Tag Archives: health

I’m getting to enjoy this

Enforced rest and relaxation. Six whole weeks of it. GAAAAHHHH!!!

For a woman who generally skips around like Tigger on speed I wasn’t sure how I’d cope with it. The prospect of six weeks of Jeremy Kyle and other daytime tv offerings sent me into a depression just thinking about it. The massive operation I had to undergo a seemed a far less frightening prospect.

So. Surgery out of the way and two weeks down the line how has it been I can hear you ask, dear reader.

Why, thank you for asking, that’s very nice of you.

It’s been bloody boring, that’s how it’s been. I’ve slept like a sleeping thing. I’ve slept so much that I could make your average dormouse look like a beginner in a sleeping competition. Now I’m not saying I could sleep as much as Lashes who’s capacity for sleep never ceases to amaze me but me and my bed are certainly besties at the moment. Every time I say I’m going to do something Boofuls looks at me horrified and says, You can’t do that!” “Yes I can, I’m not a bloody invalid!” “yes you are, that’s exactly what you are.” “Oh shit, I suppose I am.”

Other hoteliers may have decided to close their doors for a few weeks and call it a mini holiday but since it is January which is notoriously quiet we decided to stay open. It’s not as though the diary had anything in it, from New Year to 26th January we had not a single booking.

What the hell happened then?!? Where the hell have all these people suddenly come from? We are almost full this weekend!

Lashes and Boofuls have picked up the reigns leaving me feeling guilty, useless and helpless because I physically can’t do anything and weepy because I feel surplus to requirements and if I try to help Im just in the way. I do like to pull my substantial weight.

Poor old Douggie the doggie thinks I’ve fallen out of love with him because we aren’t having our three walks a day. Boofuls and my wonderful friend, Fiz have taken care of that.

It would appear that I’m not indispensable after all.

Efforts to push myself to ‘crack on’ have ended up with me crying and in pain. I’ve had to learn the hard way that I just can’t do it.

Ok then. I surrender! I’ll rest, alright?

What? Wait!

Now I’ve stopped fighting it all I’m quite enjoying pottering about. Read a book, watch a film, have a little doze. No pressure. Potter about some more if I feel like it. Take Douggie the doggie out for a short, slow walk under close supervision from Boofuls who drives the car down to meet me so I don’t walk back up the hill. Fancy a lie in? Yeah, why not. Turn that alarm off and snuggle down.

All of that, along with being taken out for lunch, enjoying the sunshine on the beach while Boofuls throws stones into the water for Douggie. Coffee with my friends, being bought flowers and chocolates, invitations to drive me to places and events, and of course time to sit and write a blog post if I feel like it.

What have I been fighting it all for?

What’s all the fuss about?

I should be embracing this time off! God knows that as of the end of March there will be precious little time off till October.

It’s amazing what a change of attitude can do. Now that I know Lashes and Boofuls are more than capable of taking care of things I can relax, chill out and get on with the important task of getting back up to full strength. Then it’ll be a case of: Watch out world, I’m coming to get ya!


You are what you eat, or breathe

Ok, I’m not going to claim that my body is a temple, more of a kebab house really but I have always tried to be careful about what I eat as I do believe passionately that you are you eat. In the days when I had the luxury of doing such things I would always shop organically, my children were all brought up an a good organic, relatively non processed diet with the occasional sin thrown in to keep things exciting. I mean, who doesn’t love the occasional Maccie D?

As a parent I fretted over the state of the environment, what my kids were breathing in and what kind of a world they and their children would inherit. When a motorway was built right next to the boys’ school I was horrified. Have the Government no idea what damage heavy metal ( lead, not music. I’ve no issue with heavy metal music) emissions cause to young people? Particularly with Lashes, as her perfect state of health can be balanced on the thinnest, sharpest knife-edge.

For years I fretted about it all, while researching ways to keep my family safe from such things.  One day I may tell you about my long running battle with the hospital doctors who wanted to treat Lashes with treatments that would eventually cause her more harm than  do her good.  One of my finest hours, I’m proud of that.

Of course in the 80’s this kind of talk was dismissed as hippy nonsense. In a supermarket I once asked there they kept the couscous only to find myself directed to “the crank section”. Charming.

Now it would appear that all my pseudo hippy ramblings and reading have been vindicated. I came across this article on the BBC News website this morning. I’m trying really hard not to thumb my nose at all the nay sayers and say “I BlOODY TOLD YOU!” Y’see, I was just way ahead of my time.

Read and inwardly digest.

Did removing lead from petrol spark a decline in crime?

It’s a smoking sensation!

At the suggestion from Boofuls that I go and get my blood pressure checked I popped into the chemist the other day. Well, it’s quicker and easier than going to the doctor’s and it’s free so why not?

No, no. Don’t start panicking. The top isn’t going to blow off my head or my brains come exploding out of my ears or anything. I’m not suffering from hypertension. In fact it’s probably exactly the opposite. I’ve always had blood pressure on the low side. If I get really angry about something it has been known to go as high as normal.  Lately a few bouts of dizziness are leading me to suspect it’s dipping even lower than low .

Anyway, off I popped to the chemist for the aforementioned check to be told; “The chemist can’t see you at the moment. She’s holding a smoking sensation clinic.”

A smoking sensation clinic. I rolled the words round in my head and felt a slow smile start to spread across my face. Working really hard to keep the smile off my face, the devil in me just  had to hear it again.

“A what clinic?’ I asked innocently.

“A smoking sensation clinic, you know, to help people to stop smoking.”

“Oh yes”, I replied sweetly while the dialogue in my head was suggesting that a smoking sensation clinic would be for people who actually wanted to try smoking and see what it was like. Oh, how it cheered up my Tuesday.

