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Keppra Rage

As we have done in the past I’ll be leaving the Funny Boy in charge of the updates whilst I undergo surgery. He is under strict orders to not return my mobile phone to me until the morphine has fully left my system. Those who received texts from me in the immediate days post-surgery will be aware that I was not fully compus mentis. I think the worst was sending over 100 consecutive messages in a WhatsApp group  at 2am. I was busy telling my friends how hungry I was, begging for pictures of food porn and sending  a screenshot of a Wagamamas order worth over £50!! Me on morphine is not a good combination.

I am squeezing in this last-minute blog as I fear the Funny Boy will take advantage and share a particular story about me that occurred recently. Before I begin,  I would like to add the caveat that one of the more prominent side effects of my anti-seizure medication is  a risk of becoming aggressive, agitated or angry.  Or as my surgeon describes it: Keppra Rage! I am sure the Funny Boy will vouch for me when I say that 9 times out of 10 I am pretty laid back and excluding the odd occasions  I don’t have a grumpy  personality.

The Story

In October, the Funny Boy whisked me away to the very pretty city of Durham. On arriving at the hotel we went straight to the pool before returning to our rooms to prepare for dinner. As we change our clothes the Funny Boy walks out of the bathroom and looks  at me with a perplexed expression.

’Oh no!’ He cries ‘Look at my pants!’

I look over to see the Funny Boy still wearing his pants but with his Crown Jewels hanging neatly below his crotch.

‘I can’t believe it’ he continues ‘How has that happened? I haven’t even worn them –  I’ll have to return them!  They are my nice new ones you bought me!’

’What?’ I quickly reply ‘No, they can’t be!’ While he is trying to understand how his nice new pants have been so ill-fated,  I  silently pluck up the coverage to tell the Funny Boy the truth…

The Truth

A few months ago,  I decided to invest in an electric toothbrush. To which the Funny Boy made a number of snide comments basically stating how he thought the amount paid was a waste of money.  His attitude changed when he visited our dentist – who knew of my recent purchase and suggested he just get a separate toothbrush head and benefit from  it’s many features. Being a  good wife, I overlooked is sarcastic comments and kindly obliged, providing he  ensured it was always clean and kept fully charged.

Allow me to set the scene: It’s approx 5 weeks post surgery.  I am experiencing  weakness and reduced sensation on the  left side of my body, the fatigue is ongoing and the Funny Boy has returned to work allow me to fend for myself. I wake up one morning and head straight to brush my teeth.

I walk into the en suite to find the Funny Boy has already forgotten the rules; he has failed to return my head to the toothbrush and  the battery is flat. This may not sound like a huge deal but for someone who has lost the dexterity in one of my hands  the simple task of changing the heads was turned into a major struggle. After a small wrestle I successfully removed the  brush  head. As it landed on the bathroom floor. I was in two minds to leave it there ‘that’ll teach him’ I thought’, but resisted the urge and set about putting the brush on charge for 5 minutes so I have enough ‘juice’ to finish my task. Feeling ever so frustrated I turn my focus on the toothpaste and my mood doesn’t improve when I see the Funny Boy has squeezed from the middle making it impossible to get the paste at the very bottom of the tube. Another battle between my reduced dexterity and the half empty toothpaste tube and I finally finished brushing my teeth. It is not even 8am and my anger level was sitting at about  5/10.

I get ready to take Parsnip down for her morning rituals (she sleeps in our bed – feel free to judge but I actually sleep better with my side) Anyway, as I walk down the stairs I walk past – not one, but two piles of the Funny Boy’s ‘stuff’ which he has awkwardly placed in the hall way and the middle of the stairway. Both of which he promised to put away the night before. The first pile is his clean clothes he has prepared for a weekend away to Durham. The second is a pile of card, paper cuttings, pritt-stick and scissors – leftovers from his latest craft project. Each pile is so large that tidying them away requires several journeys up and down the stairs. My anger level begins to rise. I do a number of legs to return the bits and pieces to their rightful place but in doing so I drop some of the pieces. As I pick up the final bits, stomp up the stairs and begin to curse the Funny Boy I realise what I am holding in my hands. In my  left is a pair of his boxer shorts and in my right is a pair of scissors.

