The big one.

To say that I wasn't scared would be a lie.

I had my week away and got back late last night. Unpacking and repacking was not the thing I wanted to do very much as exhaustion was a pretty heavy thing. Not to mention that I really wanted to spend today helping mum. Whilst away we had new floor laid and though it looks very nice, there is a fair bit of cleaning up to be done.

The holiday was great. Time resting, soaking in some sun and just generally spending time with my parents away from the stress of hospitals and building.

Taking a dip in the sea or pool would have been nice, but that is a luxury that I may get on my next holiday. I actually kinds did take a dip in the pool though a little unplanned. My legs were really hot and so on the way back to the room after a couple of drinks I decided to paddle through the kids pool thinking it would come about half way up my leg. But as I stepped down into it, it was deeper than thought and so u ended up in almost to my waist and having to grab my bag to stop my camera getting wet, ignoring my dress that got soaked. But it was fun.

Anyway by 7 this morning I was on the train across country that would bring me back to London. And here I am sat in the hospital.

This is where the fear sets in. Soon they will be taking my trach out and going that I can make it till next Tuesday without my airway failing completely. I do still worry that I won't last, but there are options in place should things become critical, as they say.

I guess it just stirs up old trauma of respiratory arrests and such, but this hospital is much more specialised and hopefully things won't get that far. Of course saying that knowing how my body never does what it's expected it may not become a problem at all.

Plus there is always the aspect of an ICU stay. It should only be one night, but that is still the place that haunts a lot of my dreams.

I find myself wondering often why I keep putting myself through this. The risk of making things worse and the fear and pain that goes with it. This is after all very major surgery. For a while I will have no airway at all and will rely on a tube thread almost into my chest for ventilation. Not to mention the complaints my lungs will make along side the surgery.

But it is some why I do it. For the chance to be able to breathe. For the opportunity not to spend my life in hospital. Simply fit the chance to live. Living is one of the biggest life forces your body can attain towards. Each big surgery offers me a chance to get my life back. And that chance is what I have to go for. It's that chance alongside my hopes and dreams fit a future that make the pain and fear worthwhile.

The chance to live, to have a family, be a mum, work and build a career and live a long and healthy life. One not effected by inability to breathe and the exhaustion that comes with your heart trying to keep up.

Now I just need to keep them goals in mind and all will l be well for the next few weeks of living in captivity.

The Diary

So, I now have, in my possession and currently residing on my bed, the dairy that mum kept while I was in hospital. Its not long and I know there are huge chunks missing, lets face it, in those situations, keeping records is the last thing on your mind. My mum is not the most eloquent or writer either so some sentence run on for whole paragraphs.

I was given the book about 6 months after I got out of hospital to read and I remember glancing through it, but at the time, I just wasnt ready. I dont know what has change, but now it feels right. It feels like the right time. Last time, the thought of crying would make me mad, but now, I know that given the life changing events that are recorded, crying, is normal.

Tonight, I think I am going to share the first entry with you, which is two and half pages. The first couple of entries were written about a week after they occurred so some things may be jumbled.

Tuesday 5th December 2002


You arrived by ambulance to the hospital approx. 6:20 as far as we know.
Sister on duty says Peter arrived with you after a 999 call, your life was saved for the first time by the knife being left were it was. Christopher arrived home at 6:15, the phone rang at 6:30 to tell us that you were in a critical state and that we should attend as ASAP (You had been conscious and refused to give our phone number) Christopher phone Dad who was at work, he booked off and started home, Christopher phoned me at the shops to come home straight away. On the way home, I phoned Tracey she was to meet us at home. Michelle was on nights so she was in bed, her and Mike met us at the hospital A&E. Dad arrived home, Tracey, Christopher and me took the journey to the hospital, it felt so long. When we all arrived we were taken to the relatives room. The CID came to see us.


