What ever the future has in store for us, Alex, our journey, yes has changed, but we will grow, hand in hand, walking on this new different road together.....
Thursday, 20 October 2011
Monday, 17 October 2011
Just to let everyone know, I am surrounded by lots of people who are being hugely supportive to me and my family at this difficult time.
I am going to be offline for sometime, as I need as much time as possible with my kids, and Alex in hospital. If anyone needs information, there will be ways for those who need/want to know what the updates are by contacting the people around me.
I am very tired, and am finding this extremely difficult, obviously.
So I hope to back soon, and I would ask you all to keep praying constantly for the recovery of my husband, and God's strength to be with him, my kids, and all of us who this time effects.
Thank you all, for all your support, please, please, we need so desperately your support and prayers still, and as I say, I hope to back soon, but need some 'quiet time' to deal with this.
Love to you all, bless you all, and thank you in advance for your prayers.
Posted by Manic Mum at 19:15
Sunday, 16 October 2011
Tonight, after the phone call from the hospital, I sit on my own for a while, watching the moon. I sit on one of the kid’s stools next to their sand pit. As I gaze at the moon, feeling peace tonight, I realise the huge yellow moon, it’s rays are directing themselves into my heart. The rays are strong, and shine brightly, and I allow myself to breathe, slowly, tears of relief, my husband has made it through, AGAIN. The moon is beautiful, and it is, I believe, by no coincidence that it’s rays project towards my heart, I reach out my hands, palms open, ‘touching’ them. I sit a while and feel the utter relief. The end of another day, and it has ended positively.
This morning, they rescanned alex, and he had to be rushed off for more interventional surgery. This, I was not expecting, and I, and my sister-in-law, who has come in with me today, cuddle and allow ourselves to break down on hearing the news. We then look at each other, and tell each other, no, be positive, be strong, do what Alex would be doing for us. We quash our weakness, and turn it into strength and hope and go down to see Alex. We walk hand in hand, still tears, but as we get to his room, we both breathe, we stop the tears, and walk in. We hold his hands, I touch his chest, and explain what he is about to have to go through. I tell him that at the moment, his body is weak, but that his spirit has always been, and WILL always be strong, nothing can touch that. He has to let the strength of his spirit take over now. Let his body be treated by the doctors, the surgeons, but let his spirit do the fighting that it needs to do now.
I tell him he can do this, that I KNOW he can do this, and that although I have to leave, I am there, still there, always there, and my spirit and my love and the prayers and the strength everyone is sending him from all over the world WILL carry him through this. The surgeons will do their bit, but it is up to HIM, but not only him, to do this, to get through this next steep hurdle, and I will be back.
I do not stay long, we’re not allowed, they have to prepare him for his second operation.
This afternoon, I return home to the kids, determined to make the afternoon about them. I am strong, I play with them, and we all take them out for their first ever Macdonalds! They play, eat crap (!) and have a wonderful time. I see a photo of Alex, and disappear off, break down in the toilets for a while, put my ‘face’ back on for the kids, and take them to ‘Toysrus’ and their Auntie spoils them with presents. But i know I have to protect these kids of ours, they are our ours to protect.
I am overwhelmed by the stream of people who come by, taking away my huge ironing pile, my washing, they sweep up, make tea, and carry me to the sofa to lie down for a little while when the stress of the ‘waiting’ physically takes over for a bit, and I collapse momentarily. They play with the kids, and I eventually manage to muster up the courage to take them in, Aunty Allie baths them, Grandma gives them fish sandwhiches, and I carry them up to bed.
I get ‘The’ phone call. My hands tremble as I answer. ‘Hello? Madame Wood?’ I can barely speak. ‘Everything went fine, the operation was a success, your husband is back in the ward, and there’s no problems’. I thank her through my uncontrollable sobs of relief, and tell every one the incredible news.
I shan’t write too much tonight, I am so very, very tired. But I wanted to leave it on a positive note, as tonight, he has done it, he has made it through again.
You, my baby, are the strongest person I know, your spirit, that of a lion’s, your inner strength, insurmountable, that you have shown with ultimate perseverance today, and through these last 12 days. You DID it my baby, I KNOW you will fight this, and I KNOW you will come home to us. I know this tonight, and I will sleep.
My angel, I am your angel too, I am here, protecting you, guiding you as I can, within my limits, but God’s hands are firmly wrapped around you, and I believe you shall come through this.
Thank you, to the Most High, thank you God, thank you everyone, thank you from the bottom of my heart and soul for carrying me, us through this.