I would like to say I debated what I did next but truth be told the rising anger took over and in a moment of rage I decided to cut the Funny Boy’s Boxers. With one simple cut I slashed the gusset and in an instant my rage was gone. ‘that’ll really teach him’ I thought once again. I’d like to say I thought about my actions and  instantly regretted them but that would be a lie. I returned his pants to the rightful place, set about my day in a drastically  improved mood and didn’t think any more on it.

Back to Durham

As I tell the Funny Boy what happened, rather than getting the rage himself he simply begins laughing, before a slightly worried expression comes across his face. He then recounts his changing room experience. He had dressed himself in the cramped conditions of the changing room while another patron sat on the bench Funny Boy crotch height, putting on his shoes.

The Funny Boy had a vague recollection of getting a strange look, as he unknowingly pulled up his Anne Summers inspired crotch-less boxer shorts, before drying his hair and continuing to get dressed.

What must this chap have been thinking?!  That the Funny Boy was some sort of sex crazed maniac loitering in hotel changing rooms, for an unsuspecting person to walk in and the opportunity to show off his ventilated undergarments?!

Recalling this is when The Funny Boy really started to laugh. We spent the next 2 days in Durham wondering if we might be ejected from the hotel for his efforts at Dogging, but thankfully it didn’t happen.

In the end the Funny Boy was just grateful that the scissors hadn’t been applied to his pants, while he had them on.

I should be back in a week but for now, wish me luck for tomorrow and as always #FUCANCER!

 

 

 

 

The Ultimate Show of Solidarity

Five years ago today  the Funny Boy and I had our first date. We met at the hockey club quiz during a month I renamed ‘Yestember’ where I had to say yes to any opportunity that came my way. He took his chance and asked me out. Committed to Yestember I was forced to oblige. I remember telling my friends ‘he is really funny and has a lovely smile but it’ll never go anywhere. He is too short’. Was that shallow of me? Definitely, but thankfully  l was  wrong.

It was 6 months after our meeting that I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. By any usual relationship standards we should have been contemplating our first holiday together – not negotiating the rigorous schedule of cancer treatment. I thought we were over. I told the Funny Boy I didn’t expect him to stay and I understood that this meant the end for us. ‘Who in their right mind would want to stick around for this?’ He proved me wrong again.

For those who follow my blog you will know that I refer to the Funny Boy as my  non-conventional knight in shining armour. He is my haphazard hero and last week was another fine example.

The Funny Boy was with me as I had my first full clonic-tonic seizure which led to my diagnosis in May. Since then he has barely left my side and therefore he has missed more than his fair share of nights out with the boys. Last Saturday his colleague was having a  ‘leaving do’  and coincidentally I arranged to have dinner with friends. With both of us feeling healthy we set about our separate plans.

Following my meal with the girls I returned to find the Funny Boy asleep on the sofa. He had a faint smell of beer on his breath but seemed relatively sober considering it was his first night out in over 5 months.

I prepared myself for bed when I began to feel unwell and I immediately blamed the mussels I had for dinner.

As the night went on an aggressive episode of vomit and diarrhoea ensued. It had been several  hours before I woke the Funny Boy and asked him to phone NHS 24 – a number we should  have on speed dial by now. Recognising a hospital visit was on the cards the Funny Boy felt the need to sober up. As I was draped across the en-suite  regretting my food choice the Funny Boy  drew himself a bath.

The sickness worsened resulting in a seizure and the Funny Boy  called NHS 24 again who dispatched an ambulance immediately.

By this point it was nearly 6am and despite vomiting consistently for  6 hours there was no sign of respite.The Funny Boy sat across from me in the ambulance and as I paused to take breath I realised something was wrong.

