Happy Stuff

This week had it's up and downs. Here are some ups.

My nearly eight year old has got up every morning this week, got dressed, made her own breakfast, made her and her sister's packed lunch and on one occasion emptied the dishwasher. She has not been bribed and as far as I can tell has not been bewitched. She is truly astonishing.

David O'Doherty. Sheer hilarious, adorable brilliance. Plus he answered my tweet. 

I really like babysitting other people's children. It's fascinating and amusing. And getting them to go to bed is great for your self esteem. Babysitting circles are genius. 

I know I've already mentioned it but I love where I work. I'm doing more hours for a couple of months and this coupled with my body being a bit stupid means I'm completely knackered but I actually like going to work and don't watch the clock ever. Sometimes the right things just happen.

We went to the oddest school assembly I have ever seen in my life. There was dancing to Aqua, a number of, as far as I could tell, unrelated poems chanted in unison and a Tina Turner song. The kids were wearing PE kit. I don't know why. They were all flipping brilliant though but I'm not sure the director would make it in the cut throat world of the West End.

And better than everything? I made a difference to someone's life. A small difference but a difference nevertheless. I cannot tell you how happy that makes me. Someone else is making a change because of me wittering on and sharing too much information. I might have had a hand in making someone happier. What is better than that?

So not a bad week and it's being finished with my Mum and Dad coming to stay and a trip away to celebrate our ten year wedding anniversary. Nice hotel, shopping for things we can't afford, lovely food and probably lots and lots of rain. It'll be like Iceland just with less horseriding and the added benefit of going to see a play with Hayley Cropper in it. Life is good.

Sick Note

So it's been two weeks. I'm a lot better but based on my trip into school for parents evening clearly not ready to go back to work. I feel incredibly guilty.

I've never had a sick note from a doctor before. Strange since I've processed quite a few in my line of work. The hospital gave me two weeks. My consultant wanted me to have four weeks. Never having done this before I assumed someone would need to see me to decide what more time I needed.

I thought I'd need an appointment. Apparently not, just a phone call.

I'm genuinely incapable of sitting up all day, of driving and of walking too far. So I genuinely can't be back at work. And yet the idea of a phone call proving my situation filled me with dread. My default position of feeling guilty about everything isn't helping.

So I braced myself for the call. Worried what to say. The phone rang:

"Hi, this is reception from your GP. The doctor has asked me to call you to say she's written you another three week sick note. You can pick it up this afternoon".

"Er, ok, I don't want three weeks. I saw my consultant yesterday and she thinks another two, and to see how I get on."

"Ok, I'll talk to her and ask her to change it".

And with that it was done.

I work in HR. It feels all kinds of wrong.

Downbeat update

I am simply writing this one from a record point of view. Just in case anyone ever wants to know how long it took to recover and to remind myself.

It's been exactly a week since I was discharged and I thought I was getting much better. I woke two mornings ago with very little pain. But every day since has been worse again. It's not agony by any means - I have reduced my painkillers considerably - but I have pretty much constant discomfort in my lower abdomen - so much so that I stoop forward when I walk. I know it is better than it was and am not being negative, I simply want to write this all down.

I am also completely knackered. I have napped at some point every day so far and I have very little energy. I could go to sleep again now if it were't for the fact I have already "rested my eyes" for an hour this morning and to do it again seems like a bad idea.

At the same time I'm grumpy because I'm frigging useless. I can't help and it's driving me a bit nuts.

I can also feel my stitches - not all the time but sometimes and it makes sitting upright a challenge.

But worse than all these things is that I can't be with the kids enough. We did Lego together yesterday but I couldn't help find the pieces or put models together because I couldn't get down on the floor. On Sunday I missed watching Tilly sing in a church service. And tonight she gets an award from Sheffield Children's University and I can't go. Her dad and Grandad will but I can't. And that's the stuff I most definitely usually do. Even on school photo day on Friday I feel like I'm letting them down by not waiting with them in line for their sibling shot. My Mum will do it I'm sure, but I'd rather it was me.

So there you go. It's a bit of a downbeat post. I was going to write about daytime television but I'll save that for a day when I'm feeling more amusing. Maybe I will have another little sleep...

The Op

The anaesthetist was bizarre. He introduced himself by saying "Hello I'm the gas man". He then asked me questions at quite some speed about how sickly I get and said as a parting comment "we'll have fun". I wasn't amused or entirely reassured.