We were told that you had been stabbed and that you had gone straight to surgery. We met Peter, Kieran and Kirsty. Peter was really shocked and worried. We sat and waited for news. 6 1/2 hours later the surgeon Mr g. came to tell us how you were it was a real shock your liver had been damaged and the main artery had been severed. The liver specialist had been sent for. Prof P. from Liverpool, so for the second time you were lucky. It was a temporary operation and when you were well enough to travel you would be transfered to the Royal for a further op. When you were settled in the ITU we were allowed to see you for a few minutes. Alison arrived at the hospital, ahe had been in town, so she came by train.


You were in a lot of pain and in a bad way, upset and distressed and very confused. We had a police guard all that night and the next day. We visited throughout the night and all sat waiting for good news, they were having problems and you were still bleeding. They tried to clot your blood. After several hours the descsion was made although you were extremely ill there was no choice but to go back to theater or you would die. Mr G. was very good, he spoke to us and you had very little chance, but we had to take it, we just had time to say good bye and give you our love and a kiss, you could not see Dad but you knew he was there so you reached out for his hand and you held my hand and pulled us to your cheek. We really thought we were to lose you all over again.


3 1/2 hours in surgery this time, we were told that your right lung had also been damaged by the knife.


Your blood pressure had gone so low and your heart was giving cause for concern, once again you fought your way around, Michelle, Mike, Tracey, Christopher and Alison waited for some news. Keith phoned every 30 mins, he had to look after the gang as it was short notice to arrange baby sitters.


The hospital wanted to move you tot he Royal but you were far to ill to travel, so we waited hour by hour. The hospital found us a small room next to the ITU so we could be at hand. We sat with you every minute we could, leaving ITU at about 1:30 every night and back by 7am. Your BP dropped very low, your oxygen was 100% fully sedated. Two people only were allowed at your bed. Michelle came every morning. Christopher, Alison and Tracey every night. We all took turn and just held your hand and told you to fight on.


The last time I saw you awake I made you promise that you would not give up and would not let Dave win. You shook your head ad I held you to it. At the time not knowing how hard you would have to fight for your life.

Winter

Winter is most definitely in the air today.
I must say, I have been loving the Autumn, but when I went out this afternoon, not only dud my scarf come out, but my winter coat as well.
I like the winter. I love the summer when you can spend days outside, eating fruit with the warmth of the sun on your skin, but winter, has that crips chill to the air. Although, I hate rain, it makes everywhere look dark and miserable, winter has the perfect weather for breathing in. The coolness, keeps my throat playing nicely and the damp makes it easier to cough. My peak flows have actually risen a little in the last couple of days, a very good sign.

Mum finished radiotherapy today, which is great, though for some reason yesterday and today she has been very moody, to the point, my dad and I are staying out the way. He wouldnt bring her moods up, as her husband i guess he cant, but if I grumble along to him, he does let it out a little, which I think is a good thing. Everyone is always, oh your mum needs support through cancer, but it is my dad I worry about. I do hope I get to pay him back at some point for all the stress he has been through. He really needs a knee replacement, but its just not practical at the moment.

So we go back to the chemo doc next week,for mum to decide if she is going to keep on with the chemo. It probably sounds horrible, but I hope that she dosnt. More for her sake. I do mean well.

It is also now starting to feel christmasy. Everywhere has the decs up and the films are starting on tv. Though, I did have to laugh at the decorations in my local the other day.

Its strange how your mind can deal with things. For so long after my transplant and time in hospital, I remembered very little of what happened, or I would remember very small facts,but nothing vividly. Recently though, some memories have been coming back.

When I was stabbed, it was the beginning of December, so most places were getting in the festive spirit and work had put their tree up. I was also make plans for Christmas dinner and presents that I needed to get. I knew christmas was fast approaching.