Normally the Funny Boy is the type of guy you would welcome  in an emergency. Always composed and a pragmatic thinker he never seems to panic. But on this particular journey – our third ambulance trip this year – the Funny Boy didn’t look like himself; his hands held a firm grip on his knee caps – so much so his knuckles turned white. His face held a yellowish complexion and as I looked closer his nostrils were dilating larger than usual as he took a series of long, deep breaths. His eyes were focused on a fixed point in front, he barely made eye contact with me.

’He must be REALLY worried’ I thought ‘all the stress I have put him through and this is the straw that has finally broken the camel’s back’. I broke away from my train of thought to vomit for what felt like the hundredth time.

When i turned to look at him again I noticed that he had also been armed with a cardboard bowl.

Before I had time to reach out and ask ‘Are you ok?’ The ambulance hit a speed bump which triggered the Funny Boy to projectile vomit into the bowl he held in his lap. With the blink of an eye, his bowl was full to the rim and began to spill across the ambulance floor.

The paramedic sprung into action and called to her colleague in the driving seat; ‘You’ll need to stop’ she shouted ‘the husband is being sick now’.

As quick as the ambulance came to a halt, the paramedic opened the back door to allow the Funny Boy out for some fresh air. He continued to be sick  whilst she (the poor paramedic) began to wretch. Strapped to the stretcher inside there was little I could do.

The Funny Boy and paramedic returned to the ambulance. The paramedic mopped up the Funny Boy’s sick which had sloshed all over the ambulance floor.

The embarrassment continued when we  were met with familiar faces in A&E.  As the doctors and nurses began a series of tests the Funny Boy excused himself. One of the nurses greeted  him in the waiting room ‘I remember you. You fainted the last time.. That’s  some scar you’ve got… You’re looking worse than your wife tonight’

He insists his sickness was caused by a tummy bug. I am dubious and believe the afternoon spent drinking might have had something to do with it. Or perhaps it was just the ultimate show of solidarity?? Either way between this and the Funny Boy’s spectacular fainting episode we have earned ourselves a reputation with the A&E staff at St John’s.

Fingers crossed we won’t be returning anytime soon!

#FUCANCER

Hello Bus Pass!

Before I begin I thought I should provide some context. Over the years the Funny Boy and I have fundraised for Cancer Research UK and the Maggie’s Cancer Centre in Edinburgh. Never one to shy away from a free T shirt and with a strong dislike of waste, the Funny Boy always makes use of items within his possession…

It has been a particularly emotional start to the week. A trip to the GP, long chat with the epilepsy nurse and a huge list of cancer admin has left me feeling – how can I put it? Lousy? Crappy? Simply bleurgh!

The GP was great and after a long chat (well beyond the allocated 10 mins) she reiterated the advice Maggie’s offered: take more time to process everything; try to focus on facts not thoughts; don’t feel guilty and practise self compassion.

Likewise the epilepsy nurse was very helpful and after explaining the cause and effect of my seizures she offered more practical advice. Just to be clear I have a non epileptic seizure disorder which is a symptom of the tumour in my brain. This conversation did result in more ‘Cancer admin’. Cancer admin is what I am calling all the forms to complete, appointments to fulfil and general to do lists caused by the tumour. I don’t recall cervical cancer causing this much paperwork! One of the tasks on my list is surrendering my driving license to the DVLA. Goodbye independence! Hello bus pass! So after ploughing my way through all the necessary cancer admin I was suitably grumpy by the time the Funny Boy arrived home.

As always he practically skipped through the front door looking for Parsnip and I. We, Parsnip and I, are very rarely apart – I like to call her my sausage shaped shadow! Anyway, I debriefed the Funny Boy on my day. I shed a wee tear, cussed a LOT and by the time I finished my emotional dump the Funny Boy had miraculously put a smile back on my face!

