing around in the sun, reading and watching TV. Faye and Pinky both sent flowers, which are gorgeous and fill the house with scent.
I'll write up the past few days over the next few days.
I'll write up the past few days over the next few days.
17 August 2002
16 August 2002
:: Uh huh
Elvis Bust 'Weeps' in Dutch Town
"The tears you can see started at 10 o'clock. When you taste it, it's salty. It's a miracle," he said.
He would say that, wouldn't he -- he's a 50-year-old professional Elvis impersonator.
In other Elvis news, I was listening to Duchess of Devonshire this morning on the radio (or "the wireless" as she would no doubt call it) spilling the beans about her Elvis obsession. She denies being obsessed, of course but she IS. You can listen to it here.
I'm ticking things off my "to do" list with great speed. Now I just have to mow the lawns and that's about it, which is great -- I'll have the weekend free and the weather's promising to be good. Note to self: try not to get sunburnt. Bertie leaves for his little holiday in Dunfermline ("Hedgehog Capital of Central Scotland") on Monday morning.
A bloke who left work six years ago is up from England "doing" the Festival, and last night he popped in to say hello. It was quite strange, because so much has changed since he left. Lots of people have left, most of our department in fact, and of course we're in a new building. We've also had about five or six new editors since then. Spooky.
He's leaving journalism altogether, and Britain -- he and his wife are off to live in France.
"The tears you can see started at 10 o'clock. When you taste it, it's salty. It's a miracle," he said.
He would say that, wouldn't he -- he's a 50-year-old professional Elvis impersonator.
In other Elvis news, I was listening to Duchess of Devonshire this morning on the radio (or "the wireless" as she would no doubt call it) spilling the beans about her Elvis obsession. She denies being obsessed, of course but she IS. You can listen to it here.
I'm ticking things off my "to do" list with great speed. Now I just have to mow the lawns and that's about it, which is great -- I'll have the weekend free and the weather's promising to be good. Note to self: try not to get sunburnt. Bertie leaves for his little holiday in Dunfermline ("Hedgehog Capital of Central Scotland") on Monday morning.
A bloke who left work six years ago is up from England "doing" the Festival, and last night he popped in to say hello. It was quite strange, because so much has changed since he left. Lots of people have left, most of our department in fact, and of course we're in a new building. We've also had about five or six new editors since then. Spooky.
He's leaving journalism altogether, and Britain -- he and his wife are off to live in France.
15 August 2002
:: nearly ready
I'm getting organised, gradually. Today I even wrote a shopping list. And a time has been set for Bertie's departure -- 11am on Monday. I'll pack his bags on Sunday. He has a lot of luggage -- a huge quantity of food, for a start, plus treat biscuits, towels, his duvet and sheepskin, some toys, a spare lead, a cheque for the vet in case he hurts himself, some videos, his Playstation ...
I went to the library today and got out some "light reading" -- The Wind Singer by William Nicholson, One for My Baby by Tony Parsons and something else ... a science fiction novel I think, I can't remember now. I ordered a couple of other books too, while I was there: My Lover's Lover by Maggie O'Farrell and Unless by Carol Shields. They don't have a marvellous selection at the local library, but if they have the book you want at another branch you can order it and they'll send it out.
I still have a stack of books to read at home. At the moment I'm enjoying The Snow Geese by William Fiennes. It's a wonderful yarn -- he follows the geese migrating from the south of the US right up to the north of Canada. He's excellent at drawing pen-portraits of all the people he meets along the way. And I've also started True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey, and The Cold Six Thousand by James Ellroy. Oh, and Fifty in Fifty, a book of science fiction short stories I already had out of the library.
Piled up on the shelf, unread, are a bunch of books I got at the last review book sale here at work -- too many to mention. A novel, a couple of travel books, some philosophy, some popular science. The Snow Geese is one of them.
Time to do some work.