I was scared when I was in hospital, I had never been in hospital before and to suddenly be in A&E and then ICU, my mind didnt have a clue what was going on. I was also heavily sedated and in liver failure, so they could also have caused this bit. But I remember feeling safe. I knew things were not good, its hard to describe, but I felt relaxed. Kinda how I imagine a child feels when they gaze up at the christmas their first year of seeing it for what it is. I looked around me and I was lying on a comfy sofa, covered with a big thick patchwork quilt in red and green and stitched with gold thread. The room I was in, was a lot like my nans house. Same sort of layout and decor, but at the end of the sofa was a huge tree, that would never have fitted in my nans house. It was lit with twinkly lights and I could faintly hear music in the background. Bustling about in the same room was a short plump lady, wearing a long skirt and a white piney and mop cap. Looking at her I could tell she was old, but watching her she had the speed and heart of a younger person. She had a very kind smile and I remember her telling me many times, to relax, sleep, things were going to be ok, that she was looking after me. I felt all warm and fuzzy. I can still remember the feeling, though it is near impossible to put into words. She introduced herself at one point, as Mrs Christmas, or Mrs Claus for short. She was a great comfort to me for a while when I was first admitted. Of course, I have no real sense of time when I was in hospital and so I have no idea where that part fits in, but I do think it was near the beginning.

The following year, when I went back to ICU to take presents for the staff, mum says that I apparently told her that one of the short plump nurses, was Mrs Claus. Its strange what your mind remembers and when, but I often do get the whole image in my mind again, in such detail it is as if it happened yesterday. I guess the mind can be such a wonderful thing.

Though, I do wonder what other connections are there. Why it felt like my Nans house. Though, I am guessing around the same sort of time, my nan did phone my mum and tell her everything was going to be alright, because she had made a deal with someone, and she was trading her life for mine. I was going to live, and once I was back on my feet, she would pass away. I miss my Nan, especially at Christmas, but i hate the family tradition of going out of the way to put flowers and things on her stone in the cemetery. If my Nan were alive, she would berate everyone for doing it, tell them to stop being ridiculous, get home in the warm with your family and spend the money on something you will all enjoy, not flowers that no one will ever see.

RIP Jimmy Saville

(This was actuly written yesterday, but silly me posted it in the wrong blog, doh)

He was a little before my era, more my sisters time than mine.
I guess that I can use that as an excuse.
When I was in ICU not long after my transplant, Jimmy used to come visit the hospital. He did a lot of charity work for all the hospitals in the Leeds area. The first time he visited, I was deeply sedated. But he remembered me,calling me, 'his little scouse friend' when he came back a few weeks later. I was a little more alert by then, but I still didnt have a clue who he was and was unable to ask. I recall thinking, is this the bloke who plays dumbledore in the Harry Potter films.

He insisted on having a photo taken with my family. It must have been early January 2003, as I am a good coloured (not yellow) but still on dialysis. I do not look impressed at all.

But, in short, RIP Jimmy Saville. You might have been a more eccentric personality, but a lot of clebs these days should take a leaf out of your book in regards to fundraising.

Memories

With my chest playing up at the minute, past memories have been haunting me this week, perhaps making me more nervous.

It was 2 years ago and I had been in and out of hospital with my breathing and had a string of respiratory arrests behind me. My surgeon was going out of town for a week and so the week before he took me in for yet another clear out. I had a stent in at the time as my airway would not hold open. He had been trying to talk me around to have a trachestomy in, but I was still filled with scary memories of ICU years previous and had refused.
Things were getting tougher, to the point that on college days, I would get up at 6, so I had time to get dressed and run treatmeants and leave by 8:30. Every 2 hours when lessons changed, I would spend 30 mins running nebs and an hour at lunch time. But I was getting through the day and that was all I cared about.

But my airway was still complaining. It got to the point, where I couldnt get around the house without near passing out.

I had emailed my surgeon and asked to talk to him as soon as he got back from his trip as as much as I didnt want them to, I knew things would need to change.

Wednesday, halfway through his week off and I was really struggling and so the ward admitted. The SHO was an arrogant twat who basically gave the impression that I was wasting peoples time, because I kept coming in. All they could do was run nebs and give me steroids, which I could be doing at home.

I had prebooked ticket to see the premier of New Moon with a friend for the midnight showing and I was desperate to go see it. So when they decided to discharge me on the Thursday, I just went with it.