Didn’t I do well? It didn’t even cross my mind to correct her pronunciation, it gave me far too much pleasure hearing it the way she said it. Poor girl. I wonder if she’ll ever find out? I know, I know, I’m a horrible person. Teehehee

It just serves me right that I’m still as dizzy as a cuckoo, mind you, now I have a smile on my face. Doc’s soon, I think.


This is a repost from a couple of years ago and I’ve chosen it because it’s still so very relevant. It just goes to show that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

The new Wii  that B bought me for Christmas has been a big hit with all of the family and used every single day at least once. B has discovered that it has a flying game which he’s fallen in love with. Not that he gets much physical activity out of it.A single flick of the wrist and he’s looping the loop in his pretend plane and screeching, ‘Look at that!  Look at that. It’s great, isn’t it?’

“Yeah, great.” (yawn).

What I’ve discovered on my Wii Fit board is that it has a hidden  ‘stupidometer’ built in to it and every time it’s coerces you to get into a position where you look really bloody stupid it emits  a silent but powerful signal to alert all other people in the vicinity that now would be a good time to enter the living room for a good laugh.

As part of my ‘get fit’ campaign,  because I refuse to be fat and 50,  I’ve been making good use of the Wii Fit and the various muscle toning and stretching exercises on it.

Some of the exercises involve various contortions of the body, you know, the ones that have you saying to yourself, ‘Please God don’t let anyone come in while I’m doing this.’

I swear to God, within seconds of me getting into a stupid position, generally one that involves the blood all flowing to my head,  the sodding door opens and someone strolls in to be faced with the sight of my  humungous arse is waving about in the air. It’s like magic!   As soon as that arse is in the air, the door opens. Poor N didn’t know what to do when he walked in on me last week. Pointing and laughing wouldn’t have been the thing I recommend he do but that was what he chose. Dammit.  Boy, were my cheeks red. All of ’em!

B went to a long and boring meeting down south last weekend.  We all have out little ways of dealing with boredom, I favour going to sleep but that isn’t always the most socially acceptable.  B’s way of dealing with it is to start picking at his nails.

Pick, pick, pick. OW!!

Pick, pick, pick. REALLY OW!!!

Pick pick pick, Oh!  I’M BLEEDING!!

His poor little thumb nails were picked down way past the quick. He’s regretting it now of course because they hurt like stink. You don’t realise how much you use your digits until they hurt. It caused me much hilarity watching him trying to button up his shirt yesterday, yelping with pain. Sympathy? Not a chance, self inflicted wounds mate. I recommend next time  you get a bit bored just try having a little doze, it’s a lot less painful.

I survived….

the tit squashing process!

It was with trembling legs that I walked up the steps of the mobile breast screening unit. Having had a mammogram before I knew what was coming and I wasn’t looking forward to it.  A stern faced woman sat in a tiny booth greeted me with, “Have you got your form? Sit down there”

I took a seat next to woman who looked even more white faced and scared than me. . She was obviously younger than me so I’m guessing hers wasn’t just  routine. No wonder she looked scared. Her husband had been turned away at the door so her moral support was wandering round the car park looking as forlorn as his wife.

After two or three minutes I was called through and directed to what was basically a small cupboard and told to strip to the waist. “Keep your top round your shoulders.” It wasn’t my shoulders that were feeling vunerable at that point so instead I clutched it to my nervous chest as I walked through for my xray.

The dreaded machine was waiting for me. I stepped up to it and the nurse positioned Righty on a cold metal plate. I looked at the top plate, the flattener, with trepidation.  I sincerely hoped that the top plate came down to meet the bottom plate and not the other way round or I could very well end up dangling off the floor, hanging by my boob! I was already stood to my full height. Mind you, If it had lifted me off the floor it might have stopped my knees from knocking.

The plate came down on poor Righty and I watched in horrified fascination as she quickly changed shape and morphed into a pancake. “My, that smarts a bit.” I said.  At least this nurse was sympathetic, having had the same treatment herself about half an hour previously. ” I know exactly what you’re going through, I’ll be as quick as I can.”   After a minute, righty was released and it was Lefty’s turn.

Lefty, having seen what had just happened,  wasn’t as brave as Righty and shrank back from the metal plate, hugging my chest and pleading with me not to make her do it. “Don’t be so soft” I told her, “at least Righty warmed it up  for you.”

After a minute it was over, or so I thought. “Ok, let’s do the first one again.”

“What?” Oh no!  I’d forgotten about the sideways squish. The one that involves contortions. “Stand here, put your arm up here, hold this handle, lean backwards, lean in, keep your other breast out the way.” Oh dear God!

Once it was all over I dressed and walked back to my car on wobbly legs, fighting back the tears. I felt  bit shell shocked, Im not very good at pain.

I texted Boofuls to tell him I was out and feeling a bit sore. He went straight into his Benny Hill ‘knickers, knackers knockers’ routine and offered to rub them better for me. Not totally sure how altruistic his motives were. I could practically see him leering through the words on the screen, I was completely unimpressed at his thoughtlessness and lack of sympathy. ‘You try and get anywhere near these. Pal and you’re a dead man,’ I  thought in my misery.  He still didn’t  pick up on my tone in my next text and  came back with  yet another smutty joke. Has the man no survival instinct at all?

Lashes was much better as a source of sympathy, she took me for a coffee in town and calmed me down nicely. Thanks, Lashes.

So that was that. Now I can forget about it for another few years  and by that time they may have found a less brutal way of doing it. Fingers crossed – or even boobs crossed now that they’ve been rolled out long enough to tie into a bow!