I went to the library today and got out some "light reading" -- The Wind Singer by William Nicholson, One for My Baby by Tony Parsons and something else ... a science fiction novel I think, I can't remember now. I ordered a couple of other books too, while I was there: My Lover's Lover by Maggie O'Farrell and Unless by Carol Shields. They don't have a marvellous selection at the local library, but if they have the book you want at another branch you can order it and they'll send it out.
I still have a stack of books to read at home. At the moment I'm enjoying The Snow Geese by William Fiennes. It's a wonderful yarn -- he follows the geese migrating from the south of the US right up to the north of Canada. He's excellent at drawing pen-portraits of all the people he meets along the way. And I've also started True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey, and The Cold Six Thousand by James Ellroy. Oh, and Fifty in Fifty, a book of science fiction short stories I already had out of the library.
Piled up on the shelf, unread, are a bunch of books I got at the last review book sale here at work -- too many to mention. A novel, a couple of travel books, some philosophy, some popular science. The Snow Geese is one of them.
Time to do some work.
11 August 2002
:: nee naw nee naw
We had a fire alarm at work tonight. First of all everyone ignores it, even thought it's deafeningly loud and shrill. Then finally, grumbling, everyone gets up and puts their coats on and plays follow-the-leader to the special fire alarm stairwell, which disgorges us on to the street by the garage doors. We're supposed to collect across the road outside Dynamic Earth, but no-one did.
It was cold and it was raining. We stood around for ten minutes moaning, waiting for the fire engines. They didn't turn up. Finally someone poked his head over a balcony and said it was ok to come back in. The alarm was still shrieking away as we pounded back up the special staircase.
That was the highlight of the evening, can you believe it? Very slow day. I got horribly wet on both morning and afternoon walks. I did some stuff on the computer (see pics below).
Er, that's it.
It was cold and it was raining. We stood around for ten minutes moaning, waiting for the fire engines. They didn't turn up. Finally someone poked his head over a balcony and said it was ok to come back in. The alarm was still shrieking away as we pounded back up the special staircase.
That was the highlight of the evening, can you believe it? Very slow day. I got horribly wet on both morning and afternoon walks. I did some stuff on the computer (see pics below).
Er, that's it.
:: pix
Finally remembered to plug my camera into my computer and download some photos; ah the far-off days of summer....
No photo-trickery involved, the rapsberries really were this big.
Remember I told you about the bridges and the haar? Well here they are.
And here's Bertie on Blackford Hill the other day.
Finally, some floral studies, from the front garden:
St John's Wort (I think)
The rock rose
The rose climbing outside the kitchen window.
No photo-trickery involved, the rapsberries really were this big.
Remember I told you about the bridges and the haar? Well here they are.
And here's Bertie on Blackford Hill the other day.
Finally, some floral studies, from the front garden:
St John's Wort (I think)
The rock rose
The rose climbing outside the kitchen window.
10 August 2002
Computer Stupidities Here's one for Liz and Ken -- and anyone who's new to computing (you know who you are...)
7 August 2002
:: last links
Here are the last few:
........
Bad Science "Be very, very careful what you put into that head,
because you will never, ever get it out." Thomas Cardinal Wolsey (1471-1530)
.......
Places of peace and power Photos of pilgrimage sites around the world.
..........
The Olympians By jove.
........
Nosepilot This used to be a beautiful hippy trippy, dreamy piece of animation. Now it's an angry, bitter artist's rant. His work was too beautiful. Too many people looked at it. And then he got the bill...
.........
And finally: Vedas and upanishads
...........
Enjoy.
........
Bad Science "Be very, very careful what you put into that head,
because you will never, ever get it out." Thomas Cardinal Wolsey (1471-1530)
.......
Places of peace and power Photos of pilgrimage sites around the world.
..........
The Olympians By jove.
........
Nosepilot This used to be a beautiful hippy trippy, dreamy piece of animation. Now it's an angry, bitter artist's rant. His work was too beautiful. Too many people looked at it. And then he got the bill...
.........
And finally: Vedas and upanishads
...........
Enjoy.
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