Well done my baby, well done my angel, you keep your spirit fighting like a lion, and you will come home, you are going to come home, I know this.
Good night my sweat heart, I shall see you tomorrow, and rest, rest your tired body, let your spirit, let God do this, because that’s all the strength you need.
Good night my angel. x
Posted by Manic Mum at 00:17
Wednesday, 12 October 2011
Alex can’t sleep. We are told by the Drs that the best means for his brain to heal is sleep. Today he is frustrated. He has spent another night having nightmares about people beating him in the head, unable to go back to sleep, as each time he finally manages to sleep, he is plagued by these violent nightmares. They check him regularly in Hospital, and from one minute to the next as he lies there, trying to deal with the pain in his head, trying to sleep, he is unable, it’s very disturbing in Hospital.
He told me he wants to discharge himself, he’s had enough, for him he feels he’d be better at home, at least he can shut a door, and have the means to rest and sleep as and when he needs it. We have been told to expect another month of him being in and out of sleep, and a month after that recuperating slowly and then the 3rd month, fully getting back on his feet. In fact the recuperation period can take up to 6 months.
My dilemma is this, if he’s at home, he is NOT in the best hands, I will not know what to expect as ‘normal’ when to be over worried, when to rush him back in if things deteriorate. For me I would prefer him to stay till Friday (as they’re anticipating) and then I will try and be around as much as possible. I will obviously take precautions when I am out, get a mobile phone so he can call me, leave the phone beside him in bed so he can ring me/whoever, if he needs to, and he will get rest. Thus he feels he will recover more quickly. And this I understand, but it troubles me.
The clot is still there, and whilst he is still so vulnerable and fragile, I think he needs to stay as long as possible, I am not even happy about him coming out Friday if I am honest, as he still seems in a very bad way. He does have his stronger moments, but he’s not eating. Partly as he finds the Hospital food repulsive, partly because he's in too much pain, feeling too weak, and partly as he is at the point where he’s had enough, he needs his home comforts. But I am afraid. I am not a Doctor, how will I know?
His dad went up to see him tonight, Alex was in a bad way. His dad will stay the night if necessary, as his head is worse again, a lot worse. The nurses gave him more morphine, and something to ‘knock him out’. They seem not unduly concerned. But his dad is staying nonetheless, and I will go as soon as I am free tomorrow.
I want him home, I miss him so, my heart’s racing pace never subsides, and I expect it will not subside till a scan shows it is finally going in the right direction. As I repeatedly say, it’s all this waiting. Nothing else matters. And with no conclusive ‘yes it’s started to be reabsorbed’ proof, emotionally I am wrecked, tired, wrought, alone.
I have eaten better today, a message from a friend helped me realise I really do need to eat, despite. Everyone’s messages have been of great comfort, and in fact I have little contact with this friend since school, so I was jolted into action, and am trying not to make any more excuses. I am eating little, mainly rice cakes, bananas, drinks of soup/tea/milk and a small evening meal. It’s not regular, I never know where I will be from one minute to the next. I find I am eating out of duty, it’s a chore, it hurts to swallow, my heart seems to be blocking it’s descent. But I do know I must.
Everyone’s messages are of optimism and of great comfort, and there are times when I feel it may be OK, but I struggle to keep myself afloat, I teeter on a thread. Waiting. Because no one actually can tell me ‘yes, he WILL be fine’, and that’s all I long to hear…
Life without you by my side is so hard my angel. May God give you rest, peace and heal you, may you be you, once more, may this time be one of life’s traumatic lessons, that we both come through together, stronger, closer to God, to what life is really all about.
I shall not sleep till your dad is home, I need to hear again how you are, I need constant reassurance. The nausea I feel constantly subsides a little when I know you finally sleep.
I need to keep writing, pouring out my anxieties, thoughts, doubts, my hurt, but my eyes burn with tiredness, and my mind finds it hard to focus. I shall try and rest a bit now till your dad’s here…
Posted by Manic Mum at 21:28
Tuesday, 11 October 2011
Pressing frantically at the button calling the lift to take me up to the 4th floor where you lie, my hands tremble. Externally and internally I am finding it hard to keep a grip on a positive attitude today, my strength is waning today. But I take deep breaths as I walk down the corridor, to sit with you and wait for the results of your scan. Today I feel as though there will be some kind of definitive answer to your ‘state’ and am desperately fighting the negative thoughts gnawing away at my resolve to be positive. My haste to get to you, my racing heart, pounding head from the infernal pain I feel are coursing through my body. I see you, I am by your side again at last. I cuddle your head and whisper ‘how you feeling, baby?’ I know the answer, you’re head hurts, your pale face and sweating body answer me.