I was exhausted and even borrowed a wheelchair as I couldnt make the 10 steps from car to cinema. The film was wonderful, but throughout, I was concentrating hard on my breathing, and not just at the topless scenes.

My friend took me home and saw me to bed where I slept a broken sleep. Mum was in work the next day till 12 and I was home alone. I awoke struggling, but managed to get my neb on and after about 20 minutes was settled a little. I was so exhausted that I fell back asleep, to do the same thing only 20 minutes later.

At one point, I knew mum was due home soon, so I bundled up my neb, and curled up on the floor in the living room, remembering to unlatch the front door on the way past. My reasoning? I could hardly stay awake and if my throat went again I didnt want an ambulance crew having to deal with stairs, as I am not exactly light.

Mum came home and imediatly told me off for not phoning her, but I didnt want anyone to worry. At that point, I was fairly ok and although still struggling I was managing. I explained that I didnt want to have to face that annoying SHO again and so I didnt want to go to hospital. I soon fell asleep again and mum must have dozed off next to me. Next thing I know she is shaking me awake and running the neb for me, apparently, I sounded like I was dying.

The ward said to come straight over and within minutes, I was on oxygen and sat in the bed closest to the nursing station. The on call doc had been called, but it was a busy day and it took a while for him to come. He increased all my meds and asked for an ICU doctor to review as he was unsure about leaving me on the ward. At this point, the SHO was on hand over and said it wont be nescary etc but the ICU doc had already been called.

He quizzed me on my history and took some blood gasses. At this point I was settled so I had sent mum and dad home as they were exhausted and there was nothing they could do.

Once the gases were done, the ICU doc decided he wasnt happy for me to stay on the ward as he would prefare more intensive monitoring and so I was shipped off to ICU. I had never been moved to ICU while awake, it was most odd and all I could think to do was apologize for all the fuss I was causing, and of course to run the loo before they shipped me down there. Of course, even moving down there was a job, as I had to be acompanied by a team of 2 docs and a load of equipment. It was very overwhelming.

That night may have started late, but it was a long one. My nurse was wonderful. She dimmed all the lights down for me and sat outside the door so she could still see the screens but so I had some personal space. But the night continue as the day had, in that every time I went to sleep, I would suddenly wake up unable to breathe.

By morning handover, we had gotten into a pattern of me being able to get 10 mins sleep and then topping up the nebs and so, I had avoided any scary situations. The new nurse coming on, was a little more relaxed and started talking to me about breakfast.

And then, while in mid conversation, I coughed. And thats when things got scary.

Suddenly, I couldnt breathe. I looked at the nurse, with fear in my eyes and tried to tell her, but the words would not come out.I tried coughing to clear it, but I could not get the air in to cough. I remember watching the nurses expresion suddenly change as she began shouting for help, about 6 seconds before the machine began to alarm.

The sudden movement on an otherwise peaceful sleepy ward was intense. within a minute, there were doctors everywhere and the crash trolley was being bought in. The ends where pulled off the bed and a doctor began to check my cannula was still working. Typically it wasnt, and the doctor swore loudly, before tipping a bottle of iodiene up my arm and bed to attempt to put another one in.

Every breath was fight. The anesthist was leaning over me from behind, ready to take my breathing over. The injections to paralse me where ready in another doctors hand on one side of me and another doctor was talking me through breathing. Everybody else was starting at the moniter was my oxygen sats dropped and dropped.

Slowly, the steroids they had pushed through began to work and my oxygen levels began to stablise and then slowly began to rise.

After about 40 minutes, the staff began to drizzle out and the crash trolley was wheeled back out into the hall.

Mum and dad had apprently been trying to phone, but had not got any answer (oops) so had just popped over to see how I was. They were allowed in to see me and I told them what had happened, well a watered down version.

That was one of the scariest moments of my life. The drugs and fighting and I knew that last time, it had been a close call, as they can not get a normal size tube down my throat, I have the have the same size tube that a toddler would have.

