Parenting - Fear is Anger

Having told you how much I've been struggling with madam's temper recently I decided I could do with being more proactive about getting to the root of the problem. Remembering that the last time she was this volatile was also connected to her fears it seemed a good place to start.

When himself punched me it left a permanent impression on madam (despite having been only 3 she still mentions it regularly). It also left her with a lot of mixed feelings to deal with which to some extent I had to ride out due to her inability to properly verbalise her feelings. 

New clothes make any girl smile :)

Some of it was outright anger and she punched everyone and everything for a while. I had to go into her nursery on the first day and explain what might happen. I then had to go through a whole child protection thing with them to ensure himself couldn't go anywhere near her without me also being there. 

Also, she became incredibly clingy, which, if you know madam, you will know is very out of character. This is the bit I decided to try and focus on with her this weekend. Her clinginess was a manifestation of separation anxiety. So is her current vile behaviour somehow all mixed up with that?

I took her to the cinema on Saturday morning so that we could have some alone time together doing something fun. I let her watch the film and choose where we were having lunch before talking to her about it so that I knew she was pretty chilled out.

Knowing that my going to work is something that is new to her I decided to use that as a jumping off point. And I pretty much hit the jackpot. She admitted to being worried that I would go to work and forget about her and not come back. This is another leftover from her dad as he left us to go and work in London and has not lived with us since.

Can you look menacing whilst wearing Lycra? 

Her little brain does parent working = abandonment. I have spent the whole of the weekend trying to reassure that even though, yes, we dont get as much time together, I will not leave her. I have used all the examples I can think of from times we've been apart and I have come back again.

The thing that made me sad was that she can remember every single night we've spent apart! She really doesn't like it. And I had to try not to dismiss her fears as silly. They are very real to her. Daddy left her. She can't see why mummy never would, even if I have always come back before there might be a time when I don't.

She did at one point ask if she could live with nanna as she's retired and therefore won't go to work and leave her :'( Poor little thing. I have tried to make her understand that even if she is angry and worried this is not a reason to throw things at people and she has been better over the weekend. We'll see how it goes on.

Does anyone have any other ideas of ways I might be able to reassure her?

Love, Pearl.

Lifestyle - Gardening, Ballet and a Crumble

I re-read the very first post I wrote the other day as I was talking about it for something. And I was quite shocked by the way it made me feel and what a horrible memory I have of that point in time. It may have only been just over a year ago, but so much seems to have happened since then.

Then, last night, as I hadn't posted anything yesterday I decided to see if there was a post from last year and, lo and behold, there was one for 15th March 2013 so I shared that instead. And of course, I read that back as well. 

Both the posts mentioned my imminent eviction problems and how stressed I was about it all. This got me talking with my friend M about where the the whole eviction thing stood now. And the answer is - I don't know. I've not been evicted as yet, however I've never been told I can stay either.

They still come round on a regular basis and inspect my property, which I can completely understand (it was awful), but does stress me out still. I hate knowing someone else is in my house and looking at my things. I can't be there whilst they do it, it freaks me out too much. To that end, I have spent the afternoon sorting out my house (again) as the agency is coming tomorrow (Monday).

I know that it's tidy and acceptable and having completely re-done the garden the other week I feel like I deserve a medal! But I'm still freaking out about it! Is it just me being unreasonable? 

A Garden Triptych

Moving on to nicer topics, madam and I went to the ballet yesterday. We went to see the Three Little Pigs which was a special children's ballet by the Northern Ballet company. Their Ugly Duckling ballet was on CBeebies last year and madam had absolutely loved it.

I spent a morning trying to calm my very excited child down and not particularly succeeding, but then it was finally time to set off to the romantic location of Goole to watch the performance. We couldn't get to the Hull one as it was on mid-week and during school hours (stupidly). We had to set off before lunch which meant I took her to McDonald's on the way. This is her idea of the best meal ever. Not particularly flattering to my cooking...

So we parked up in Goole and found the venue. Madam was desperate to sit on the balcony and was thrilled when we were told that our seats were up there. We settled down and waited for the show. The venue is tiny, so even being on the balcony we were almost able to reach out and touch the dancers! However, there were a group of people who arrived who *also* had the same seat numbers as us. 

Madam in her outfit, our first view, our eventual view, madam with the band

There followed a slightly hurried re-arrangement in seating and we ended up on the very front row! We were right next to the band and so close to the stage the Big Bad Wolf nearly sat on my knee at one point! It was all over far too quickly and madam is now counting down until the next time she'll be able to go. As the tickets were only a fiver each, hopefully it won't be too long!

When we got home I made us some roast pork and then one of my crumbles using up the leftover stewed fruit from the other night. It was lovely! I do love a nice crumble :)

Apple, Rhubarb and Blueberry Crumble. Yum!

So, what have you been up to this weekend?

Love, Pearl. 

