Tag Archives: Hospital appointment

Emotional overflow

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I found myself sitting here falling into floods of tears, for what feels like no reason. I was fine until the district nurse called, it was the one that I really like, although I can’t tell you her name, so nothing new there then. She was the one who came to see me first, to talk through the whole process of them coming here to give me eneama’s and to help me with the problems I had then recently started to have with my bladder. I have seen her a couple of time since then, but following that gap and after the news I had from the continence nurse the other day, I decided to update her. When I started to tell her about the possibility of having a permanent catheter, the tears suddenly started to flow. I didn’t expect them, as there hasn’t been a single one until then, but with the door opened, they have just kept reappearing without permission.

All of this intervention and changes that are underway with my carers, plus the feeling that I am losing more and more of my abilities to live normally, just suddenly became too much. I know that right now, nothing is definite and in many ways that in itself, is making it all the harder. Right now, I would love someone to just say this, this and this are happening and it will all be done by such and such a date. As I said to the nurse, I hate the fact that it is up to me, to make the decision as to if or if not I have a stoma. All this fiddling around with eneama’s which work sometimes and not others is starting to get to me. If it were as simple as them pushing the liquid in and I sat on the loo and everything just left my body, then great, but it’s not. Again today it failed, nothing other than a couple of tiny blobs that must have been sitting low in my guts. The bulk, the bit that has been sat there for two days, causing me discomfort and even pain, didn’t shift at all. Of course, we didn’t know that was what was going to happen when we were talking. She had asked me if I had an appointment to return to the hospital, which I don’t, I told her that as far as I knew,  it was now up to me. If we didn’t get a result with the eneama, good enough to leave me comfortable, and if I decide that I can’t handle things any longer, then I will request a return appointment, to give the go ahead with the stoma. She said that she was going to check the letter from the doctor, as she said that she felt that there should be some kind of follow-up.

Having gone through all the disasters of the eneama’s failing, and the fact that I am still finding myself no further forward in getting rid of the pressure and the pain, I agreed that it was time to try a change. Although it was something I don’t really want, from the point of view of having space in my life for other things, like being me, we’re stepping it up to three times a week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday, if that fails, we’ll go for every second day, which is what the consultant wanted, but not my GP, the district nurses, of myself, who all felt that was just too much. We have to try everything as a stoma, is the final step, one that I don’t want to take, if, something else could mean I could avoid it. As I said the other day, I believe that my bowels are behind my bladder not wanting to empty, so it could be a fix for both. No, I don’t want a permanent catheter either, if it can be avoided.

When she left, I was still lying in my bed, with tears rolling down my face. It was me who told her to go, I felt able to get off the bed and to go by myself to the loo. Keeping her there, felt like another pressure that I didn’t need, as I knew she had many other people to see. She double and triple checked and assured me that if I needed her to stay, she would, but with her gone, the tears then flowed freely, without the restriction that I was putting onto myself, of not wanting to cry in front of her, for what felt like no reason. I lay there for about another ten minutes before heading to the loo. I already knew that nothing was going to happen, I had had the eneama inside me for twenty minutes and I felt nothing. I pulled myself together while I sat there on the loo and told myself to stop being so stupid. It kind of worked, if two or three times an hour escaping liquid running down my face, could be called working.

I don’t know why I suddenly feel as though I am under pressure by all of this. It’s not like anything has really changed. Maybe, it is a psychological change that is needed. Maybe, I need to start seeing my eneamas as routine, not as something that is there as some sort of demand to perform. I’m not stupid, I do realise that it is the fact that I have the final say when it comes down to the stoma, that is getting to me. I so wish someone else would stand up and tell me what to do. I just don’t feel that my mind is in the condition to make such a huge decisions, as it feels like it should be a purely medical decision, but I also see that it can’t be. The continence nurse saying there wasn’t a safe amount of time to have a bladder that didn’t want to empty, hasn’t helped either. There must be a point when it changes from safe to dangerous. I don’t want to call for an ambulance for my bladder to suddenly empty by itself when I reach the hospital, just as it suddenly let go other night. I don’t want to even have to go to the hospital at all.

The district nurse phoned me in the afternoon, as she said she would. What I had said was totally correct, the decision about the stoma is all up to me. I admitted to her that I am at this second in pain from my guts, she rightly said to me that it’s a long time to Monday, so one of them is going to be here tomorrow, to try again. Maybe tomorrow, it will be totally different. Maybe tomorrow it will work, and maybe tomorrow I won’t have to worry about all of this ever again, which tomorrow that is, I don’t have a clue.