So, I decided to follow doctor’s orders and practise some self compassion by drawing myself a bath. However due to being high risk of seizures I can no longer do this alone – it’s not as sexy as it might sound! The Funny Boy didn’t join me but he did pop his head in or call out to check I was ok every few minutes. Not ideal and definitely not as relaxing either! After my bath I came downstairs and picked up a mindfulness colouring book which was gifted to me by my brother and sister-in-law to be.

I caught myself moaning this weekend. I said to the Funny Boy that I feel alone and like nobody understands. He never challenged me on this. And as I settled down to start ‘Colouring Weiners’ with my own wiener cuddling on my lap I looked at the Funny Boy playing his Xbox and realised I was wrong. I don’t know if he did this on purpose or if it was his subconscious – in fact I’m not sure he was even aware what he was wearing – but either way he is right: TOGETHER WE ARE FIGHTING CANCER and I am beyond lucky to have him!

#FUCANCER

Project 30: Funny Family Home

Three years, two months and twenty eight days ago I moved to Edinburgh. Within that time I have experienced some of life’s greatest highs and challenging lows: The loss of two family members, infertility and cancer (not to mention all the incessant drama that follows). But, in that time I have been blessed through making a whole new posse of people I am proud to call my friends. I have had two jobs which I not only enjoy but has taught me an incredible amount and shown me where I want to go next. I met a funny boy who brought a funny dog into our lives. He is now my funny husband which means we are now a funny family. All of which has happened in the last two years! Crazy to think where a whole month of saying yes can lead… 😉 So, today my Funny Family and I waved goodbye to our Edinburgh address and ventured into West Lothian. We are officially residents of Winchburgh Village! In doing so, I have successfully ticked off another item of Project 30! Huge thank you to all our friends and family in helping us get here (especially Gary & Kerry) You’re all welcome anytime…

#FUCancer

   

I love receiving post. Arriving at your new home with a card waiting for you from one of your oldest and closest friends has got to be the best yet! Even better than receiving a letter from Shout magazine saying we were getting a makeover… cheers!


  

The day I said ‘I do’

Today is my birthday. Despite overcoming the tail end of flu and being riddled with guilt for missing another event I organised through work, it has been a great day: the Funny Boy and Parsnip woke me with breakfast in bed and array of generous gifts.

As today marks my 29th birthday I am now on a tight schedule to complete Project 30. In all honesty I had hoped to have ticked a few more off the list by now but I am confident (and excited) to see where it takes me. Here is an update of how it is going so far:

1. Take in the Northern Lights
2. Ride a Motorbike
3. Plan an A to Z Roadtrip i.e. Visit Anstruther, go to the Beach, play Cricket
4. Complete the 30 day photo challenge Check
5. Learn a new skill: juggling In progress
6. Try scuba diving
7. Appear on TV
8. Enjoy an authentic breakfast in New York City
9. Watch Sunrise & Sunset in the same spot
10. Get a tattoo with my Mum Check
11. Fundraise for Maggie’s and Cancer Research UK Ongoing
12. Complete another Marathon
13. Plan a camping holiday with the Funny Boy and Parsnip
14. Get something I have written published
15. Plant a tree and visit it from time to time
16. Write 30 letters to 30 people
17. Scare myself by jumping out of a plane aka skydive!
18. Try a new sport (suggestions welcome)  Try THIRTY new sports
19. Send a message in a bottle
20. Say “I do” in front of my friends and family Check – see below!
21. Buy my first home
22. Read Shakespeare In Progress
23. Meet an exotic animal in it’s natural habitat Check 
24. Host a fancy dress themed party
25. Get a selfie with a celebrity
26. Go on a family holiday
27. Travel First Class
28. Bag a Munro
29. Complete another hockey season
30. Make a Project 30 Scrapbook

As I look back on my 28th year I have a accrued a number of highlights including an awesome hen party, unfortgettable honeymoon and attending WSLA but the number one has to be the day I said ‘I do’. Here is a snapshot of the best day of my life… so far!!

I look forward to the adventures, lessons and memories that lie ahead… Bring on 29!

#FUCancer and today #FUFlu

NUVU Photography
NUVU Photography