Craft - It's All Just Sew Dolly Clackett

My plans for doing different types of posts on different days was obviously foolish! My inability to plan what will bubble to the surface should have been more obvious to me from long experience... So, today I am back on the craft/creative bent again. I have got another Pearl's Pantry post in mind and shall be putting that up as soon as I remember to buy the ingredients and do the tutorial!

Today, I mainly wanted to tell you about a couple of books I bought at the weekend whilst buying yet another (bigger) pair of school shoes for madam. She's on her 3rd size since September, when will her feet slow down? 13.5 is nearly as big as quite a few of my friends and their teeny feet!

Anyway, books... I have a bit of a thing for DK books as they are genuinely some of the best reference books I've come across and are always well laid out and easy to read. I've been lusting after some of their Step by Step series for ages and have been putting off buying because, well, I'm skint.  

The ones I'm interested in are the Knit, Crochet, Sew and Stitch books. And it's those last two I managed to get. They were on sale at The Works for £2.99 each so I snapped them up despite my mum rolling her eyes next to me and complaining I didn't need any more books and where was I going to put them? 

One day I will post pictures of all the book piles/bookshelves stuffed full that my mum owns and let you work out why I found that statement hypocritical. 

But as you can tell I paid no heed and merely joined the queue and happily paid out for my new prized possessions. I sat and read through both of them on Saturday evening - my rock and roll lifestyle showing there... For those who have never read or heard of these books, Sew is about dressmaking and mending and Stitch is about embroidery and decorative stitching. 

There is another, bigger, version of the Sew Step-by-Step which is called Dressmaking Step-by-Step and includes some projects to have a go at, but it's way out of my budget, sadly. Even in The Works! 

I am particularly interested in learning as much as I can about dressmaking because I still feel very nervous about taking the plunge on my own to make an actual garment. I really want to take part in the Sew Dolly Clackett challenge and have to just give it a go and get on with it... But, but, but... ugh. I know Roisin herself would be telling me to just have a go and do the best I can.. It's about the taking part, after all!

The idea is to make a Dolly Clackett inspired dress, like these, modelled by the lovely Dolly Clackett (Roisin) herself...

Blanche dress - Christine Haynes Emery dress

Madarch dress - By  Hand London Elisalex bodice, Simplicity 2444 skirt.

I used two examples as I couldn't pick just one! And I adore that mushroom print! And if you click on the photo it'll link to the post about the dress (I'm starting to get technical with this blogging malarky...) 

So, I have to find a (simple) dress pattern that will actually fit my plus-sized and gorgeous self and then some impressively wonderful printed fabric to use. The print is the defining thing about Roisin and her dresses. And quite frankly being big and beautiful lends itself to some funky prints. Ditsy prints look stupid on me... 

Um, yeah, so this post started out about books and ended up about sewing love, wasn't sure how to categorize that, went with craft! (Is there a category that I could invent for mindless rambling from one topic to the next?). Anyway, that's enough from me. I'll update you on my #BLCreativePrompts next post...

Love, Pearl.

a work, or two, in progress

I have done it again. I have started another project without actually quite finishing the last one. I didn't used to do that when I first started. So what changed?

Which bit of me is it that is incapable of finishing what I've started? Because it creeps up and attacks me in other areas of my life as well. I am at an international level for my  procrastination, that much has been true for years. But that usually involves me *not* starting something...

I know that part of it is the thrill of the new I think we all suffer from at various points. You know, when you have to wear your new shoes around the house all day as it's the only way you'll get to wear them... But this thing where I'm racking up unfinished craft projects is not my norm. I am the person who read the Silmarillion (yes, I do want a medal, thanks) because I had started it and didn't want to give up.

(I've just googled Silmarillion to see if I spelt it correctly (I had) and apparently they're talking of making it into a film! Why?)

The only book I have ever given up on, in fact, is Don Quixote. And if you are one of the people who thinks it's brilliant, I will laugh. Because I loathed it. I also really didn't like Wuthering Heights, but did finish it. I have read both Shirley and Vilette because I enjoy Charlotte Bronte's writing. Neither of which were particularly fun for me. So this plodding on until I get it finished is actually my default and I don't know how it's got out of kilter.

Or do I? (that was like some terrible TV thriller). I have begun to wonder if I should view it as a good thing. Not because I end up with loads of unfinished things lying around my already untidy home, but because it shows an unwillingness to put up with things.

I have had a low boredom threshold for years and was trained to stick with things until the end and the joys of delayed gratification. But I am older now, and though I am not seeking instant pleasure wherever and whenever, I am not happy to accept being stuck with something I'm not enjoying.

Why should I? I have, after all, taken the bull by the horns and reclaimed my own life because I was unhappy. I even had to convince myself that giving up on the relationship wasn't giving up. It was actually growth. And allowing myself to be in charge of my life rather than a spectator was ok. I still have wobbles where I realise the power of what I have done, or when K *still* calls me his girl (actually, that mainly pisses me off, how has he not got the message yet?).

