Laparoscopy!!

I had my return visit to the Gynea Clinic last Thursday.  An appointment I was both looking forward to and dreading in equal measures.  I was hoping and praying that they’d listen to and accept my request for a laparoscopy but was mentally preparing myself for the usual ‘well, we’ll wait and see what happens in another two, three, four, six months…  Leave you in agony and watch you suffer’ like my consultant did last time around.  Imagine my surprise when I only had to give a relatively brief (well, for me) explanation when I was actually offered the operation.  In less than two months time.  Which for most Gynea clinics is practically like an emergency.

They’re going to look for Endometriosis, remove the rogue coil and if they find a small amount of endo or any small adhesions (sticking of any internal parts to other internal parts) they’re going to remove and un-stick.  If there’s more than a small amount, then it’s down to the surgeon whether it’s removed there and then or if I’m referred to the specialist womens hospital around 10 miles away.  If they decide to remove it there and then, then I’ll have to be admitted as an in-patient.  Or if it looks like it’s still the adenomyosis, then I’ll be referred.

I swear last time round, I was messed around and fobbed off so much.  It was like my Gynecologist was a sort of sadistic freak who got his kicks from seeing women in absolute agony and not taking them seriously; or making them feel as though they’re acting melodramatically and seeking attention; or that the pain is all in their heads and it’s just normal to be in so much agony for three weeks out of four, you’re throwing your guts up on a regular basis and becoming dehydrated.  On Thursday when I told the lady Gynecologist that the previous one told me I was cured when I got pregnant – she actually rolled her eyes and pulled an expression that said very clearly ‘how many times have I heard that before…’.

It’s almost as though there’s been massive changes in the last decade.  I certainly hope this is the case.  I mean, last time I had over two years of regular appointments before they considered accepting my repeated requests for a laparoscopy.  This time round – I’ve been offered a lap after just two appointments.  I know it’s not the answer or a cure – but for anyone with Endo or suspected Endo – it’s like a dream come true.  It’s a way of finding out what the hell is happening inside your stomach.  It’s evidence that you’re being taken extremely seriously.  That the Dr’s know and understand you’re in pain and how much pain you’re in.

The only issue will be care for the monsters immediately after the operation in August.  The MiL is having some time away at the coast with one of her nieces (pre-booked and no way am I stopping her holibobs – that would almost be like letting the endo rule everyone elses life other than just mine and that is just not happening) and the hubby is running out of holiday entitlement at work.  Luckily he’s on his early shift which means I’ll only have to get them up and dressed etc – which they can themselves more or less – and breakfast in the summer is nearly always fruit anyway.  My mum will no doubt help out as much as she can – and my crazy fancy dress lady friend is also offering to help – but I hate depending on others too much.

The other thing is that my 40 mile walk from Cleethorpes to Skegvegas is having to be postponed as well – as the Lap is scheduled for the same day.  The charity have been amazing about it when I let them know yesterday – to the point of offering me lots of support pre and post op as well.  Which is absolutely amazing.  Beyond anything I expected to be honest.

Anyway, back with the present.  The male shaped monster has been a little sausage over the last few days.  He doesn’t take to heat very well at all – it turns him manic.  He won’t settle, won’t listen and is always grumpy and in a bad mood.  We went to a film club on Saturday – and he went from crying uncontrollably because they didn’t have the blue slush puppy’s ready to running around with my friends demons like a lunatic to hiding underneath a table at the back of the cinema and refusing to come out.  He won’t sleep or go to bed unless we promise him he can make a den the following evening and this morning he thumped me several times because I said no to sweets.
The female shaped monster has just completed her SATs (unsure still if I like the idea of a seven year old sitting an exam) and is turning into more of a diva day by day.  She’s appearing in a school production at the end of the school year – but I swear – if I hear one more song from the play between now and then, I may explode.  Violently.  She’s also been invited to dine at the top-table at the end of last half term at school for her excellent behaviour in school.  Which makes me wonder why she’s so blooming stroppy at home.