Mum had been with me about an hour and was asking if I wanted anything from the shops. It was Saturday and she usually went shopping. But for the second time that day, disastour struck. Exactly the same as in the morning, my throat suddenly shut down. This time the docs knew what to do,my parents however were not prepared and I am glad that I was not in the waiting room when they had to leave the ICU.

Things once again got under control, but by this point we knew something had to change and change fast. My surgeon, who was far away, was phoned several times that Saturday morning, whilst they tried to asses the situation. Another surgeon was called in as an emergency and although he did not know my case, he agreed to come in and see if he could help. The emergency theater team where put together and I said good bye to my parents, not really knowing what would happen next.

This time, I needed a bigger team and the transfer from ICU to theater, was done with at least 6 staff members and a lot of equipment.

The doc removed as much as he could out of my airway, knowing that he could not take to much as my whole airway would collapse.

I woke 2 hours later in the ICU aching more than I had ached in a long time. I needed high flow oxygen to keep my levels up, my blood gasses where everywhere, but that could be dealt with. Every time I breathed, you could hear a deep rattling noise. Tissue had been removed and I could breathe, but every time I did, it aggravated the area and so the area swelled.

I hadnt slept in two day and every muscle in my body felt like it were on fire. Every breathe felt like it would be my last. I hate bedpans and commodes, but I could not get out of bed and so the discussion began to insert a catherter. I hate those as well, but at that point, I felt so beaten that I was about to agree.

Mum and dad sat by my side, holding my hand and willing me to try and sleep. But I couldnt, I kept thinking, if I sleep, I will stop breathing again,my body will give up. The ICU docs came to see how I was doing and I literally begged them, with tears running down my face, to sedate me and put me back on the vent. I was to tired to keep breathing. They want me to keep going, but promised to review me every hour. They were afraid to knock me out and not know how my throat was. That the tube would further irritate my throat and cause more swelling that they could not get passed. If this happened, even a trachestomy would be out of the question due to its placement.

That was one of the longest evening I have ever experienced. I watched the second hand on the clock as sweat poured down my forehead from the effort. The tears eventually dried up and I resigned myself to what would be.

Slowly the seconds added to minutes and then to hours and I began to get some rest in short 10 minute bursts.

Again, the staff were wonderful. Encouraging me every step. Trying everything they could. I needed a more permanent IV line putting in, but even the best doctors could not get a PICC line in my arm as the viens were ruined.

That weekend lead to a lot of tears, from myself, my family and the staff. The theater nurses made jokes about what I was going to wear to the staff Christmas party as I spent as much time in there as the staff did. I had a few more close calls and several more trips to theater while my surgeon tried desperately to get hold of my ENT surgeon, who had just vanished.

In the end, I spent almost 3 weeks in the ICU, developed a very bad infection in my blood that was only picked up by chance before it did damage. I got my first trachestomy and learnt how to care for it myself. Developed an infected line that came pretty close to killing me once again and became a good teaching tool for the ward staff.

I was admitted in November and I was discharged in February.

That first weekend though, is one that haunts me most. The sound of all the docs, the pain of my ribs, the fear in that nurses eyes. I can see it all as clear as yesterday. At the start I needed my throat clearing every 4 weeks, that then dropped to every 2 weeks and in the end, I was needing it cleared every day. I think that is why I am so on edge now. I dont want to end up back in that position. I dont want to fight for every breathe, I just want to be able to breathe. But, I know I can cut myself some slack on the occasions that I do freak out, as they are founded on true ground.

Escape

I have had a wonderful, exhausting, fun few days.

I took my youngest niece and nephew to London for a couple of days.

And even met my new man (he just dosnt know it yet) on the subway. From the side he looked like the Vampire Eric from true blood *swoons*

Oh and that is my hat, but my niece stole it!

We had bubble milk and Banana soup. The soup was ok, but the bubble bits are semolina ick.