On a complete side note, my cousin was asking if I was ok and telling me how sorry he was that life was being shit to me. I mentioned that I was feeling stronger and wasn't prepared to be anyone's punching bag. He hadn't known that part of it and has now promised to beat him up when he next sees him. Which I really don't want, but is quite sweet of him to offer! See, I need someone who wants to fight for me, not with me...

Anyway, back to my inability to finish projects. But it isn't even that. Because 9/10 I do finish them. I just have to have a bit of distance to get re-excited about it again. I set myself challenges with some of my projects by going in at a level I'm not really at yet and hoping I can do it. Sometimes it defeats me and I have to back down and do some simple projects to bolster my confidence for another assault at it. This is certainly how I treat my crochet. And I think that might be because I taught myself from books and magazines with no knowledge of what it should look like. 

I was always pretty confident with the knitting as I have seen people doing it my whole life and knew mine looked "right". But crochet? Nope, none of my family/friends did that. I know a lot who do now, but not when I started. I am more bold with my choices but also love trying new motifs. Because they are small you can try out new stitches/techniques in relative safety. 

So I think that maybe, being always excited and on to the next project is helping me learn more techniques. I want to know it all and grow my skills. The only area this falls down is my sewing! I am still lacking in confidence. Right down to the cutting the pattern. In fact, it's mainly the cutting. Once I have the pieces, sewing it together is not too hard. Fiddly sometimes, but fairly straightforward with the machine. And I like my machine, it does what I ask it to. Bonus!

So, this new pattern I got, I might need some help with... But I will do it :)

Moral of the story? Not sure there is one. But a work-in-progress is not necessarily the only work-in-progress. Learning new skills is fun. Learning when to call it a day is also good...

the benefits of jobseeking

Perhaps I need to start widening my job-hunting criteria!

There has been much stress in my life over the last couple of weeks whilst I sorted out going from Income Support to Job Seekers Allowance (JSA). I was told all the steps I needed to take and *exactly* when to take them.

I did ask them whether I could apply for JSA early as a payment gap would be a big issue for madam and I. They assured me that if I applied when I was told to that there would be no issues. This was obviously one massive lie.

I have spent the last couple of weeks in a weird kind of limbo wherein I am being paid money, but not the quantity I was anticipating and at different times than I was planning on. I have at least been paid enough that I covered my rent payments, but it left me with nothing else. Almost literally.

My mum and dad lent me some cash just to tide me over and I thought it would be resolved on Tuesday this week when my next payment was due in. Again, I was wrong. The payment wasn’t there at which point I had a major freak out and considered making a formal complaint to the DWP.

I found the site to make complaints and it said I should check with my branch to see if they could help before instigated complaint procedures and I figured, as I was going to sign on, I would ask them in person. Having got to sit with my advisor and he ticked me off I then asked about my money.

The chap looked at me as if I was a bit of a wally and explained for JSA the signing on acts as a signal to release my money and then it would be paid a couple of working days after that. Why no-one could have told me that at any point before I got to meltdown level, I don’t know. The upside is that I am expecting a full payment on Friday and can then pay off all sorts of other things that have been on pause whilst I’ve been transitioning.

One of the things I am waiting to do is change my name by deed poll. This has been more of an issue than I thought it would. It’s my name after all and I *should* be able to call myself whatever I fancy. My dad has proved less keen than I was expecting. I have said for ages I would go back to my maiden name but then, I thought, why should I? I have spent years frustrated at people’s inability to pronounce or spell my name; I should go for something easier.

My mum’s maiden name is really nice and easy and my uncle didn’t have any kids so will die out with him. Well, their branch of it will at any rate, so why not change it to that then. One word: Dad. He was not keen on the idea at all and when my cousin jokingly said I should use it as a first name with my maiden name as a surname he got even more upset! I think it might have been in part as I agreed with said cousin and said it was cool. At no point would I ever have *actually* done that though. I do not wish to spend the rest of my life explaining why I am named after a woodland creature!

So then today I came up with a name that combined the two and I actually quite liked (I still am unlikely to actually use it) and this did at least raise a bit of a smile with my dad. But I think I will just go back to re-joining my lovely Scottish roots. I have always been proud of that part of myself; it’s always made me a little unique amongst my friends. And my middle name, which I loathed for years? Nope, gonna keep that too. Unique is good sometimes. I am nothing if not full of contradictions.

So, having spent a couple of weeks dithering and deciding I think I will just revert to maiden name as I had always planned to. But now I have made the decision I want to be able to do it instantly, the waiting for the official paperwork may be all just too much for me! I then just need to filter it out to everyone who knows me by my married name. Bank first, methinks…

Oh, and then I have to deal with my poor madam being upset she can't change her name too... I have been told the school might do it for her within that setting, but obviously not on anything official.