 

Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 06/08/2014 – I’m still here

Everything has to be rushed this morning as Teressa and John will be here around 11am, they are coming for lunch today as there is some show that neither Adam or I have ever heard of, but apparently has been running in Glasgow for around 20 years, that they want to go and see. It is always the way……

It shouldn’t be this hard

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I feel so weak, I don’t have a clue why I should feel like this, but I do. In fact, I started feeling like this a couple of days ago, but it has only become worse, not better. Every time I try to stand, my limbs are weak and don’t want to hold me, or even push me into an erect position. At first, as I said the other day, I put it down to the tremors and twitches, but I have begun to wonder what is truly at fault, is it my PRMS, or is it something else.

I spoke to my Dr on Monday, he phoned to tell me that he has at last received the letter from the consultant I saw about two weeks ago. As I knew, he is starting me on a drug that will hopefully melt my gallstones, plus he is arranging for the district nurse to visit me every couple of days, to give me an enema. As it is clear that my bowels are no longer capable of clearing themselves, they hope that the enema will stimulate them to move. At the moment they are bulking up until there is nowhere else to go, which is decidedly uncomfortable, if not painful. I took the opportunity to talk to him about the fluid retention and how it is now clear that I have been swelling up for far longer than I thought. Over the days that I have been on the higher dose of Frusemide, my entire body shape has changed, so he suggested that I stay on the 40mls to stop it from returning. I forgot at the time that there is an issue with my being on such a dose as I have Vasovagal. When it was diagnosed with it, I was warned about taking Frusemide as it might aggravate it. For those who don’t know, Vasovagal can and has made me pass out with incredible ease. Which is exactly how I feel, as though I could do at any second. I can’t be sure, but I think that could also be aggravating the twitches and tremors. Adam and I talked about it last night and agreed that I shouldn’t take it today and see what happened. By mid-afternoon, nothing had changed, despite me drinking as much I possibly could, without throwing up, another sensation that is hanging around, but we will see.

I know all too well that I might just be grabbing at straws. We all do it when we feel out of control, whatever we can come up with, has to be a better answer than the one we don’t want to face, that this just might be what it is, a new way of living all over again. So I’m holding tightly to that straw, no matter how thin, as I don’t know how well I would cope with that dreaded reality.

I had realised a few weeks ago that I was putting on weight again. At the time I was totally lost as to why, as I haven’t changed my eating habits, and although my weight had gone up when I was first housebound, by a very annoying and unshiftable 3 stone, it had stayed constant since then. I avoided standing on the scales, but when I was at the hospital, they forced me onto them. I was horrified when they told me that I was just under 14 and a half stone. Another 17lbs, and every single one of them more unwelcome than the first. This morning, I fetched the scales from the cupboard and ventured to stand on them in the kitchen, 13st 4lbs. I’m still not happy about it, but at least the Frusemide has clearly removed the mythical weight as it was nothing other than water. Which leaves me in a total quandary, carry around unwanted fluid and possibly feel better, or be happier about my shape and weight, and feel like death warmed up. Why is it, that the longer we live with our pet illnesses, that the harder the options get and the more likely it is, whatever the result, we’re not going to like it?

Wednesday 29th

I had to stop writing yesterday, I was feeling terrible, so for the second day in a row, I retreated to my bed. By the evening, I was feeling a lot better, not perfect, and the twitches were still there, but smoother if twitches can be smooth. The difference from the day before was marked, Adam and I decided it was worth not taking the Frusemide this morning as well, just to see what happened. Well here we are, the next morning and I don’t feel like I want to pass out. I twitching like a mad twitchy thing, but I don’t want to pass out. I think we have the reason, all we have to do now, is find the balance, what dose will control the fluid without making me feel ill.

The district nurse has been and like some kind of mad whirlwind has taken over my life. Firstly, she took my blood, but then there were a million questions, and chat about every single part of my life. Of course, we started with my bowels and the type and frequency of enema that I will require. She isn’t happy with the type that has been prescribed, it is a Phosphate Enema which she feels it too violent in its actions and in her experience, the smaller more modern ones, are better, but we clearly have to try the prescribed version. I’m hopeful that it will be here by Friday, so she will do the first dose then. She asked if I was having problems with my bladder, so I let her know about the leakage I have during the day and my recent nighttime bed wetting. To my delight, she is the person he should have sent me to, not the hospital continence team. She can supply the towels and pads so we don’t have to keep buying them. She did say, though, that it might still be worthwhile seeing the hospital team as well, as they might be able to offer other options, especially as I can no longer manage to self-catheter.