It was fun and very exhausting. Though, we could have spent much much longer there. I love spending time with the kids, especially when I get to play the adult, dealing with bed times, bath times and food. I like the way things are at the moment, I am at the age now, where I can kinda whisk in and play the cool Auntie role that I have always wanted. They listen to me and do as they are told, so I dont have to do any of the horrible shout at them bits, just the fun stuff.

Its great in a way, as I have said before, the kids know that I am sick all the time and the youngest, Bethany, wont remember a time when I wasnt sick. But if anything should happen to me, I dont want them to think of me as sick, I want their memories to be of fun times and lots of love. I think I have achieved that.

Though, it is kind of bitter sweet. By building nice memories with them, I am in fact getting closer to them and should anything happen, it will be more upsetting. Bethany confessed to me the other day, that there is one song that reminds her of me and every time she hears it she cries. Apparently she listened to it lots when I spent last Christmas in hospital.



This makes me sad, but the lyrics do fit. Especially the bit about hearing your voice. We do have a very close relationship and she is the one I would miss the most, that kind of unconditional love and having her come to me for advice and such.

In other news, I got in trouble for canceling my doctors appointment last week (oops) They apprently rang ours to get in touch and spoke to my mum. My Tacrolimus levels where messed up and through the roof (Hence why I was feeling so rough) and I had grown an infection in my sputum off my chest again and so needed antibiotics.

So I started the anti biotics as soon as I got home on Monday, but I had a follow up appointment today. She told me to stop the antioboitcs and gave me a new set, as my chest had then gone on to grow a second further infection that needed different anti biotics, fun fun fun. One of them was Staphylococcus aureus, again and I forget what she said the second one was, I think it was Haemophilus influenzae. But at this rate, I am going to end up getting medication resistant to the staph. Thats at least 8 times in less than a year and I am doing everything I can to keep my chest clear.

So more antibiotics, this time with the ones that mess horribly with my stomach, oh joy of joys. And more bloods at the end of next week to check kidneys and medication levels. My doctors just love me, can you tell hehe.

Oh and where I have the sore nose off my humdiferie, is also the same infection as on my chest, so I need to stop using my humdifier until everything has cleared up. Oh well. sleep time now.

ahhhh bliss

I had a real shower!!
Now you are probably thinking eww have you not had one before, well no, not a real one.
After surgery I had to keep my chest dry, my right thigh dry and my neck dry. Well, the dressing has eventually come off my thigh, so it was only my neck that I had to be careful of, so I jumped in the shower.

It was hard work, but it was bliss. Hot water washing some of that tension away. Up until then, I had been living on strip washes, which are fine for actually getting clean, but not feeling clean. The shower, just felt so much better. Granted there was no shower chair, so I did find myself sitting on the floor for a large part of the shower. I had to keep getting my breath back between each task and tilting my head back to wash my hair, was a little awkward.

I came out complete exhausted, but feeling a heck of a lot fresher. Not only that, but the shower helped with my circulation. My cheeks had a lovely pink flush to them instead of my grey/white look I have been wearing lately.

Its strange when I think of how much I have changed over the last year. When I was admitted last year, my hair was as short as could be, I lived on the computer and the only think I craved whilst in hospital was more time to spend on the forum I use. I had always been a tom boy, didnt care for looks and generally lived in oversized t shirts and combats. Now however, the thing I am missing and craving most is things like my hair gel and my make up. I dont think that it is because I am vain as such, more so that I like the confidence boost that looking better gives me.

The biggest thing I have always said is that I want to be as close to normal as possible. Least amount of fuss and special treatment that I can live without. Things like I never told anyone I was deaf as I didnt want them to treat me differently. Same with things such as breathing problems. Of course it got to the point, where you could tell and I couldnt hide. That was when I couldnt live without the special treatment as I couldnt keep up.

Things are the same now. I dont want that gray pallor of a sick person who never sees sun. I dont want people to look at me and the first thing they see is a sick person. I dont want sympathy just because I am deemed as sick. Its like when my brother got back in touch with me, the night before I got my trach. Dont get me wrong, I miss him a lot, but the fact that he only contacted me that night, then when I was out of immediate danger he didnt get back in touch. I dont want people like that around me. It happened last time, when I was first stabbed.