She had the day off school yesterday as she's having another viral wheeze episode with the rotten cold she has at the moment. We mainly sat about in our 'jamas and played around in the morning and then we went to my parents to annoy them for a bit! Madam introduced them to the Lorax which they both giggled at and I went to the jobcentre again for a meeting with a training advisor. The result of which is me being booked on a course to update my IT skills... 

jobs are back in fashion

mere hours old, and after a 4-day induction, I am never going to forget when she was born!

 

 

I have had The Letter. The DWP have written to tell me that my child will be 5 soon (gee, thanks, without you telling me I might have forgotten!) and that I will be taken off income support at that point and will have to apply for JSA. Great. I am so looking forward to that. Not.

 

And why do I have to apply again? Surely I should just be moved onto it... Although, they have also stated in the letter that I may not be entitled to it, so that's probably why. As far as I know I am, but it's enough to make you nervous... And I really don't want to be on JSA, they make you feel so shit about being unemployed. Like it's some sort of choice you've made.

 

I would love not to have lost my job (that I hated and didn't *actually* plan on going back to) but I did. And then because I happened to lose my job/have a baby at almost the exact same moment as the recession hit in 2008, finding another one was suddenly impossible.

 

My plan had been to have madam and at the end of my maternity leave go back to a part-time job. Now, that would have been impossible where I did work as I couldn't have had hours that would have fitted in with childcare hence why I was always going to leave. But this was different. There were no jobs in the town where I lived. And I don't mean that as some sweeping generalisation. There were none. ALL the biggest employers had either closed or laid off everyone except the bare minimum.

 

There was no seasonal work as no-one was going anywhere as no-one had any money. Scarborough died in 2008. It was awful. Anyone with a job held onto it with both hands, no matter what it was. Not even K could get work. And he'd worked everywhere in that town. He ended up doing the odd night on a door in Driffield, but that was it.

 

So we moved back to Beverley. And I still miss Scarborough all the time. I sometimes wonder about moving madam and I back there, one (well, actually both) of her godmother's live there. I have friends with small kids, it's small enough for me to not feel intimidated like I do in cities, but bigger than here. The reason I don't is the exact reason we left.

 

There is nowhere else locally. Nowhere bigger anyway. The nearest cities are Hull and York, both about an hour away. So living back in my home town where Hull is just a 20min bus ride away is much better for me, jobwise. And Scarborough is still a seasonal town. Jobs are mostly service based and if you're one of the unlucky ones there will be no work in the off-season. Zero hours contracts are the absolute norm.

 

I can't live like that, certainly not now I have madam and that we're on our own. Actually, financially the being on our own bit makes little difference as K quite happily left me to pay the majority of everything even when we were together. He used to give me £75 a week, which he cut down to £40 without any thought of how little money that would leave me with.

 

This is another form of domestic abuse that I *actually* didn't really understand about until after we broke up. That control he had over money was another way of making me the weaker partner. Most of my debt issues started from there. I couldn't keep up with all our bills etc, and after I lost my job it just went into freefall.

 

Sorry, should have put a trigger warning on that last statement. For me if for no-one else. I have had to take a short break to calm myself down. So angry that he controlled me in so many ways and that I didn't even recognise it.

 

Domestic abuse makes you feel stupid.

 

*breathes*

 

Sorry, back to me getting a job... I am staying put in Bev as I am better placed to get a job as there is a big city and several biggish villages/smallish towns around and about for me to plum(b?) for jobs... But I do keep seeing photos of the seaside and wishing I was there...

 

But now I have to get serious about my job searching and start treating it as a job rather than a past-time. I would still prefer to only work part-time so that I could do the school run, but am aware that that is unlikely to happen. I am incredibly glad that mum and dad are local and I can rely on them to do that bit for me if I can't! But I don't want them to have to do it every day. And I'd like not to work weekends if at all possible, which would be something of a novelty as every job I've ever had has involved weekend working.

 

This is why I want to work in schools. I am considering applying for everything from dinner lady (person) up. I would love to not be reliant on the government for all the money I have. I would like for K to bother giving me some child support *laughs so hard there are tears in my eyes*. He won't. But he should. I don't get how any man (or woman) can just walk away from their child without it seeming to bother them in the slightest. How do you not care where they're getting food, warmth, shelter and clothing from?

 

I apparently, am a fool for caring about my offspring. 

 

But I am terrified with how I'm going to get on with all the form filling I'm about to start having to do. Let alone my lack of interview skills. I am so bad at interviews... I hate selling myself. Perhaps I should include a link to my blog in my applications! No, then they might realise I'm crazy...

 

I have managed to get myself a few smart clothes that would be suitable to wear to an interview and I know if I do get a chance to work in a school I have some experience with the age range. I just feel like I'm floating around grabbing at something to anchor me. I am so afraid of returning to that environment, even though it's what I need. 

 

Days are long now that madam is at school properly. Time to colour in the hours we're apart so that we can show each other our days over tea :)  

 

 

and breathe...

Hello, my friends! I am still feeling wiped out so I shall try not to ramble on too much.

