what doing on yah evening out?

don’t get too excited: aka was a trip to the hospital.

how-the-fuck-ever … I did awesome! and thats what I’m partially here to brag about lol.

I had started feeling ‘off’ the other day and in true ‘me styles’ i tried to fix myself. lots of vit c, rest, veggies, home remedies etc. and a lot of this is because we have a shit healthcare system which now costs a small fortune to access if you want adequate and prompt medical treatment. our healthcare system is now the proverbial ambulance and the bottom of the cliff, like the rest of our ‘systems’.

any who … 2 days later nothing was really working and i could feel it getting worse, os last night i decided to go to a&e. 1. because it doesn’t cost 2. cos if i left it any longer i’d be in the back of an ambulance anyway 3. this is how you utilise healthcare when you have no income.

we sat in a&e for 6 hours. i had a temperature spiking 39+ and then back down, cold sweats, nausea and a throat that was swelling shut. from my experience of this form last time i knew i needed antibiotics. 6 hours was not to bad a wait for a&e, and all the gripes aside, heres the reason i was fucken awesome – sick – but also fucken awesome.

i don’t wait. But … I waited. now this may have something to do with being slightly delirious from the spiking temp and low blood pressure … oh well, it worked lol and I waited. 6 hours in a room full of strangers ; of strange sounds, smells, lights and movements.

i was pretty dam proud of myself actually. so proud of myself i forgot to tell them my pain scale was a 10. Note: if your in a&e, your pain scale is always 10. a 5 gets you a 6 hour wait. JS.

so that was me.

today i rest and dose up on penicillin and ice cream.

speaking of ice cream … the ice cream gods sent me this gorgeous specimen and i’m wondering where the fuck its been all my life!

anyways … was gonna write about the rest of my week (s) but cant be bothered now and no-one likes to read to much shit in one go .. i fill y’all in on my other shizz later.

in the meantime … cheers to the #wins !!

kpm ©


42 degrees temp & pts(d)

What I thought was the flu and feeling bit ‘off’, turned out to be tonsillitis.

‘But I’ve had tonsillitis before and it wasn’t like this’, was my lame, slightly munted retort.

I remember the eyes on the ambulance lady .. she looked a little confused with a touch of sympathy in there. LOL.

‘And how long has this been going on?’ she asked politely. I’m waving my hands around like an octopus, snot coming out of my nose along with some water, trying hard to swallow and answer like a ‘normal’ person.

‘Since yesterday, but she didn’t want to go to the doctors’ says partner.

I tried squinting at him … you know that … wait till I’m all together and I’ll jab you, squint. But I think I ended up looking more delirious than threatening.

I kept trying to ‘sign’ to him … P T S D … meaning, tell them that’s who they’re dealing with … and give me a fucking sedative, like, NOW. But he squinted in return. He finally told them when my temperature had hit 42 and my heart was struggling, and they gave me 3 choices … stay and die … go in the ambulance and get treated at the hospital … go with the partner to the hospital and get treated. Hmmmmm. I wonder ….

Once they realised though that they were dealing with a delicate human being of great proportions, they changed their tactic. And it worked. I took my own sedative on their recommendation and we were off.

A nice lady named Meg (I think, sorry if I got that completely wrong, I blame it on the hot flush I was experiencing ;) ), sat with me in the back of the ambulance. She didn’t talk too much. Or panic. Or touch me too much. Or fuss. She was calm. But I could see her concern.

Thank fuck for the sedative, it calmed the farm slightly and made the ambulance bearable.

Now I don’t know anyone that likes ambulances or the hospital … except for maybe the freak back in the day who was always trying to top herself, but not quite cos she never took enough cough mixture … duh … she enjoyed the attention, but she said she enjoyed the company!?? I thought maybe it would have been easier if she just joined a club or something … she joined a church instead, go figure!

Anywho, besides her, I don’t think anyone likes either of those things. Both mean ‘fatality’. Eeeekkk.

For me, it sits in the grey area, the unknowns. The waiting. It’s distorted smells, sounds, lights, people … its buzzing and beeping … poking and prodding. It’s all the things I detest, times 100!

Strangely enough though, when I was deep-frying in my own bacteria, I did’t notice a lot of those things LOL. I knew, with the sensible part of my spider senses, that this was the place I absolutely needed to be. It had gone beyond a lemon drink and an extra shot of vitamin C … waaayyyy beyond.

So, they poked and prodded and took blood and hooked me up to fluids and a penicillin drip thingy. They were impressed with my breathing ;) Point to me for all that deep breathing shit I’ve been doing over the last year … knew it’d pay off somewhere!

Usually A&E is a 10 plus hour wait, but I think they’d packed me off to the ward within a couple of hours. Cheers guys :) And as much as I hate to admit, the hospital gods were smiling on me that day. I had the nicest doctors and nurses I think I’ve ever come across … ever. Not one of them was a sour puss! I couldn’t have dealt with a sour puss! They have renewed my faith in medical peeps. (I’m still a skeptic … but with slightly renewed faith ;) ).