Later on today, I’m embarking into town for a beautiful limited edition designer handmade dress.   She’s a new up and coming designer and rarely does any sizes bigger than an 8-10, so I’m incredibly privileged that she made me one when I asked about it in a size 12-14.   I’m also in bloody agony – pain in my right kidney radiating to the usual stabbing and burning pain everywhere else.  I’ve had to take a strong pain killer this morning it’s that severe.  Not had to take a strong painkiller for the last few days – and then only in the evening.
Oh well, on the bright side, I’ve got less than two months until the surgery.  Keeping my fingers crossed they can actually do something this time.

Where the hell is that bruise from?!?

So, last week, I embarked back to the Mother Land with my fellow prog-rock band freak for a weekend of live music and debauchery…  And debauch the Friday night was too…

So, after having ran around the house like a mad woman on the Friday morning, ensuring that everything was packed and then promptly falling asleep again until half past nine, I set off for my friends house and a what would be a few black holes in my already patchy memory…

In a way, the Friday could be classed as a disastrous and drunken day.  We had walked for all of 20 seconds when my friends wheel fell off her borrowed suitcase – on a downhill slope.  The prices in the first pub were extortionate…  (£7.10 for two bottles of Peroni…  In the words of everyone in the town I live…  ‘Arrrrrrrr much?!?’).  The train to the Mother Land was 26 minutes late – and the kind people at the station failed to inform us until it was already 24 minutes late.  We then struggled to find the bottle opener in my suitcase and I managed to take us on a massively unnecessary detour from the Mother Land train station to the hotel along some cobbled streets – much to my friends disgruntlement as she was dragging her suitcase by this point.

Anyway, we got to the hotel (amid some swearing from my friend when she realised the extent of the unnecessary detour) and got to our room.  Dumped a load of stuff and embarked to the nearest shop for some snacks and bits and pieces.  While there, my phone started to ring with a number I didn’t recognise.  As I was being served at the time, I let it ring out with a mental note to ring back when out of the shop.  Let’s just say, I’m bloody glad I did…  It was the ticket company where we’d bought the tickets for the concert explaining that I’d got myself into a bit of a situation.  Namely dropping the all important tickets out of my bag on the train while we were hunting for the bottle opener.  Ooops.  No, scrap that.  Very big oops.  Anyway, it turned out the couple that found the tickets heading back to the station where we’d embarked would be returning to the Mother Land tomorrow and were more than happy to meet us with the tickets.  My already disgruntled and annoyed friend after the unnecessary detour was at this point vowing to murder me if the couple didn’t turn up the following afternoon.

Fast-forward a couple of hours.  Myself and my friend were now pleasantly merry.  We had hit a couple of bars, had the most tonic-y Gin and Tonic in the world – ever (I can still taste the tonic – bluegh) and decided to head on to a nice cocktail bar with some live music pouring out of it.  My friend then went on to order two MaiTai’s with added Quantro…  Which cost her £27 (another ‘Arrrrrrrrrrrr much?!?!?’ moment) and then things get hazy.  We walked down to one indie club I used to regularly attend when I was home from Uni.  Queued up, politely and quietly with all of the jail bait – and then got refused entry on account of being too old.  Slightly astounded, we then trekked half way across the City Centre to the other indie nightclub I used to frequent to be told the same thing.  That’s when I got my ‘gobby’ head on and challenged the bouncer with ‘but how could you say that, you’re way older than us?  All we want to do is have a dance to some decent indie music.  Is that against the law if you’re over 25?’  In we went.  For free.

It’s there that the little patches start appearing…  I distinctly remember going to the bar and taking the mickey out of a young lad with Liam Gallagher-esque sideys, when an Arctic Monkey’s track came on and I ran back to the dancefloor to boogey away.  Then I remember dancing to Jamie T and some weird 80’s music (weird for me, definitely) before sitting down on some chairs – and then standing up in the hotel.  How I got from the club to the hotel is a complete mystery to me.  Not got the foggiest.  Anyway, the next thing I remember is a lot of beeping, some people shouting my name and clinging to a single duvet like it was my lifeline.  It turns out someone had set the fire alarm off in the hotel at 3am and I had fallen asleep in the car park post evacuation with the duvet wrapped around me.  As you do.