 

I had a good evening as madam seems to be back to sleeping well. She went to bed on time without too much of a fight as well. I wasn't sure if she would as she hasn't done anything to tire her out. But I suppose she must be feeling like me and just feel drained by the whole experience.

 

I've sent her to school this morning and will pick her up at lunch time as I don't want her to over-tire herself. She was really pleased to be going back this morning and I have wrapped her in plenty of layers so that she doesn't get cold. Not that I am being a panicky mummy or anything, oh no...

 

But I just have that image in my head of her gasping for breath (bit like my dad's fish did in the summer...) and I know that they would never let that happen, but it's one of things that I can't un-see. And I will always be more aware of what could happen. The school told me they would check on her at playtime (remember how good playtime was!) and let me know if she looked like she might be struggling/tiring. No one has rung and playtime must be about over (it's 10.30am *now*) so she must be ok :)

 

Being protective mummy has meant I made her wear her hat and gloves to school, she also has on the lovely padded jacket that friend E passed us down from her little girl. I did iron in a name label, but I hate doing it onto fleece as it always ruins a little bit of it. Never mind. One small patch of non-fleecy will not affect her at all, just me and my perfectionism that don't like it!

 

I want to put her gloves on elastic as it makes life so much easier, but last year she just kept pulling them out of her coat and refused to wear the elasticated ones... Her independent streak can be infuriating! But I shall consult with her and see if she'll let me this year. They're really nice fleece lined ones and I don't want her losing them.

 

I got the new issue of Simply Crochet magazine yesterday and I have been prevailed upon to make the little fox purse out of it for a certain someone! I think I might make the granny square scarf for myself (though maybe substitute the pink) as the scarf I started I'm not sure I like as much as I thought I would... Although the scarf/hood on the cover is quite tempting too!

 

I keep looking at the time as I'm paranoid about picking madam up! It's not even 11... Might just go to Boyes and look at yarn first ;)

 

the happiness hamster!

 

 

  

a rather different weekend than planned

I am exhausted! I have had possibly the most worrying weekend of my entire life and we're still coping with the fall out now.

 

It started off so well. I went to Guides as normal on Friday evening and came back really positive about what we're doing over the next half term. Madam had been coming down with a cold most of the week. Same as ever when we start a new term! I have it as well, she's so good about sharing!

 

Anyway, I came back on Friday evening to find her fast asleep on my mum and the news that she'd thrown up all over my dad. Oh dear. She was prodded and made to wake up so that we could go back to our house. But she made a massive fuss and we decided that if she went straight to sleep we would stay the night. And she did, though we noticed she seemed quite chesty and a bit wheezy when we put her down.

 

At 5 in the morning my mum prodded me awake and told me that an ambulance was coming as madam was having difficulty breathing. I got up and went into my parents room where she was propped up in bed and was obviously struggling for every breath. Not good at all. Mum said she'd got into bed with them and was puffing and panting so much they'd phoned 111 to get some advice. The lady had asked to listen to her and decided to send out the ambulance.

 

And we got two! The first one arrived shortly and explained that a warning light had just come on and that another bus was coming to *actually* take us to the hospital. They checked madam over and put her on a nebuliser and asked her to recite a nursery rhyme to check how she was doing. She sang Humpty Dumpty but could barely get to the end of the sentence without gasping for breath.

 

We got taken into the ambulance (the new one) and blue-lighted to the Hull Royal Infirmary. Madam was a little upset she didn't get the sirens, but we explained they only use those when the traffic is busy. Which it is not at half past 5 in the morning.

 

We got to the hospital for about 6 and were admitted to A&E. We waited there until 9 and then got moved to the children's A&E as that was now opened. From there things moved much faster (the main A&E was stacked to the rafters, bless them, they were so good with her).

 

The children's A&E gave her 10 puffs on a Salbutamol inhaler at 9.15am and sent her up to PASSU (Paediatric Assessment Unit). They assessed her again at about 11.30am and despite the fact madam was leaping about and destroying the triage room the Doctor said she was still really working for every breath and she was given another 10 puffs. We were told that until she could go 4 hours between treatments she wouldn't be going home.

 

So they found us a bed and madam some lunch and we settled down to wait. Well, I did. Madam doesn't understand the concept of resting so went off to cause chaos with anything possible. At 2pm they came back again and decided she needed another 10 puffs. She also got a dose of steroids which apparently, tasted vile (Mummy smirking may have happened).

 

They wanted to leave her 4 hours and said they would come back at 6 to reassess and then we might be able to go home. Due to a bit of a mix up in communication she was given another 6 puffs at about 4.30. We then had to wait until about 8 for the Doctor to come around to her. He said he was thinking that she might need to stay but that with another dose she might be able to go.

 

However, she fell asleep (passed out from exhaustion, you choose) before they could give her it. She was given her 10 puffs whilst she slept and put on a pulse ox monitor. It showed she was still struggling and they decided, to be on the safe side, we should go up to the children's ward and spend the night.