Loads of people came to see me in hospital, to get a look so to speak, but didnt bother again after that. People who I had not got along with in school, ones who I had kinda had a 'I'll leave you alone if you leave me alone' type of relationship with, were suddenly crying for me and wanting to visit. Of course it didnt last, because there was a reason we were never close to begin with.

On a totally different note, I seriously want to kill the girl opposite. She isnt in because she is sick, she has had cosmetic surgery so its all her own doing, she hasnt had to deal with any limitations and such. Yet she never stops moaning!! Its tiring just listening to her. She tells the staff at least once and hour how uncomfortable she is and how much pain she is. She even called a nurse last night to turn her light off, when the button is right next to her bed and I heard her reaching further than that to get into her cupboard. She then spent half an hour whining about how none of the staff have time for her and they dont care about her. The staff spend a lot of time with her, but she isnt helping herself. Refusing to get out of bed, not having any meals and worst of all munching when she thinks no one is around and then you hear her throwing it up. The nurses had to stop her the other day from sticking her fingers down her throat. She says she is tired, but she was up till 1am this morning on the phone. My sympathy for her ran out a long long time ago.

Fingers crossed they are kicking her out to day. Though it is getting a little old now, watching people being admitted and discharged whilst I sit on the sidelines.

But on that note. Surgery tomorrow!! eeeee.

My weekends (long)

Its late... Again.
So I was going to post last night, but once again my computer decided to be stupid and wouldnt turn on. Now it is on but its still not right, so tonight is going to be filled backing up what needs to be backed up and tomorrow, getting back onto the computer company.

Anyway..

My weekends. I use this phrase as its kinda been the past 2 weekends that I am going to write about as I wasnt able to at the time.

At the beginning of this year I had a lot of realizations. It kinda came on when my niece was allowed to sneak in and see me in ICU. She was occasionally allowed to do this the very first time I was in, if I remember right she was about 3 years old and the nurses used to push a chair up to my bed and let her stand on it so she was level with me. So that she wasnt scared of the tubes, they used to tell her to stroke me like a small animal. After that she used to tell everyone that you had stroke me like a little mouse. I do wish I knew were the pictures are from this time, hopefully they will turn up at some point.

Well she turned 11 whilst I was in London the other week. I dont want her to only have memories of me being ill and in hospital. So subconsciously, I decided that the next year was going to be all about making sure the people around me had fond memories to remember me by incase anything happened. I wanted to keep lots of photographs of these memories, so that they had something to hold onto in the future should I not be their to enjoy it with them.

For my nieces 11 birthday I wasnt going to be their with her, so I took her out and spoilt her before I left. We had a nice meal and she opened her presents. We also went to watch Letters to Juliet in the cinema. But what was more fun, was just playing around with the camera.

The weekend before last, I was again staying at my sisters, the weather was hot (which is unusual for England) and I had that itching feeling of wanting to do something, anything. To sit in all weekend listening to the kids argue about whose turn it is on the computer and what they were having for tea just felt too much. As it turned out, the two older kids had work on the Saturday morning and the younger one had a party but not till much latter in the evening. So I dropped the others off at work, stopped at McDonalds for breakfast, then headed out to the beach.

We went to Thurstaton beach on the wirral. On the way I also picked up some marker pens and a couple of trays of paints. We had taken a bag of stuff from the house such as drinks and some food. I was able to find a parking lot hidden in the back of a caravan site, that allowed me to take the car really close and the weather was wonderful.

We also painted some shells while we were at the beach, that turned out pretty good. We did some pebbles too, but there was no way I could carry them back, so we left them at the beach.

That morning, a baby foal had been born in the field behind my sisters house, so we went to have a peak at him that evening. He was so cute and energetic.