The waiting is the worst part, the feeling of being in limbo, not knowing what really is normal, not normal, what to expect. Everything concerns me, demands all my abilitites to not scream out my frustration.
The Dr comes in, at her half smiling pursed lips, my heart blocks my throat. It’s not the news we were hoping for, expecting. I am not bringing you home, not yet. The scan showed ‘no change’ it’s not worse, so that’s good, but why has it not even diminished a bit? Some positive sign given? Why?
This last week, I have relived my whole lifetime it seems, it has taken that much time, eternities this week has lasted. I wait till she leaves, caress your head and lean into you tears rolling onto the cold hard hospital sheets. Hoping to rid myself of some of the pressure of this pain I am in. You start to feel worse, I panic, run and call a nurse, who says he just needs to sleep, this is the best healing for the brain. She gives you morphine, a tranquiliser and paracetamol and I pass the next 3 hours mopping your brow, holding your head where it hurts and trying to comfort you, trying to help you sleep. Finally, we both fall asleep.
The Dr explains they will try and get you up and about a bit and ‘see how you go’. Then Thursday they’ll reassess. More waiting. More sleepless nights, more kilos dropping off me. I am eating, at least trying to stomach things every now and again. Keeping my strength up mentally and physically, but today I am spent. If you show signs of improvement, you can go home under constant surveillance, but at least you’d be here. But I would be too worried, I think, to be the one trying to asses if you’re normal, if it’s normal, I think you need longer in there. You cope for a little while every now and again, and this lifts me. Then you reach a point where you need to shut down, and the pain, the sweats kick in. I am there again, hurting, feeling useless, trying to comfort you to not much avail.
I am struggling today, if truth be known. I’ve broken down several times. I have not been able to have much of a grip on myself, my emotions, I was just so hoping the scan result would have been good.
I am struggling. The smile which dared to creep back to my lips the other day has been torn away once more, and I again, am in limbo, waiting, waiting, hopelessly waiting. I know once again the darkness of distress.
I want to be able to think ‘it’s all going to be alright’ and believe this. I just wanted the results to be good. They’re not bad, they tell me, but the ‘at least it’s stable’ is of little comfort to my breaking heart.
I try to disregard my anxiety, you’re no worse, after all, but this is so long, so lonely. I push all thoughts out as I watch you and hold your pale clammy head, an exhausted Alex smiles up at me. Trying to be strong, it’s just that he needs rest he assures me. But I have never seen you like this. So charismatic, so dynamic, so determined and strong in your relationship with God, your role you play amazingly and self-sacrificially to being Father to our kids and to me as your wife. I struggle the time I am with him to not let the terror grip me; battling alone the doubts my mind catapults at my heart,
God give me strength, God give him your strength and peace.
You are not coming home yet; I will not be sleeping in your arms. I’m struggling today honey. It’s late, the Dr has given me something to help me sleep, and your mum and dad are here to help out, make me eat, watch the kids now.
I’m sorry to be this way today, it’s kinda hitting home a bit, and I am tired. I don’t want sleeping pills, I just need your strong arms wrapped around me, as we sleep every night, and as we have done since our first date.
I miss you, Alex, I miss you too much, it hurts so much and I am so lonely despite people surrounding us with love and support. Because it’s you I want, you I need.
Tomorrow is a new day. I have lots of things I have to tackle in the morning, but I will be in at lunchtime, and stay as long as I can.
Although being here, the fact of not being next to you is of little importance, I, me, my soul, spirit and heart are with you, for eternity.
I love you x
Posted by Manic Mum at 23:00
Monday, 10 October 2011
I wrote this blog (below) Sunday night, feeling ‘contented’, I did not however put it up today, however, because this morning I call Alex, he is not well. I rush into Hospital, and he appears to have had a relapse, I chase around trying to find out what’s going on. The day is spent there, speaking to Doctors who tell me it is 'probably' normal, but no conclusive ‘he’ll be fine’s. I thus, again, find myself, my heart, once again in torturous pain. They give him some morphine for the pain, and with me stroking his head, he manages to sleep. I have just called him again (I had to leave, to pick up the kids) and the sleep has vastly helped. They will rescan him tomorrow morning (not Thursday), and if signs show his blood clot is beginning to dissipate, he may even be allowed to come home tomorrow afternoon! So although I still feel on edge, jumpy at the phone’s every ring, I feel reassured once again tonight, and will now put up the blog I wrote yesterday, and may well even be in my man’s arms once again TOMORROW night!...