 

As it turned out it was a good job she stayed. They had her on a monitor and I could only watch as her oxygen saturation kept dipping down. They put her on the lowest rate of oxygen. It helped, for a while. And then she needed a bit more help. And then more. They put her back on nebulisers instead of the inhalers and she levelled out when they started her on 35% oxygen. Now, that much oxygen sounds very scary, and fortunately I didn't realise she was on that much at the time. I crept into the bed next to her and fell asleep because I was so tired.

 

Sunday morning

 

 

We were woken at 6am when she had another nebuliser and then... She was awake. And spent the rest of the day causing chaos and getting under the poor nurses feet. We finally managed to get her to 4 hours between inhalers though. They had said that if madam had a nap and they could monitor her breathing then we might be able to go home. But madam refused to settle until after tea. She dropped off for about an hour or so and so did I. Sadly it was too late and we were in for the night. Again. I have to say we both slept quite well. Tiredness overtook us both and we slept pretty much through until morning.

 

So, Monday morning when we woke up she had her inhaler and we were told that we would be going home as she'd had such a good night. Just had to wait for the Doctor to do his rounds and discharge us. We saw him about 10.30am and then had to wait for our discharge letter. But we left about 2pm. We went downstairs to the pharmacy as madam had another inhaler (the Salbutamol one still) to collect.

 

Then we just had to wait for my dad to pick us up. We sat in the foyer for a while and madam ended up wearing my coat and curled up under my chair fast asleep! No idea how she managed that. It was very noisy in the foyer, and I don't imagine the floor was very comfortable!. My dad had to pick her off the floor and carry her to the car. A nurse happened to walk past at that point and I think we slightly concerned her with what must have looked like a collapsed person on the floor. We reassured her she was just asleep and we finally left the hospital.

 

I was so glad to get her home and took the decision to keep her off school again today as she is still supposed to be resting and I don't think school is really the place to do that! She will go back tomorrow though as she has had another good night (and I expect her to again tonight). Her school are happy to give her her inhaler when she needs her dose and I think it'll do her good to try and get back to her routine.

 

I'm not sure I appreciate madam's propensity for being admitted to hospital, lets hope we'll not be back again for quite some time to come!  

in the quiet of the night

I wrote this last night, be aware, a whole nights sleep works wonders!

 

 

 

I have had the evening pretty much to myself. Madam fell asleep almost straight after tea at my parent’s house. We left her about an hour and then transferred her back to our place. I got her straight into bed and read her a story and despite protesting that she really wasn’t tired after all, didn’t hear a peep from her after I left the room…

 

Not tired though…

 

I was downstairs and on my own by 8pm! This hasn’t happened in like, a year. I gave it a good twenty minutes before I was confident I really could relax. I borrowed the Hobbit DVD from my parents and have been watching that. I’ve also been doing some crocheting so I’m feeling quite calm and relaxed.

 

I’m making a scarf, not sure why. Just felt like it. I’m trying to practice joining the motifs as I make them so that I don’t have the boring task of sewing them all together at the end. It’s going well so far, I think.

 

I had forgotten just how good it feels to have the better part of my evening alone. Especially as, since madam’s bed broke last week, I have to share my bed at the moment. For the first time in an absolute age I might actually be ready to go to bed before 2am, even despite all the caffeine my mum has fed me today! That woman does like a strong coffee…

 

I have been left with thinking space, though. And once the film finished and everything was quiet then my brain decided to start ticking over. And it’s ticked onto the quietness is bad setting and is now screaming things at me so loudly that all my nice relaxing is being put to waste.

 

So that’s why I’m writing this now, in the quiet and the dark, so that maybe my brain will click off again soon and I might get that restful sleep I so need. I have a feeling I might be out of luck.

 

I have my music on to push the quiet away, and I’m deliberately listening to upbeat stuff, I know what my triggers are…

 

When did it get to be that the quiet was my enemy though? I like peace and quiet and seek tranquillity out for the most part. But now I’m suddenly being beaten around the head with all my negative thoughts and I wish I was somewhere, anywhere, else.

 

Want to know what it is that I’m thinking? Maybe if I write it down I’ll be able to get it to move one.

 

First off, the big one, that hides behind everything I do and is always just under the surface. I am alone. And lonely. The quiet just brings it out. There is no noise because there is no-one else here. I am alone because I was left behind by a man who doesn’t know how to care about me and that I still have feelings for, even though they are fading.

 

Which brings us to: No-one will ever love me because I am obviously unlovable and not good enough to care about. I am unlovable because I am fat and disgusting. I should just hide from the world; it doesn’t need me and doesn’t miss me.

 

I am useless; I don’t have a job or a purpose and make no contribution. I take what the state gives me and I give nothing back. I sit on my arse and I let the world go on without me. Because it doesn’t even need me.

 

I am not good enough. I don’t deserve the good things I have.