The next morning resulted in me finding a fairly big bruise in my armpit…  You guessed it, from people trying to wake me up from the car park when the evacuation was over.  And also in me being stupidly hung over.  At one point in the morning, I fell back asleep clutching my friends bag and with the hotel key clamped between my teeth.  I was a little bit zombie-fied as well as having a huge weight on my shoulders regarding the missing concert tickets.  My other friend arrived at the hotel around mid-day and we embarked out into the city again – with me vowing not to have a single drop of alcohol.  I swear I’d have been sick if I had.  The knot in my stomach was getting tighter and tighter the nearer we got to meeting the couple with the missing tickets.  What if it was a wind up?  What if they decided they wanted to go to the concert instead?  I couldn’t blame them if they did…  Fortunately for us, they were as honest as the bright June sunshine and they came up with the two beautiful tickets.  In return I bought them a couple of bottles of wine.  The very least I could do after this couple had not only saved my life (the death threats from my friend were justified and very, very serious) but also restored my faith in humanity – 110%.

Feeling somewhat happier, although at this point my endo pain had decided to pop up and say hello – we set back for the hotel and to get ready into our Fancy Dress for the concert.  Three glittery and angry teddy bears.  Or that was the idea.  Some people thought we were mice…

 

Two sleeping monsters…

Two sleeping monsters curled up in their beds.
One tired mummy desperate for her meds.
Covered in bruised cos she’s so blooming clumsy.
Trying to ignore the stabbing endo pains throbbing in her tummy.
Waiting for the time when she can get some sweet relief,
From the couple of hours of blissful, calming sleep.
Before the madness starts again in the morning.
When the monsters wake up grinning and yawning,
Wanting to play trampolines on the bed
Exactly where mummy lays her weary head.

It’s official… I’m crap!

So, today is generally a good day.  I’ve got a band in the house later on today, I’m off to the mother land tomorrow to see a prog-rock band and with my best friends. 

Shame an absolute pillock has to go and ruin it.  

A local news website (I’m being nice.  Other people class it as a gossip mongering site) reported that ‘Three Asian Men’ were attempting to get girls into a car.  Nothing on where – or any confirmation from the police – just some letters reportedly sent to three schools in the borough.  I stated that the headline was misleading and *could* incite racial hatred as with the Woolwich murder recently, there has been a lot of hate crime against muslim and Asian people.  

The journalist who wrote it took offence, put words into mouth and became rather rude and insultive.  He actually claimed I called him a racist.  Which I didn’t.  I stated that the headline could incite racial hatred.  Which clearly, it could.  

He then went on to block me from the page and then send me personal messages telling me that I’m a crap writer, a silly little girl, have no grasp of grammar and basically a non-entity and that I deserved all the crap I was getting from the ignorant, xenophobic, sycophantic folk who thought it’s right to target the whole of the local Asian community based on a rumour. 

What a nice, professional chap he is.  

 

Whits End?

It’s the Whitsun Half Term Holidays in Fakerville at the moment and all hell seems to breaking loose in the house.

After what was a beautiful weekend, with the sun shining and lots of walking and spending lovely time with the monsters, friends and hubby everything else seems to have gone down hill.  The sun’s disappeared behind a bank of clouds which seems to be impenetrable – apart from drizzling rain.  We’re stuck in the house, my stomach’s hurting and we’re all a little bored.  Even though we’ve crafted, played games, watched the whole four Spy Kids films in a row – just today – it feels like time has stood still.