I haven't had general anaesthetic since I was 13. I haven't had a hospital experience, apart from babies, since then either. And I am a bit of a wuss. So I wasn't exactly looking forward to the experience.

To be honest it was fine. With hindsight of course. I cried before I went to sleep - that's what I do.

The operation? Well I was well and truly asleep thank goodness. If you fancy reading the details it was this.

When I woke, I know it sounds trite, but I was overwhelmed with a thankful feeling. That I was ok, and for my girls and Paul. And as I began to hear the lady in the bed next to me crying in pain, thankful that my procedure was so minor and straightforward.

I had morphine. Then anti-sickness drugs that I might have been intolerant to as pins and needles arrived in my legs and hands. My body hurt. Which wasn't a great surprise.

And then the night happened. A bit of sleep punctuated by hourly visits to check blood pressure, pulse and to give me medication. I ate a sandwich with some difficulty at about 11 o'clock at night and fended off sickness with a pill and mind over matter since I was terrified of stomach cramps.

In the morning I had a chronic bad back due to being too frightened to move. The nurse asked me why. Really?

Everything is better in the daylight. My consultant arrived early sweeping in like a highly intelligent smiley bird of some sort. She perched long enough to say the operation "went beautifully". She must be committed. I can't imagine anything about bladders being beautiful. There was a list of don'ts and then she flew out of my room again.

The catheter was removed. It wasn't nice.

After that I had to prove I could empty my bladder. Each time I weed a nurse appeared and scanned my tummy. That is once she'd worked out that she needed to press the "woman" button on the machine to make it work properly.

I left a little confused. I have wounds either side of my groin, as it was keyhole surgery, and some internal stitches. I didn't really have the first idea what I was supposed to do, only what not to do. Don't shower for 48 hours (yum), don't bath, don't use tampons, don't lift anything, don't hoover. Obviously the hoovering was going to be a major problem.

So eventually I went home and didn't do anything. I did shower eventually though if it was putting you off coming to see me.

My consultant says I need four weeks off work and since I came home I have done an awful lot of sitting on my arse. Maybe now is the time I will finish that children's story.

You'll probably be pleased to hear that I've reached the end of my operation blog entries now. I can switch back to an entry about tropical fish I've been mulling over. I imagine my number of hits will drop through the floor...

Five Days is Too Long

Today is really the first day that things have got properly tricky. Phoebe has been in tears several times, about specific things like the suggestion she had school dinners, and in general including a fight over the bouncy horse. She's tired and fed up.

I've fallen asleep on the sofa twice and had a funny turn when I took painkillers and evidently hadn't eaten enough. It's not normal for me to lie about and fall asleep so the kids feel weird.

I'm starting to get irritated. I want to move about but I can't stand up for long, or sit upright before it's pretty uncomfortable. My lack of mobility is affecting everyone.

This whole process has made me thankful. And made me think hard about the trials some people, including several of my friends, are going through juggling their ill health and family life.

I've never been out of action before. It's frustrating but I know it will end fairly quickly. Others aren't so lucky. So there are no laughs in this post. But if you are going through pain, physical or mental, I would raise my hat to you if I were wearing one, and raise my glass if I were drinking. You are amazing.

For all those suffering with the help of Macmillan Cancer nurses, you could give just a little and sponsor me.

Urodynamics

Ok so this test (urodynamics) is not for the faint hearted. It's worse than the surgery in my opinion. Because you can feel it all, it's uncomfortable and for those of an easily embarrassed nature, mortifying.

The good thing about it is simply this. It proves beyond all doubt whether you have a problem.

So the first bit is straight forward. You drink a lot, you wee into a special toilet that measures your wee while the consultant and nurse leave the room for discretion. This is about as ridiculous as the idea of a modesty sheet during a internal examination.

After that it gets unpleasant. Essentially they fill your bladder from the other end than usual. It's quite the oddest sensation I've ever had the misfortune to endure. Throughout the process my consultant asked me how desperate for the loo I was at regular intervals and tried to distract me by discussing her holiday to Cannes and whether or not to neuter her son's male rabbit.

I told her I was desperate for the loo almost straight away. She told me she hadn't started filling my bladder yet.

So it went on. Until my bladder was full and I burst into tears. (You probably wouldn't, it's just my default reaction to stress).

Just when I thought things couldn't get worse she asked me to get off the bed and stand up. This was a significant challenge.

Then she asked me to cough. Sufficed to say it didn't go well.

After what seemed like an eternity she said I could go to the loo and asked if I wanted them to leave the room while I did it. Because clearly them watching me wee on the loo is way worse than watching me involuntarily wee on the floor.