 

I was hoping I might think of some ways of arguing with myself, but it hasn’t worked. The voices are too loud and I am too weak. I know – I believe – that my mind is playing tricks on me. But it’s so hard to switch it off… Quick, think of something positive

 

I can’t

 

I really can’t

 

Gah! Think! Positive!

 

This Too Shall Pass

Still I Rise

I am strength and resilience…

I am loved.

 

 

 

 

 

And so to bed.

a map of my heart

I was thinking of what to write about today, and then this line popped into my head and then the next, and suddenly I was writing a short story. I really wasn’t planning on it, but sometimes that’s just the way my mind works, I guess…

I have given it the title Map.

I drew a map of my heart. I coloured it and shaded it. I framed it and hung it in plain view. I watched as the dust settled on it and blurred the lines. My feelings became duller the harder it was to see the outline I’d drawn.

This suited me for a while, for I had grown weary of my emotions ruling my life. But gradually I realised that without my feelings I was living the zombie life. I lived as though I was already dead and I found it to be dull.

So I took my picture down and blew on it to remove the dust. As I blew I saw the map was no longer there. All those years of neglect had left it too weak to survive. I had to start again. But I no longer remembered the paths that used to be so familiar and I could not recall the pattern of its beating.

 

 

My only solution was to get to know it again, to test it out and see how it ran. I started small and took my heart to my friends and asked them to show me the lines that they might remember. They helped me trace my edges, but only I could trace the core.

I tried to use it to see if that would remind me and got a kitten to practice on. It was cute and fluffy, but the first time I watched it crunching a spider I lost the love I had for it and gave it to my friend the next day. I missed it though and knew that it was part of my map now. I reclaimed my kitten and learned to live with its cat nature.

I met a kind man in a queue one day, we chatted to pass the time. He made me laugh and invited me for coffee. I felt another path begin and agreed. I found myself learning to depend upon him and gave myself to him. I was surprised to find that as I drew these new lines of my heart the lines of his were weaving themselves in too.

I carried his heart in mine and felt safe knowing he also held my own. We lived together in happiness for many years and my heart map was thriving and I learned all its places. But there were parts of it that I never found again, that were lost forever to my knowledge.

But I had learned to be more myself and less afraid. I felt sure the corners I’d lost were gone for a reason. And I realised that my map might not be the same as it was at first but that didn't make it less good. Only different.

 

So... 

 

Yeah, what did you think?

in which madam gets surgery!

 

 

*warning: this post has some gruesome pictures in it*

 

Well, the last couple of days have been a lot more hectic than anyone could have anticipated. I went off to guides on Friday night with my shiny new leadership pack and a whole load of shoe boxes (you know, for the guides who don't like crafts).

 

The guides had more fun than anticipated sticking bits of tissue paper onto boxes and decorating them with various stickers and things. But they don't like crafts. In fact they got so involved we were over-running given we had 3 promise ceremonies to get through.

 

Now madam was with me as I can't leave her on her own and she was sticking things on her own box and generally joining in really well, but promise ceremonies are boring if you're 4 and you don't get to be in them. She did start off trying to help me give out the new neckers, but it didn't go too well...

 

So she went out of the hall to play in the foyer whilst we finished off and packed up. She found the tombola that the school had been using for their summer fair earlier in the afternoon and was happily spinning it and being out the way and quiet.

 

And then suddenly she wasn't.

 

She came racing back into the hall saying she'd hurt her finger and I could see it was bleeding and she was obviously in pain. I took her into the toilets to rinse it under the tap and wrap it up a bit. I brought her back in the hall and had a look at what she'd done and had that instant realisation that we would need to take her to A&E because if nothing else it looked like she'd need stitches.

 

The caretaker went to get her some ice to try and numb it a bit for her and then we had to get a lift from my guide leader because I'm still car-less at the moment. This is complicated by the fact that she is in a wheelchair so she has all her stuff on the back seat so she can get the chair in and out the boot easily. So after some re-jigging of stuff we set off for the local MIU/Out-of-Hours service.

 

Sadly, the Doctor who was there said there was nothing he could really do and it would definitely need an x-ray and as there wouldn't be x-ray services there until Monday we'd have to take her through to Hull Royal. On a Friday night. This did not fill us with warm fuzzies, I can tell you. However, I was wrong. We got there to find that we were in the new improved children's A&E section. There were toys everywhere, Shrek 2 on the TV and it was open and bright and completely non-scary.

 

And after a good long wait we were called through and the Doctor sent us for an x-ray. Now this bit, for some reason, was really frightening madam and she was not keen. But she was brilliant, sat really still and did exactly what the Radiographer asked her to (why, why does she not behave like that for me!) and got a sticker at the end of it. They asked us to wait outside for her pictures to come through and then came and gave me the reference form we needed to take back to the Doctor. At which point madam demanded to be allowed to see her special pictures! The Radiographer decided that as it was really late and she'd been so good that that would be ok! So we got a sneak peek and madam was thoroughly fascinated to see inside her hand...