So, on Sunday we went to a last minute party of one of the hubby’s friends little girls.  Although the monsters barely remember her, they had a nice time running around chasing balloons and dancing to crappy pop music.  Even the slightly scary and stupidly bossy magician caught their attention (even though the adults saw through each and every trick).  We then went on a bit of a mad drive and discovered a pretty lake not far from us, which would be perfect to walk around – although we didn’t walk around it then as we had to pick up the hubby’s niece.  When we got home, the sun was shining that bright still, we decided to take the monsters (and honorary monster) to the park.  And then for a walk in the stunning countryside which surrounds our little suburban village.  It was amazing.  So much so, the next day we walked over five kilometers to a country park and hill in a neighbouring village and back again.     All the while, my stomach was killing me – but it didn’t matter.
The exercise  fresh air and being with my beautiful family got me through it.  Well, that and the fact that it would be getting me bang into training for my bright idea of walking from Skegness to Cleethorpes to raise money for Endometriosis UK...  40 miles in total.  Along the coast road.  Because it will be a challenge and it will probably hurt – but it will hopefully raise a lot of money and awareness for Endo and it’s many, many sufferers.

Anyway, the last two days have dragged – even though the monsters best friend was here all day yesterday – because the sun’s gone and we’ve not really left the house.  Plus, I’m on countdown until the weekend – when I finally get to the mother land and dress as an angry teddy bear for my mad prog-rock concert.  Counting down always makes time stand still.

Either way, monsters and I are all waiting for the end of the Whit holidays – them so they’re not so bored and can be with their friends again, me for a lot of ear-bleeding level noise.

If you would like to sponsor me on my mad walk – or even find out more information about it – please visit my Just Giving page.  

Monster free!

So, last night the male shaped monster had his first ever sleep over at someone’s house who isn’t a relative.  I was concerned about how he’d cope, as let’s face it, he’s not normally great away from us.  Luckily, the female shaped monster was also sleeping over at the same house – so he settled.  He also absolutely adores the children he was staying with.  And I mean, practically worships them.  One of them used to be in his class at school before he moved to the Special Language Resource school and he’d been really, really missing her.  So, of course in his way, he completely proved me to be a worrying twit for no reason whatsoever and had a ball.
He fell asleep at 5pm tonight.  Haha.

Anyway, both of the monsters are sleeping at Grandparents tonight – female with the MiL and male with my mum.  Woohoo!  Two night’s child free.  Any normal woman in her 30’s would be either grabbing a bottle of chilled white or rose or getting her glad rags on and heading out to town.  On at least of the child free nights anyway.  Not me.  No.  Last night I spent writing and talking to friends for so long I didn’t realise it had got dark.  Tonight, I’ve thrown up so badly the sick missed the toilet bowl and splashed onto my combat trousers.  Nice.  I’m currently feeling that woozy and sick again, I’m writing to take my mind off it.  Not that it’s working too well – but it’s better than sitting feeling sorry for myself and doing nothing else.  I’m also listening to my mixtape that I did earlier.  Full of lovely 90’s indie music and a couple of unsigned bands thrown in.  Taking me back to my mis-spent youth.  I wish.

Next weekend is the big weekend back in the motherland for the prog-rock concert.  Spending all pretty much all Friday and Saturday drinking.  Woohoo!  Except, I’m worried that my stomach’s going to go off on one.  I think I’m due my period (the throwing up and general aches and pains of the last couple of days are quite a good indicator) and am sincerely hoping the adrenaline of a lot of live music is gonna get me through it.  One thing I know I won’t be doing – and that’s getting too close to the front and getting a pair of cracked ribs – like I did last time.  Oh – that and inadvertently showing my bare backside to the lead singer as I was hauled over the barrier.  Either way, there’s going to be three ‘angry teddy bears’ wandering around the motherland next Saturday.  Or rather three weird women in brown dresses with bear ears on.  All in the name of fancy dress and er, weirdness.

One thing I’m gonna say – is that I’m truly shocked and humbled at how well the ‘Ode to End-Woe’ poem went down.  So, big thank you to anyone who read it, shared it and liked it.  Thank you.

Ode to End-woe.