I walked the dog last night, for the first time in nearly a week. As I wander down the lane, trees, bamboo and grass determined to own this lane, I come out at a field. This is the time of year they cut all the maize down, the field I walk up into reveals a large bright moon, the trees surrounding it are turning their breathtaking beautiful colours, the dusk light is pale peach, orange and pink and I am engulfed by the energy surrounding me of nature, the beauty of creation. I stand for a few minutes, allowing the tranquillity to seep into my body, my eyes absorbing it all, my mind calms for the first time since Tuesday. And I thank God for hearing my cries, others’ prayers, and I wander back up the lane smiling.
I do not know how I have managed this week, but the ‘normality’ of life is demanding my attentions again, and I actually cooked dinner for the kids for the first time in almost a week. It's also the first meal I have eaten in nearly a week. I eat, a small amount, but a meal nonetheless. I have done some washing too, even folded some clothes. I soak in my first bath for 5 days (no comments please until you have been in my shoes!) and am gradually accepting things will be getting back to ‘normal’.
It’s a strange readjustment, from going on empty, on automatic pilot, to consciously being able to make a few decisions, wandering around with purpose in what I am doing, rather than aimlessly pacing, not knowing why I am where I am, what I am supposed to be doing. In fact today, I have felt the exhaustion, utter, utter exhaustion. I have been emotionally vacuumed dry, hence the relief of allowing myself to believe it may be alright for the first time in days, my body has crashed, and I am no longer numb.
I see Alex today and lie on the hospital bed nest to him, he strokes my head today, and I shed some tears of relief, I can finally count on being in his arms once more, I can finally let myself be reassured that the scan on Thursday will be showing the clot is on it’s way to being reabsorbed back into the body, and that he will back with his family, in our bed on Friday night.
I have decided all the kids can stay in school for this week all day for the 4 days they are there, with no (well, not much) guilt, as visiting hours are 12 till 8, this way I will be able to go in and see Alex in the afternoons, and maybe even relax a bit in the mornings, gradually getting our laundry back in order! He asked me to bring him in some clean underwear, to which I reply that it might be tricky, as I have done not ONE load of washing since Tuesday! There are none clean! And rooting through the mountainous pile of dirty laundry in the garage may tip me over the edge…So his dad (who has been down since Thursday, as luckily my in-laws are still in France till the end of October) buys him some new underwear to tide him over whilst his useless wife gets back into the swing of things!
I walk hand in hand with Alex this afternoon to the end of the corridor to see the kids, we gulp back emotions, and the excited chatter as the kids update him on all that’s going on, after a while gets too much for him, but who wouldn’t it?! And I help him back to his bed. Monty is overjoyed and can’t wait to burst out that he scored a goal in their football match yesterday, and his team won 1-0!
So things are slowly getting there, my heart still leaps in my mouth at every phone call, but I suppose that’ll slowly lessen too.
I imagine it may be a while till I am back blogging properly, but you never know, it is my diary, my way of expressing myself, a comfort to me, so I doubt it’ll be too long before my blog gets back to normal too!
Thank you once again for all the love and support and help you have shown us, we are SO very overwhelmed and grateful, and I for one, have been carried by the knowledge that there is a world of people out there, there for us, supporting us, caring about us and praying for healing.
ps I am now off to have another bath, I may even shave my legs in anticipation of my husband's return!
Posted by Manic Mum at 19:58
Sunday, 9 October 2011
It’s funny how long time takes when your world feels like it will end. Everything stops, everything, your heart, your mind, you continue because you must, but you do not know how you are doing it. Your arms move, your legs walk, you do the school run, but for me that’s as far as it went. We have been eating nothing but pasta, omlettes and bought soups since Tuesday. The laundry I could not even look at, the animals fed at 1 am, as I still paced about, everything had stopped.
I was getting by on auto pilote, my friends were concerned by the weight I have lost. But how can I eat when my soulmate is where he is? I know I must, I try, barely stomaching drinking cold soup out of the carton, retching a bit on anything solid, I stick to tea and soup and bananas. Well there’s worse diets! But I do it because I know that although my world is on hold, I have to be strong for you and the kids.
