all wind, no caution

Not right
Not right

From my experience it takes about three days give or take the nature of your surgery, your age and possibly your upbringing. Definitely your sex. When Norman (yes, in Australia we have mixed sex wards. I’m sure the logic of this came from a committee of bureaucrats with no experience in a health-related field but charged with the responsibility to reduce hospital waiting-lists due to a recent election promise) let rip the most impressive, in length and tone, fart on my first full day on the ward as I waited for my unexpected and some would therefore say emergency spinal surgery it took a lot of concentration and ten-fold in willpower not to laugh.

The funny wears off, slipping fast to repulsion and thereafter benign resignation.

From that golden age we realise we fart and that not only can it sound AWESOME but smell SO FOUL we learn it is something truly only to be enjoyed at home and, if you’re male or me, shared in the company of those you love.

So to come to an environment where the public expulsion of air, with NO regard to if it may or may not be odoriferous, can be quite a shock. Prime factors which change that are pain and opiates. I’d say duration of stay may bring you full circle but while they’re handing you the pills and asking if you’ve passed wind or opened your bowels today, as Norman lets one rip loud and long enough for all of you, just nod and go back to sleep.

You gotta hold on

We’re officially on Day 9. NINE.

I’m so tired.

I just don’t know what else to say.

People have more than stepped up – friends collecting my children from school and pre-school, taking them to and from football training, cooking meals for my family, bringing me food packages – it has made me cry and just taken my breath away.

I realise one of my survival mechanisms is to be incredibly snarky in my head about the many many idiot parents that walk this earth and happen to cross my path in the paediatric ward of Mona Vale Hospital.

This doesn’t sit well with so many people complementing me on my grace under pressure and good humour through hard times. I mean, I did the lean down hissing yell at Oscar in the shower the other day about how selfish he was being. Mother of the Year thank you and good night.

Today we ruled out the infection being in Oscar’s bones or the hardware in his feet. This is massive. Of course it doesn’t answer why or where the hell the infection has come from but I’m taking a victory where I can snatch one.

 

Last week I discovered I had been selected as a finalist in the Australian Best Blogs Competition for 2012. This is my second year as a finalist. It is basically the only award that counts for me – it recognises my writing.

And here I sit, the words not coming. I have six half written posts on my laptop. I never do that.

And now, the words, they will not come.

 

Let’s look at some pictures.

This – Friday Night Lights – has kept me sane this hospital stay. Tired but sane:

I almost walked away from the series a couple of episodes in on Series 2 – so much bad stuff was happening, it was unrelenting and stressful. I got through it and am now just into the fifth and final series. I can’t tell you (and nor can I explain) how invested I am in the characters in this show. It baffles me.

But everyone needs a Coach Taylor in their life. And a Tami Taylor for that matter.

On Saturday I escaped the hospital and learnt I could still use the monkey bars. No really, I did.

I even had to buy gloves for it. Yes people, I own gym accessories:

 

Finally, I’ve decided I want to be when I grow up:

 

Hopefully the words will start flowing soon.

 

Onward.

A return to normal programming – hernia or cranky ovaries?

So that weird pain I’ve had in the lower right side of my body could actually be something as opposed to my chronic headache relocating due to boredom and/or exploring a possible sea-change type move.

I mentioned the constant hot burning pain to my brother in passing on Sunday, mainly because I was exhausted after another night of Grover deciding I MUST sleep with him in his single bed on his crappy mattress as opposed to my king size bed albeit with a crappy mattress and I therefore needed to whinge ad infinitum.

Now granted my brother took almost a decade to complete his three-year science degree but all those extra years meant all those medical science subjects had a chance to really sink in. ‘That sounds like a hernia. You should get that checked out. You know, if you leave it too long your insides will start to rot’.

Awesome. Cue another night of such peaceful sleep.

Oi.

So yesterday I broke the family seal of managing to not have seen our GP for all of, wow, I don’t know, six, maybe even n.i.n.e. weeks?

Our GP is a legend and as I’m telling him about this pain and how I’d been discrediting it due to presumptions of it being transferred pain from my dodgy lower back or ovulation or just basically all being in my head he was all, ‘that sounds like a hernia, or an ovarian cyst, or it could be ovarian cancer but that’s highly unlikely but I’d still want to count it out’.

See, it’s statements like that which is why men just don’t bother with doctors. Ever.

So he’s asking me if I can feel any lumps and I’m all, ‘dude, look at me, look at the rolls and folds I’d have to dig through to find a  lump’. But as he’s making me cough and doing his own digging he finds a  lump. Awesome.

So now I have to have a CAT scan because he wants to see the state of the discs in my lower back due to the ongoing nature of my dodgy lower back and to rule it out as the cause. Seeing as Miami Vice wanted the same thing done I figure it now has to happen.

I also have to have an ultrasound on my right ovary and general lower abdomen area. Apparently this is best done during days 7-10 of your cycle because that’s when the uterine wall is at it’s thinest and they get much better images. Do you think I can remember what Day I’m on. I don’t know, maybe 15? 18? Who the fuck knows (probably Chef who has my menstrual calendar on his iPhone so desperate is he to pinpoint windows of opportunity for Special Time) so I’m now waiting until my next period to then work it out and book an appointment.

Hopefully my guts won’t start rotting before then. Although, that sounds like an awesome opportunity for weight loss don’t you think?