I am in no way, shape or form a poet – but this escaped out of me one day when I was pretty fed up and in quite a lot of pain and as a result on some strong medication…  Not that I’m saying strong medication is needed for creativity…  It just gives me a motor mouth.

 

Endo, endo, go away.

Don’t come back another day.

I’m sick and tired of being in pain

Yet you won’t stop flaring up again.

I’m fed up of being bloated no matter how little I consume

Enraged at always being ill and tired and running on fumes.

My body doesn’t like being pumped up full of drugs

It would rather be de-toxed and full of lovely stuff

I want to stay up at night and watch TV

Not curled up, drugged up and fast asleep.

It’s sad that a hot water bottle has become my best friend

As its heat soothes and warms my stomach no end

I’d like to be able to go out to a party

And wear nice clothes and pretend to be flirty

And not have to hide my bloated belly

And make excuses like I’ve not turned off the telly

Endo, endo – go away.

And please, don’t come back, another day.

 

 

 

Hand – slapped.

I know, I know, I’ve been away for weeks again from my self imposed writing task.  I’ve been busy though!  And ill.

The male shaped monsters none-party-party went down really well, with the added bonus of the monsters all being whisked away to friends and grandparents houses.  Hurrah!  I got discharged from physio – no more crutches which was a relief but I didn’t get my horn removed.  No, the surgeon decided that it was too close to my eye.  Although, if he’d have come into the blooming room in the first place to check it out on my first appointment a hell of a lot of mess would have been saved.  Hmph.  Had my final zoladex injection – which the nurse still wasn’t happy about – and she bought my appointment forward to see the consultant by two weeks.  I know it doesn’t sound much – but in the world of women’s hormones, two weeks can be the equivalent of a lifetime.   I also had an ultra-sound scan of my pelvis where the sonographer asked me if I would like to stay in as she was concerned.  She said there was free fluid in my pelvis, which could have meant a number of things.  I decided to go home as I would have been more comfortable at home and had pre-arrangements with my friends.

Then, two weeks ago, the pain started getting pretty much unbearable.  I’d been helping my crazy fancy dress lady friend out over the May Day bank holiday weekend – and probably did far too much far too soon.  I relapsed in a bad way.  By the Thursday morning I was crying in agony – which isn’t really like me.  I’ve talked before about how strong a pain threshold women with Endo have but this was like nothing I’d had for a hell of a long time.  Hubby whisked me to hospital (he rang the gynea ward first and they advised Accident and Emergency) where I was shot up with Morphine pretty much immediately.  I was taken up to a ward and spent the whole weekend there. They started treating me for PID (Pelvic Inflammatory Disease) which has been caused by the coil going rogue (I always knew that sodding thing wasn’t working for me).  Well, PID can be a STI as well but as I haven’t had sex with my husband since January because it hurt so much let alone anyone else, they pretty much ruled that one out.

The only thing which really upset me though was the way the hospital handled it.  They told me they were treating me for an infection they believed the coil had caused – but didn’t bother telling me what infection.  It was only when I received my discharge letters that I realised what the two week course of antibiotics was for.  I went into a slight melt-down.  My sister had PID and when she was 21 had a full hysterectomy.  So, now there’s me thinking ‘shiiiiiittt, I could be bloody infertile now’ and no one to tell me otherwise apart from a group of Endo-sisters on Facebook.