With the toilet areas all covered, we headed onwards. Next came mobility and how I was managing my wheelchair. She totally agreed that I should have an electric chair and is going to get me referred back to Westmark, the department at the Southern General hospital, who are responsible for the final decision. Then came the fact that I haven’t seen my Neurologist for at least 7 years, if not more. She could see that I was very reluctant when we got onto that area. I went over the last time I was there, and what had been said by all the different departments who I saw back then. I explained how they had all told me the same thing, that there was nothing that they could do for me. She was clearly not happy about what she was hearing, and I knew from what she said that she knew as well as I did, that I had just slipped through the system. There should have been return visits, and something had quite simply gone wrong. She is going to take a look at my notes and see what happened back then and let me know when she is here on Friday.

The stress of her entire visit built and built, by the time she left, I was once again a jibbering, twitching wreck. I know that I react to strangers is my home badly, but this one really pushed me. I had a distinct feeling that she intendeds to sort out my life, and I’m not too sure that I want her to. Yes, there are elements that I need from her, but the actual organisation of it all, I really don’t feel I am up to it. There will be more hospital visits, more people to see and more things to do when all I want is peace and quiet.

Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 30/06/2014 – The doctor lottery

I seem to be just jogging along the same path every day at the moment, inside all I want to do is sleep, but when I am lying down I find I can lie there without sleep appearing. Yesterday afternoon I lay in bed during the afternoon just aware of once again how dead my arms and legs where and how incredibly tired I felt. I would have sworn that I didn’t sleep at all, but the clock told a very different story, I had slept for well over…..

Beyond black and white

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I was at the hospital yesterday, the last of a list of appointments that I knew were ahead of me, back in January. Yes, it has taken that long to get an appointment, and it was the longest appointment I have ever had. Nothing to do with getting there or back, it honestly was the appointment. Both Adam and I were so sure that it was going to be the perfect trip. The appointment was nice and early, and that usually meant we were seen and home within a couple of hours, so we left here light-hearted, even though we were without a doubt late for the allocated slot.

We arrived in the waiting room at 9:40, twenty minutes late, but we were whisked straight into a consultant room. The door shut and we expected it to be opened in minutes by Dr. Hair. It was, but just long enough for him to put his head around it and tell us that he wanted one of his colleges to see us, to see if he might be able to come up with something he hadn’t thought of when he saw us 18 months ago. It was Dr, Hair, who put me on to psyllium, and a range of other things that we tried without much luck, and told me to throw away all the different laxatives, that my GP had me on. Since we saw him, I have had psyllium in my daily diet and he was totally right, it does help. The actual production and getting rid of stools is much smoother, but it hasn’t fixed the problem that I have with pain throughout my intestine. Since that visit, my gallstones have also flared up many times, and the combination of pains has made me far more than just miserable at times. Not even taking my booster dose of 10mg of Morphine always deals with the pain, it just keeps coming.

We sat there waiting, with the odd head appearing every now and then, but none of them coming into the room. One of them, eventually told us, that the doctor we were waiting for, was coming across from the Sothern General, to the Victoria, to see us. It is a good half hour drive between the two, so we eventually understood why we were waiting. It was in fact, a full hour and fifteen minutes we were sat there before he arrived. I’m sorry, but his name escapes me now. He for once, though, had read my notes and had a good idea what he was faced with. I filled in what had been happening since and why I was once more sat there. For once, my intestine hadn’t done what it often does, emptied just prior the appointment, I had a full gut and the perfect condition for him to palpitate and examine. Then it was down to what he had to say. He totally agreed with what I believed, that the nerves to my guts are dead or dying. They can not and will not supply the messages to push things through me and it’s a case of it all packing in tightly until it lets go of a length from inside me, then slowly packing in again. The pain is from my intestine being overstretched. The occasions when I throw up is because they are quite simply, unable to move things in any other direction. So what to do about it.