On the Sunday, it was a lovely day again so I offered another trip to the beach. With the two older ones not in work, all three decided they wanted to come. A picnic was packed again and we set out in the car to find a beach. I like the beach we were at the the day before, but the tide was out of an afternoon, which made it difficult to go in the water. My main fear was that the youngest would get into trouble in the water but I wouldnt hear her or be able to get there in time with it being a distance. So I headed towards Wales and we eventually settled at prestatyn.

Once again, the car park was literally on the beach which made things easier. A good part of this afternoon was that, the England match was on, so the beach rather than being crowded, was virtually empty, which was lovely.

Of course, then things started to get a little silly :p

The pattern left by the drink bottle. Pretty.

That night, once the younger two had gone to bed, the elder one and I decided to go on a wildlife hunt for something to do. We wanted to see the baby foal again, but we also went to another field which usually has shetland ponies in it. This was an odd experience.

We were standing, leaning on the fence. The field its self was dark, but their was a lot of light behind, so we could see a fair bit into the field, until the shadows of the trees at the back became to thick. There was no sign of anything in the field and we were about to give up. Suddenly, right in front of us was this big horse, looking directly at us. We glanced at each other as if to say, can you see that and looked back. He was still there so I took a couple of pictures. I tried with flash, without flash and on night mode. I lined him up with the street lights so I knew exactly were we was. The odd thing? There was no horse on the pictures I took. There was shadows on the floor, when there was nothing there to make shadows, but no horse.

He was lined up in between the two lamps in this one, probably about where the shadows begin.

My sister and I have had this thing about feathers since my Nan died a couple of years ago. Whenever we go through a rough patch, or odd things happen, a feather appears out of nowhere. For example, a while back we were both shopping in Manchester. I looked down at the clock and realized we had lost time and where over on the parking ticket by about 2 hours. It was peak shopping time and we were in a spot notorious for parking tickets. We both started hoping it was just a parking fine and that they had not towed the car.

When we got to the car, no ticket at all, just a single white feather under my wiper. This has happened with a few different things inc times when I have gone into hospital.

So anyway, joking around with the horse thing, I made a comment of, there are not any feathers around are their? We both looked down and right next to were we were standing was a pile of about 10 feathers. It did bring a smile to my face. And I hope my nan is watching down and I am doing the right things to please her.

So that brings me to this weekend.

It was the eclipse preview weekend *squeals* Yes I am a big fan girl when it comes to Twilight. So I had promised my youngest niece that she could stay over for the weekend. So friday, my friend Alison and I picked her up and we went Ice skating.

I used to love skating and at one point pasted my grade 10. Given my health, I have hardly gone over the past year, but went a couple of months back. To say I am rusty is an understatement. But more disappointingly was that I had gotten even worse than I was the other month. Last time I struggled, but I was able to do basic skating and moves. This time however, I would get halfway around the rink and have to stop to get my breath. Surly I should be getting better and adjusting not getting worse.

So I did a few short bouts, but spent most of my time with the camera instead. I dont think I will be going back for a fair while now though.

We then went out for tea, spent some time sitting on the grass in the sun and then went into the theatre to watch twilight.

After this we headed home to drop the young'en with my mum and dad for the night, whilst Alison and I headed into town to watch Eclipse.

It was wonderful, though their was bits missing that were in the book. However I cant wait to see it again.

Sunday, my sister and the other two kids came to pick the littlest one up so we had a nice family meal around the table. I had also printed a couple of the pictures off of my niece and I from her birthday evening out, so I decided to frame them with her. I dug out my craft box full of paper and odd bits and bobs and the results were really good. We both worked on her one and managed to finish before she went home. I didnt get time to get a picture of it though, which sucks. I also made my one, but it isnt as good. I will do some more work on it once I have a few more pictures I think.

The most positive thing I can take from this, is that, I actually got my craft box out. This is a huge step. I used to love doing crafty type of things, however my box went away at least 5 years ago, when I started feeling truly depressed. This has to be a good sign surly? Even if it meant that it took me nearly an hour to find my bed again hehe.

Yeah, sorry this has been so long, and well done if you have gotten all the through it. Guess it should have been made over a few posts, but having no computer has really made that harder.