Now, the Endo-sisterhood is a wonderful group of women who have all got endo – or are in the process of being diagnosed or having it ruled out.  We all have different stages of endo – some more severe than others and some are incredibly sadly, infertile.  The whole point of the group though was to offer support and make friendships with fellow sufferers.  Feel their happiness and feel their pain.  Not to get all competitive about who’s in more pain than who or who’s symptoms are worse than someone elses.  And certainly not the place where I’d expect the little green eyed monster and sheer insensitivity to dribble out.  Fair enough, there’s like, a thousand hormonal women in the group and things, sometimes are gonna get a little tetchy.  But they’re also all adults and should know that if seeing about one lady with this illness is able to have a baby, then we should all share in her joy!   One woman completely baffled me by saying not only should women in the ‘support’ group not talk about difficulties and complications of pregnancy but neither should women talk about abuse.  It’s a group which can be about sex.  It’s about women’s  re-productive organs for goddesses sake.  For some women (like me) sex, abuse and endo are all related.  At one point I was paranoid that the PID I’m being treated for now was because of the abuse I received from my father and had laid dormant for years.  I shudder to think that someone in the group that’s supposed to offer support would think that I was being insensitive to them by asking if it could be.  Heaven forbid a post about my abuse causing me more illness would offend someone who doesn’t even know me!  As you can imagine, I’m pretty pissed off about their attitude.  The place is a support group about endo and endo related issues.  At the moment the illness I’m being treated for is hand in hand with my Endo and so therefore would have had a place to ask about it – but no more – for fear of upsetting someone with her head so far up her own arse she’s caught a cold.

It just got to me so much – especially as then another lady started claiming she was being bullied – even though her abhorrent comments and attitude to other members of the group – of course made her above reproach.  She actually implied that when I had the pretty serious complication of not being able to pee while I was pregnant with the female shaped monster – that if I’d have asked if anyone else had had to self catheterise – I would have being moaning.  Get the fuck off, you intolerant, selfish, small minded, jealous cow.  Asking a question about pregnancy isn’t moaning.  Neither is stating you have swollen ankles, pre-eclampsia or morning sickness.  It’s being open and sharing and asking for support.  If you can’t open your heart enough to do that then you’re a pretty miserable person who only deserves pity.

Anyway, ranting over for one night.  I’m gonna post a poem I wrote about endo later in a short while.  Please, don’t laugh at it!

Soupy Recipes

So, I mentioned that I’ve been on a bit of a diet.  One of the healthy meals I’ve been having is soup.

Yeah, I know.  Soup.  Doesn’t particularly sound overly inspiring and to be honest I was trying to put off making it all week.  But then, I felt the urge to just cook.  It was like being taken over by a real, true housewife.  It scared me.

Anyway, the outcome was surprisingly tasty!  So much so I shared it with the endo sisters weight loss group I’m in and my friend who’s following a very strict diet and achieving fabulous results.   I’m not really one to go in for a faddy diet and normally don’t approve of them – but my friends proving that if it’s followed properly, it really can work.  I haven’t got anywhere near her will power but am going to doggedly stick to my cereal and healthy meal diet for at least two weeks.  I will have a flat stomach for the Muse concert in June so I look like a svelte but angry teddy bear…

There I go again, digressing…  I’ll shut up now and post the recipes!

Spinach and Broccoli Soup
I will admit, I was a little concerned about this one.  I’ve never really been a huge fan of Broccoli…  Or cooked spinach for that matter…  

Half a tea-spoon light olive oil – or fry light
Half a white onion – roughly chopped
Two cloves of garlic – roughly chopped
Handful of mushrooms – roughly chopped
Three carrots – roughly chopped
One courgette – roughly chopped
A big handful of fresh washed spinach – roughly chopped
One big floret of broccoli – stems discarded – roughly chopped
(I did the chopping in the food processor)
Salt, Black Pepper and Worcester Sauce to taste.
Chicken stock pot/cube to taste.

Sweat the onions in the olive oil (or fry light) until translucent. Add the rest of the vegetables and steam for a few minutes. Add boiling water until veggies are covered and leave to simmer for around half an hour or so.
When the veggies are soft whizz with a hand blender until desired consistency. I went for fairly smooth with some texture. This also thickens up the soup.
Add the chicken stock pot/cube if using for added flavour and season to taste. Add a splash of worcester sauce if desired.
Serve with grilled and then shredded turkey breast in the soup.  Much tastier than I thought it would be and again, incredibly filling.