We firstly discussed the option that I dread, a stoma. Both of us are in agreement, that as long as we can make them move at all, it is an option that I don’t really want. For me, it’s the physiologic issues of having a bag of poo, stuck to my side forever. For him, it is the medical complications that go along with such an operation, complications that he thinks for me would be vast. What I really want, is to get rid of some of the pain that I am plagued with, after all, that is why I was there. He explained that even if they did do that operation, it didn’t mean the pain would end, with there being so much damage done to my nerves, it might continue, gut’s or not. Then we went to my gallstones. I thought, one quick operation and it would be done, surely they could do that for me. He told us all the horrors that such an operation could bring with it. According to him, it isn’t the quick operation that I had in mind. Once he went through all the nightmares he could think of, he added in, “and then, it is if the anesthetist is willing to put me under an anesthetic, something I’m not sure they would, with your current medical state.” I was sat there feeling totally deflated and feeling as though I was as always, stuck alone dealing with it all.

There was only one question I had to all he was telling me, “Is there nothing you can do without surgery?” It was then that he told me that there is a drug they sometimes use to dissolve gallstones, it’s not always wildly successful, and they have to be sure that the stones aren’t calcified, but yes, we could try that. As for my bowels, well the only thing he came up with, is trying to stimulate my bowels to let go without storing as they do. To do that, I will require the district Nurse to visit every couple of days and give me an enema. Yes, that was tried four years ago, but only for a couple of weeks, not long enough to see if it will actually work. One x-ray of my gallstones later, and a couple of cigarettes and to our total shock, we were on our way home again.

So here I am, with the facts all in my head and the final confirmation from a doctor that my body is failing step by step. There isn’t a single part of me that this damn illness hasn’t worked on destroying. Follow that Vagal nerve and it’s branching and you have the full picture of what it’s playing with, and what it’s destroying. People see MS as a condition that affects limbs and minds, no one really talks about how it also destroys everything inside you as well. I believe, that all I have left that it hasn’t had a go at yet, is my liver and kidneys, but it might have, I just don’t know. There is nothing they are willing to do for me right now, which actually means, there is nothing they are willing to do, full stop. As my health is only ever going to get worse, well this is it. They will tinker at the edges, play about with those odd possibilities, but as for the major stuff goes, forget it. The biggest answer that I had from them, was to take more Morphine to deal with the pain. I guess that is the story of my future, just take more Morphine until something fails totally and it’s over. I guess that I sort of knew that before I went there, but having it said to you so clearly, well, it puts a new edge on it. I still have much to think about, not least that I will have to have someone else coming into my home, to “care”for me, because I can’t. I knew a few months ago that life was changing, I just didn’t realise by how much.

 

Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 16/06/2014 – Setting Summer out

Summer is beginning to appear, yesterday for the first time I was aware of a true change in the temperature. Clearly it has been rising for a while, otherwise, I would still have the central heating on, but yesterday the house felt just that bit too warm and I actually put my embarrassment to one side and ditched my dressing gown, I haven’t even bothered to put it on today. Now I know most people……

We have to give it some love

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I have discovered that chalk and cheese really do exist, and not just in the flippant words of someone desperate to visualise to the world. Yesterday, for me was without a doubt, the cheese, well, to me, cheese is always the good side of that phrase, as I have never had a great use for chalk. The trip to and from the breast screening clinic went without the slightest hitch. In fact, we were actually home again, before the time I had been given for my appointment. I know that doesn’t sound right, but trust me it was. The ambulance arrived incredibly early, it wasn’t long after 9:15 am when it pulled up outside the house, my appointment wasn’t until 11:58. Luckily, the system in all NHS units in Glasgow is the same, as soon as possible, if you have arrived by Hospital transport, you are seen. I know that may not sound fair on those arriving on time for their appointments, but it is the only way that it can really work. It would be pointless having ambulances arriving to take people home if they are held up in the waiting room. So we are always in and out, even though we often have to wait hours to get home again. Today though it worked the way it always should, dropped off and picked up again an hour later. And yes, the stairclimber worked perfectly both ways, down and up again without a hitch. Well, just one, my top is one of those that actually comes down to your knees, but when I sat down, I forgot to pick up the free material, and it caught in the wheels. Just as they had just gone down the first step, when everything came to a halt. My top now has a tiny hole in it, but at least it didn’t cause the stairclimber to breakdown as it is so keen on doing. I did though have that horrid sinking feeling, as it flashed through my mind that we might be stuck, just as we were last week.