 

The Doctor said that he didn't see a break but that the plastic surgery consultant wanted to have a quick look and would schedule us an appointment. Now I, foolishly, presumed this appointment would be on Monday. I was wrong, she had a look and then asked us to come back tomorrow morning at 9am and could we just wait here to be bandaged and thank you very much. I'm afraid I had a bit of an ungrateful reaction at this news.

 

I have no car at the moment! You want me to come back first thing tomorrow, we're not even from Hull... Consultant said it didn't have to be exactly 9 and did I really have another choice. Obviously, I hadn't meant that we wouldn't come, it was more that it was already gone midnight and I was going to have to spend a fortune getting a taxi home, then pay out for the bus in the morning, and I didn't even know if there would be one to get us there on time.

 

I kind of said no, of course we would be there and that as long as no-one expected us bang on time, we'd be there. We then had another half an hours wait before someone had time to do bandaging and we got a lovely student Nurse who chatted away with madam about nursery and guessed which big school she was going to.

 

This was good as madam was suddenly very afraid that being bandaged would hurt her poor, mangled, bruised finger. But it obviously was ok as she didn't even flinch. And then it was finally home time. Managed to get some cash out and rang a taxi, got home at just after 1am and put madam and myself to bed. She fell asleep straight away but I was wide awake. Until at least 2.30, and then the alarm went off. Ugh.

 

I hit snooze until we absolutely had to get up or miss the bus that I'd managed to look up for us. So we got dressed and came straight out. Having no breakfast as I thought we'd be quite quick and then get something (McDonalds is what I'd promised). I was very glad of that when the Plastic Surgeon said she'd need an op and when did she last eat or drink. The fact we hadn't had anything since the night before meant they would schedule us for as soon as possible that day.

 

a close up of the poor, poorly finger

 

a smiley face to show the surgeon which finger!

 

 

They found her a bed, got her changed into a gown and then we just had to wait. And wait. And then wait a bit more. The hardest thing was how often madam asked for a drink. It felt so mean not letting her have one, but I didn't need us to be rescheduled if I could help it! At about 2 o'clock it was finally time and she went downstairs for her op. They took her into the theatre and I helped to distract her whilst they inserted what they called her butterfly.

 

As soon as she saw it in the back of her hand, she freaked. She was really afraid of what was about to happen and this thing in her hand was just too much. I have to say the Nurses and the Anaesthetician were, again, incredibly good with her and did manage to distract her enough to get her to start breathing the gas whilst they put things in her "butterfly". They made her try and blow up the balloon and obviously that meant she took some good deep breaths and went under in no time. All I could do was give her a kiss on the cheek and leave her in the very capable hands of the Surgeon and his team.

 

I teared up as the Nurse led me to the waiting area because although I knew she'd be fine, it's awful to be so out of control of what's happening to her. I'm actually tearing up again just thinking about how it felt. She was so distressed and suddenly so, so small and I had to leave her. Ugh, horrible. Heartbreaking. I am so glad that it was only a finger and nothing too serious.

 

I sat waiting for about an hour. I really wish I could have sat somewhere completely on my own as having to listen to other people chatting away without a care in the world, including the woman who was discussing her night out in an almost blow-by-blow account even though she didn't want to be indiscreet, was really annoying me. Too many emotions going on to be having to listen to other people...

 

And at about 3 they called me back to come and see her in recovery. She was not a happy bunny and was wailing and asking to go home. But obviously, that wasn't going to happen immediately. She also kept asking to have the "butterfly" taken away.

 

I was a bit surprised at the size of the bandage she was now sporting. She had damaged the tip of her right index finger, I was thinking possibly that they'd strap the middle finger up as well, but her whole hand was swathed in bandages and strapping, except for her thumb.

 

enormous bandage, picture was taken after we'd got home as my phone died whilst we were at the hospital!

 

 

So after returning to the ward and finally getting something to drink and eat, she perked up a bit. And then she perked up enough to start running around like a lunatic again. But she still wanted her "butterfly" out. They took it out just before they brought her some tea. At which point I started to worry that we would be here overnight, but the Nurse assured me that they were arranging her discharge. Then madam decided she didn't want to go home! So, having dragged her over to her bed and forced her to put her proper clothes back on we finally got to leave at 6pm.

 

But I had promised McDonalds after the hospital, and she was desperate for the toy from the happy meal. So we went into town and I got something to eat at last (I'd had nothing all day!). But madam was disappointed as they didn't give her the current toy, it was an old one. They told her to bring it back unopened to get the proper toy. But we hardly ever go to McDonalds as you need a car to get there...

 

Madam also decided to just play with her toy anyway...

 

Kids are so much easier to please than adults sometimes. We have to go back to the hospital on Friday to get the bandages off, but my parents are back tomorrow, so that won't be a problem.

 

I've really missed them this weekend. I've had loads of great support from all my friends and family, but having my mum and dad around for back-up and support would have been lovely. But that's life, and you just have to deal with what's in front of you. Whether you feel like you're heart is breaking or not.