Excuse the mess of the bowl in the image… I don’t really do pretty food…

Mediterranean Soup
I was much more optimistic about this soup…   

A small half tea-spoon of light olive oil
Half a white onion, roughly chopped,
Half a yellow pepper – seeds removed and roughly chopped
Three carrots – skin still on and roughly chopped
one courgette – skin still on and roughly chopped
a small handful of mushrooms – roughly chopped
a small handful of baby plum tomatoes – roughly chopped
a clove of garlic – roughly chopped
(I cheated with the chopping by throwing everything into the food processor)
A tin of chopped tomatoes
Water
Salt, pepper and worcester sauce to taste
Beef stock pot or cube to taste
Sprig of Rosemary to garnish

Sweat the onions in a large pan until translucent.  Add the rest of the vegetables to the pan and sweat for a couple of minutes until softened. Add the tin of tomatoes and stir well together.  Add water until all of the veg is covered (I did this using the empty can of tomatoes. Utilised the rest of the flavour in there). Leave to boil.
Just before the soup boils – with a hand blender whizz until it’s the consistency you want it. I whizzed until it was fairly smooth with just a little texture.  Then added a beef stock pot, salt and pepper to season and a splash of worcester sauce.  It tasted fresh and summery with a slight hint of sweetness.

Lovely and scrummy

Both soups pleasantly surprised me – and both soups left me full up.  Both the vats I made using these recipes and measurements made enough for 3 servings each.  I tupperweared two bowls each of them and put them into my deep freeze.

And on that slightly Nigella-esque note, I’m off to have some of the mediterranean delight!

What else?

So what have I been up to for the last week and a half or so other than being a clumsy cow and getting big stress hair?  Well, the answer would be, not much.

Really!  I’ve done hardly anything.  I’m trying out a new diet of two bowls of cereal a day and then a balanced and healthy meal for six days a week and a rest day.  So far, so good.  I haven’t particularly noticed any weight loss or felt any different, but that could purely be down to my period starting and being a particularly bad one (come to think of it, that probably answers why I was getting annoyed at the bands).  My stomach’s been horrendously bloated the last couple of days to the point of looking six months pregnant.  The thing is when my stomach’s bloating, everywhere else overflows as well.  So, although I am lighter than I have been in a very long time, I feel fatter than ever.  Even though I’m fitting into size 12’s, I still feel that I look like a whale.  A pregnant whale at that.

I’ve also being organising (if you can call sending out frantic Facebook messages to a few people organising) the male shaped monsters fifth Birthday none-party.  I say it’s a none-party as we’re not really having a party.  Just a couple of children we know he’s comfortable with and their parents.  The plan is to then throw the monsters outside to play while we adults escape indoors.  Although, that is weather permitting.  The problem is, is that my crazy fancy dress lady friend has donated us a Scooby Doo outfit as long as I take pictures of the hubby wearing it.  Unfortunately, he can be a bit funny around fancy dress (he hates face painting and used to scream when I emerged from the shadow with a towel on my head…  I daren’t wear makeup, it would freak him out!).  I also did order a rather over-blown Scooby Doo chocolate cake for him…  Oh well, I’m sure it will be fine.  I have no games organised and no time to organise them but it will be fine.  It will…

Tomorrow I have to go for surgery for The Horn to be removed.  I was supposed to go earlier this month but it was the same day as the male shaped monster started his new school and I had a sever case of (wo)man flu.  I could barely speak I was that bunged up.  Not really the best time for surgery to be performed on my nose.  I shudder to think of the mess…  I then have physio on the foot on Thursday and my next Zoladex injection (yuk).  On the plus side though, the radio show is having another live band in my living room – which is a lot less stressful than it sounds.  Friday is the male shaped monsters’ Birthday and Saturday is the none-party-party.

I’ve also been asked to do some work with another festival, although it’s looking less likely as the brief is very slow in coming.  I re-set up my review site in a fit of madness and I ordered some business cards in another fit of madness.  Hell, tomorrow if I’m able to feel my face after the op on The Horn, I might even do a couple of reviews!  Shock Horror!