I muttered something along the lines of, "I don't care". They were lucky I didn't garde past them shouting "get out of the sodding way".

So it proved three things. That I don't have an overactive bladder. That my body is failing me in the pelvic floor department. And that I can easily wee in front of strangers, especially if desperate enough.

Afterwards we talked at length about the procedure and there was a lot to think about. My consultant explained that she was hesitant only because of my age. The operation lasts about ten years and I would need it doing again several times in my remaining life. Each time it would be less effective than the last.

But (while I don't feel it) I am young. I am 38. With two young children. Now is the time to be able to run, and giggle, and climb, and dance, and chase.

So onwards to surgery at least with the confidence to know I needed to try and get it fixed.

You can breathe out now. That was the worst entry I promise.




In case you have forgotten, please do your pelvic floor exercises.

Exercises

Ok so I went to physiotherapy. We'll skim over the examinations. Sufficed to say my "muscle bulk" ain't great. And men don't know they are born.

I was given exercises. Some for my pelvic floor muscles, some for the weakness in my back which means I don't sit or stand up using the right muscles. Me and most of the laptop using UK I suspect.

I had to engage my muscles when I went through doorways. I had stickers all over the house: on the stairs, the bin, everywhere. When I did routine tasks I was the engage my core. I tried. Despite Paul and the kids not realising about the stickers and removing them when I wasn't paying attention.

In the meantime I started an exercise class and realised yet again that cardio could't be for me.

I went back every few weeks for ten sessions. My physiotherapist was wonderful. Some weeks I mucked about and made her laugh. Other weeks I burst into tears in front of her. Every week I felt terrible that I hadn't done enough.

I still feel guilty about it now. I should have done more. I don't know if it ever would have solved my problem but I could have tried harder. But I genuinely didn't find it easy. She kept telling me about my "brilliant brain" and how I could retrain it to send the messages to my muscles. I believed her -  it should be possible. But I couldn't do it and I couldn't go on as it was. It didn't make enough difference.

For you though it might. So here's suggestion number one:

Go to your GP and push for a pelvic floor physio referral. It can't hurt and they are truly brilliant people.

For me? I went back to the consultant. She told me that the next step was "Urodynamics." Brace yourself for the next bit. I'm being honest. It's not nice.

Admitting the Problem

Here goes.

So having a weak pelvic floor seems to be three things:

1. Funny. It must be because it's referenced all the time. "PMSL" for a start. And I've lost count of the number of articles or comments that reference "a bit of wee coming out" as a way to make the experience (and the writing of it) even more hilarious. Yeah I'm laughing my head off.

2. Embarrassing. Despite evidently being absolutely hilarious and referenced constantly very few people actually admit to having the problem. Because it's mortifying. Who wants to admit to smelling of wee?

3. Extremely common. So no-one admits to having the problem, and yet loads of women live with it. Especially ones who have had children. 1 in 3 women. I have about 125 female friends on Facebook at the minute. Just saying.

And alongside this there is a quiet resignation to it. "Well it's just one of those things. I put up with it."

I can hardly criticise. I put up with mine for 7 years. From mid pregnancy sneezing (oh good lord) to daily leakage. And worst of all a total inability to do Just Dance 4 on the wii or to run down a hill making that funny noise.

They tell you it's about whether it affects your quality of life. That's the key. Can you put up with it reasonably happily? The trouble is it's easier both physically and mentally to say that you can.

But I think for most women it is a way bigger issue than they admit to themselves or anyone else. I know for me it has affected my self esteem and the practicalities of day life. Not least the ability to exercise. But dealing with it is scary so I put it off. Me and millions of other women.

In hindsight I actually went to the GP about this on a number of occasions. And each time I wasn't examined and I was told to go away and do some pelvic floor exercises*. So then I put it to the back of my mind for a bit, resolved to do them and failed completely.

The last time I went to a gp she told me I had a "slight vaginal prolapse". (Ooh we are getting to the good stuff now aren't we...) I was referred to a specialist and told that that wasn't true. I don't. I can't say I rate that particular GP anymore (it seems like quite a fundamental thing to get wrong) but on the upside at least it got me to talk to someone who actually knew what they were going on about.

And what my consultant said? Pelvic floor exercises. Thats the first answer. Specifically pelvic floor physiotherapy for ten weeks. That sounds appealing doesn't it?


*I bet if you are pregnant or a mum already you are doing some pelvic floor exercises right now. Good on yer!