For those who haven’t been for breast screening, it is the simplest and most painless process I have been through for years. I had been for a screening once before, about 20 years ago now. Back then, you entered a room to be faced with this huge piece of machinery that was daunting, to say the least. It has now been changed for a far more streamlined version that doesn’t clunk and whir but is totally silent. It isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, to be stood there with one breast clamped to the machine by a see-through plastic vice, but it is nothing more than a sensation of being squashed, and each image takes second for them to take. 20 years ago, you were clamped by what felt like an iron vice as your breast was squashed by a metal plate that contained the x-ray film. Somehow, being able to still see your breast, even though it is in a way and shape you’ve never seen it before, is slightly more comforting. But, for me, it was the second time that morning that I had that sinking feeling, a flash of doom being stood beside me. As I said, I had to stand for them to be able to take the x-rays, and as you know, my legs aren’t exactly trustworthy. I just had this horrid image in my mind of them suddenly giving away, and the question of what would happen if they did. Well, you can’t blame me for wondering for just a second, how tight that vice really was, and which was stronger, my skin, or its hold. Trust me, I did my best to get rid of the image.

I now have 6 to 8 weeks to wait, before I will hear the results. Because of Adam’s mother having not long ago gone through the exact same test, I know that if they find anything wrong, you hear a lot sooner than that. So in a way, the longer you wait, the better the odds that its good news. By the way, his Mum is doing really well and seems to have made a full recovery from her mastectomy. She has had the results back as well from the pathologist and no more treatment is required. They say that there were no signs of cancer spreading outside the actual lump, so she won’t even have to have chemo, which is brilliant news.

As the clinic is actually in the city center and not at our local hospital, we had the chance to chat to the attendants. It is actually quite good getting to talk to different ones in a short period of time, as you start to build a fuller picture of the truth of what is happening in their work. There is no secret that they NHS is doing it’s best to deter people from using the ambulances service unless they are really needed. In the last week, I have heard of people who have insisted that they need someone with them, just for their carer to go and do their shopping, while their so-called charge, is actually in the hospital. Not quite what they are there for. Adam comes with me, as I am inclined to get very unsettled and at times distressed by the whole process. The hospital transport system is there for those who can’t get to their appointment any other way. Even being in a wheelchair, isn’t really a good enough reason, as every black taxi in the city can take wheelchairs. If you are hard up, well all you have to do is hand in the receipt, and the NHS will pay for it, it’s far cheaper than the cost of an ambulance. The unfortunate truth, of many people’s view of the NHS, is that they have either paid for it in their taxes, or that it’s free, and there to be used. Is it any wonder that the entire system is under stain.

According to the crews we have spoken to in the past few days, they are about to outsource the hospital transport side, to the red cross. I personally find that a little daunting, not that I expect them to be unable to get me out of the house or to the hospital on time, but I am concerned, just as the crews are if they will be up to the demands of the role. The NHS have years and years of experience, and even their systems are just creaking at the edges, but all the way through. We have lost count of the number of trips that have been canceled, or there haven’t even been any ambulances available, for the date of my appointment. So OK the red cross is huge, but is it big enough in Glasgow, to do the job? I know only time will tell, but it is so wrong that it is happening at all. The people of the UK have to start understanding what the NHS is there for, and how to use it, or we are going to loose all of it.

 

Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 02/06/2014 – A factual conclusion

I went to bed last night feeling truly awful, it was one of those times that if I had laid down and died, I actually wouldn’t have been too surprised. I know to some that will sound like a shocking thing to have even thought and many will say why didn’t you call for help, well that is easy to answer, it happens frequently and thanks to a previous post, I know I am not alone. Last night thought I had more than just a feeling to go on, or the fact that I was feeling ill, all day I had put up with……

Mind the gaps

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I seem to be spending so much of my time confused these days, lost as to what is happening and when. I knew, and I have even mentioned them several times, that I have both hospital appointments and on top of that someone from Social Services coming to see me, but as to when any of these things were, well, next week was all that was in my head. It appears next week is far sooner than I thought. When Adam phoned me at lunchtime yesterday, he told me that he had managed to change the appointment with Gastro to an earlier slot on the same day. I had been worrying that going there so late in the morning, would lead to another horror story. I was so pleased that that one was sorted out, as I was quite honestly stressing about it already, and it’s not until the 16th of June, then Adam said something that made the colour drain from my face.