The first 24 hours in there were a tidy blur. A lot of poking and prodding and changing drips and pain killers and shit. The only thing I remember clearly is trying to apologise, but not being able to speak properly, for not having a shower before I got sick … ‘I stink’, was all I kept saying LOL.

Ahhh the priorities of PTSD ay.

I got to shower the next day when I could stand properly. My partner helped me but I don’t think it’s an occasion he’ll remember fondly somehow. He kept looking at my legs, going, ‘when did you last shave those bastards?’. Me … ‘its winter cover, fuck up and wash my ass’ … in a grunty not quite coherent voice. He got the gist though.

I thought I’d get to go home that day but apparently my tonsils were still ‘angry’ so I got to book in for another night … yah. They wanted me to drink more .. a little hard when every swallow felt like I was gargling glass! But I persisted.

I was in a room with 5 beds. Not exactly a great place for relaxing therapeutic wholistic repair … but oh well. The first day I didn’t notice and didn’t care really. By the second day though, I could hear all the chattering. And as I sort of came round, I discovered it wasn’t coming from our room … it was the old guys from next door!! Who ever said women gossip never heard these dudes! They had an opinion on everything and anything … they started talking at 430am and didn’t stop til 1230pm! Oh My Fuck! Who has that much to say??? Them, apparently!

By 1130 the 2nd night I started having a panic attack. Not really what I needed … and the more I tried to calm down the more I thought about being stuck somewhere I didn’t want to be and I couldn’t leave and there was nowhere to go and I couldn’t walk properly and I couldn’t get out …. On and On it went ….

The lady in the bed next to me, with the broken foot in two places … Ouch … turned out to be an old school nurse. She could hear me freaking out and breathing erratically. She knew my name, (she’d be listening lol), and told me to breath deeply. She said to me … ‘Now breath deep and slow. You have something you can take for that don’t you. Do you know where it is? Get one out, take it, and breath’. She had overheard my partner telling the doctor about the PTSD and that if it got bad to give me a sedative otherwise I’d end up having a panic attack and crawling for the nearest exit. God bless her flappy ears! It was enough to settle me slightly, get me focused on taking the sedative and calming the fuck down. I ended up taking 2 sedatives just to block out all the noises and lights and panic. It worked.

Next day I felt heaps better and wanted to get the fuck out of there! Tonsils were still a little angry but would come right according to the lovely doc. I packed my shit and was ready to go by 930am. Unfortunately my not so organised partner took 3 hours to pick me up! Grrrrr. I was annoyed but pleased to be ‘leaving’ … yippie!

I came home to what the partner considered a ‘clean house’, he looked pretty pleased with himself. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it looked like shit … smiled and said thank you instead. I sat outside for an hour listening to the ocean :)

A couplely days on and my throat is still recovering, but is nowhere near as sore as it was. Drugs are flowing freely through my veins at present and I’m all good with that. I’ve been kind of anti antibiotic / chemical drugs / pharmaceuticals for so long now … but over the last week, I am finally appreciative of what they can do when the need arises. I still prefer the natural stuff if I can, but I think this whole experience has brought a little bit of balance back into the equation.

So here I am. I have survived tonsillitis on top of PTSD and have lived to regale the tale. It’s not something I want to do again in a hurry, but I am no worse off. Besides, I had a few spare days to kill ;)

kpm ©


oh hell no…

Deep thought day…along with random funky and slightly manky thought processes; I think its stress ah duh…

Anyway, yesterday afternoon me and the partner finally had a deep conversation regarding the up and coming events. Now when I say deep, our, as a couple, version of ‘deep’, goes a little something like the following:

Me: ‘dear, I’m worried about the surgery’

Him: ‘don’t worry, it’ll be sweet’

Me: ‘please don’t fucken tell me not to worry and flick off my concern like it doesn’t matter…cos I’m trying, have been trying really really really really fucken hard not to worry, but I’m telling you, I’m worried…I’m worried not like boo hoo worry, I’m worried cos I love you yah cunt’

Him: ‘Oooohhh Kay’

Me: ‘so, I’m worried’

Him: ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be sweet’

Fucken muppet!

But we ended up laughing and from there he described in great butchering detail (he used to work in the meat works), what the surgeon, or what he thought, the surgeon would be doing with his back. And although I felt like vomiting and passing out, I was impressed that somewhere in that fuzzy little male mind of his, he had processed the proceedings…just not like my fuzzy little female mind would have. I had to laugh.

Our convo carried on like that for a long while…taking the piss out of the whole thing…me telling him to make sure he’d washed his ass before he goes in, and not to eat anything to ‘gassy’ the night before lol. And to ask pertinent questions of the surgeons/nurses beforehand like: ‘no-ones been on the piss last night?’; ‘everyone ok with their home life? Need to make apology phone calls or anything?’, ‘everyone at peace with themselves and focussed on what your doing??’. We thought we might make up a little questionnaire and pin it to his butt, just to be on the safe side lol.

But, it was good to talk…I’m still worried…but I guess that’s normal and comes with caring about someone else, goddammit!

kpm ©