This Wednesday morning I will be at the breast screening clinic. That particular appointment was originally supposed to have taken place back in January. Due to not even being able to book an ambulance for five different dates, it was finally shunted all the way to May. I don’t know why, but I didn’t think it was until next Monday, no, that wasn’t one of the possible dates, just one my brain managed to create all by itself, something it seems to be doing with ease recently. My confusion was all the greater as quite clearly, Monday would no longer be May, but my brain was quite happily just ignoring that fact.

Not surprisingly, the fact I had that one wrong, meant the visit from Social Services had also become muddled. When Adam told me the other day, clearly, I wasn’t really able at the time to take in all that he was saying. He asked me something about would the two being in the same week, be too much for me. What he didn’t realise was that I was confused, so when he asked, I thought they would be three days to recover between them, not just one, plus, I thought I had the whole of this week doing nothing, just relaxing as much as possible, so no problem. Now I am faced with a total nightmare. Today, the shopping arrives, Wednesday, out to the breast clinic, Thursday to rest and then the assessment on Friday. This is a hugely busy and stressful week for me and I wasn’t even aware of any of it.

Dates, times, and appointments, all things that seem to be becoming more and more muddled. It doesn’t matter how many times Adam tells me what is happening, or how many times I have written these things down, my brain is determined to make a total mess of them. It isn’t helped as Adam throws into the mix of chatter about other people, his family, what’s no TV and so on. What should be clear information, lands up in my mind as anything but. Then leave me alone with what he thinks is clear details, and slowly I turn it into anything but. We have come up with different ways of dealing with this in the past, but none of them work and none of them result in breaking my confusion. But that doesn’t mean that we have given up, I have come up with a new idea, one that is at least worth trying. Last night, I suggested to Adam, that every Sunday evening when we sit down together to watch TV, that the first thing we do, is to go over everything and anything that will be happening in the next 8 days. I want him to tell me about what he will be doing, if he has time off, or he’s doing something with his family. If we have hospital appointments or if anyone is going to be coming here. I am hoping that with it being clear defined information, that we discuss face to face, that I will be able to avoid the panic attacks, of being totally lost.

Unless you have lived with confusion, it is something that is difficult to explain. I used to be so good at dates and so on, I never in my life had the need of a calendar or even a diary. I remembered everything, birthdays, days out, you name it, I knew when it was due to happen, at home, outside of it or at work. Finding that you can’t do something as simple as remembering the date of a hospital appointment, is scary. It’s even scarier when you suddenly don’t even know how old you are and have to work it out from the year you were born. Yes, that has happened to me, and more than once. We don’t expect our minds to drop information that simple and that vital, so when you are searching wildly for the answers, the fear starts to grow and just makes it worse by the second. It feels as though someone has managed to get inside your head, and has plucked all that you need that second, out of its home and planted it somewhere else, it’s just you don’t where. You run from place to place, to place, getting more and more desperate by the second. Should it be a case of someone else, telling you, you have it wrong, the effect is even worse.

I had without any doubt in my mind, the next two weeks planned out, I knew where I was going to be, what I was going to be doing and I was safe. Suddenly, all that knowledge was ripped into tiny pieces and I was standing there desperately trying to catch each piece as it fluttered just out of reach. It was out of reach because I knew where it was meant to be, I had known for weeks, so how could this new information possibly fit into my life. Making it fit was like picking up a mallet and voluntarily hitting myself over the head with it and I had to do it, as I now trust Adams brain, far more than I do my own when it comes to this sort of information. Once you find your brain letting you down, even if it is within defined parameters, you start to mistrust it in others, but there is only so much double checking that you can do before you drive yourself insane.

Watching your brain fall apart isn’t that easy to live with. I tried for a long time to pretend it wasn’t happening, but it is, and I know I can’t pretend it’s not any longer. It’s a growing fact, and something I am becoming more and more aware of. Which in an odd way, I guess is good. If I wasn’t aware, well I would be in a far worse place than I am.

 

Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 31/05/2014 – The small things in life

I don’t know who you are but good morning to the six people reading my blog at this very second, 10:49 am 31/05/14. I really love that little globe at the top of my blog page, it has this strange effect of changing my mood, just by looking at it. There are days like today when I pop in to pick up the details for the link at the bottom of each post, to the post from 2 years ago and I am greeted by flags around the world, flags belonging to people who are connected to me, right at that second. Just knowing……