It’s funny, an event like this rearranges ALL priorities. We busily go about our lives, ‘fulfilling’ ourselves by the things we like to do, our routines, our hobbies and so on. But when it comes to it, when it really comes to it, something of such magnitude stops the clock. The washing’s ignored, spilling out from every corner, the cooking becomes opening cartons and reheating, one’s self, forgotten. Because none of this actually matters.
I have been going to and from the hospital 3 times a day, 20 minutes there and 20 minutes back again, arranging kids’ care, dressing them in unironed clothes, hair unbrushed, toothbrushes forgotten about. But still trying to keep some normality for them, doing the school run, head low, not wanting the world to see my swollen red eyes, my pale tear stained face, my unwashed hair.
Other mummies rally round my head spins with proposals of babysitting, taking them to play at theirs, feeding them, taking them to school. It’s all too much, I cannot make the simplest of decisions, I just break down as my mind goes blank, is it real? All this? Pleading with myself to 'wake up and it'll all have been a dream'. So many kind offers, but I cannot cope. The decisions are made for me, they organise me, the kids, and free me to be with Alex in hospital when I can. I am someone who finds it very hard to ask things of people, but I have learned this week, that people WANT to help, they WANT to be useful, they ARE there for you and do not begrudge it, quite the opposite, as I usually think. Normally, hence, I carry on doing it all myself, but even I, this week, have just quietly agreed to kids being looked after, trying not to feel hopelessly guilty about not being with them, meeting their needs, trying not to worry, they are with friends having a ‘good time’, and all I can think about is Alex.
I wanted to keep it as normal as possible for the kids, I smile and cuddle them, telling them ‘yes, daddy’s fine, sweetheart’ but break down when they cuddle me tightly back. They feel everything kids, they ‘get’ it. I explain ‘daddy’s poorly, he is in hospital, but he’ll be fine, they make you better in hospital’. But my tear filled eyes and fake brave face they see through.
This morning I visit you, you are still 'out of it' but whisper to me to come over, you grab my bum! And say 'Wow, that's that's the first time I have felt your booty in DAYS!' And I cry, you made a joke! You said something the Alex I know says all the time! Although you're still very weak, and doze off again after a few minutes...
I went to Hospital this evening again and tonight I do not recognise him, he sits up in bed, smiles, and chats away for an hour or so, the drips no longer in his arms, the heart monitor no longer present. How can this be? This morning even, he couldn’t speak much, too tired, head hurting still. It’s me, this time who says very little, I guess seeing you this way, the blanket I have put on my emotions, my routines, my life, is lifted, and I suddenly feel complete and utter exhaustion. You seem to be ‘back’.
I arrive home and tell the kids that tomorrow we are going to go in and see daddy (at his request, he has not even been able to contemplate this before). We are at the tea table, Monty and Lola double over, bodies heaving with tears and uncontrollable sobs. Bless their little hearts, they have ‘got’ it all along…
So tomorrow we are ALL off to see him, he will be able to walk down the corridor to the part where children are allowed. How is this? How can you so suddenly have turned the corner in this way? OK, you're not healed, you still have to stay in under close observation till your scan, but look at you! God IS there, he does hear our pain, our prayers, and he DOES respond.
To all of you out there, the hundreds and hundreds of people who have been reading my story, our story, the thousands of people who have been praying, THANK YOU from the bottom of our hearts. Your love, prayers and thoughts have carried me through this unimaginably intense week. Tonight, I am daring to believe it WILL be alright, you ARE coming home on Friday, and due to all this, we will continue, my baby, to grow from strength to strength, hand in hand, soul enveloping soul, love engulfing each others' daily lives.
Oh Alex, what a week…! When you see all the messages, when you read the kind words, from friends, and people whom we have never even met. When you see the support we have been offered, you will be weeping, as I have been! I can assure you of that.
This is normally my Thought For The Day today, but honestly, if there’s something I can say to everyone from this week’s experience, it’s that, if we could all be a little more grateful for the smaller things, basic comforts we have, we would have less of a need to ‘keep on searching’ and thus be SO much more fulfilled with that which we DO have…
Thank you everyone, from the bottom of our hearts and souls for the support, help, and love and prayers. It looks like his corner has been turned, and I WILL have my man back!
Quick update, he overdid it completely yesterday! Did not have a very good night, head pain etc...BUT he still seems MUCH better.
Quick update, he overdid it completely yesterday! Did not have a very good night, head pain etc...BUT he still seems MUCH better.
Posted by Manic Mum at 09:36
Saturday, 8 October 2011
The week from hell…
It started Tuesday night, Alex came in from rugby training, white as a sheet and in agonising pain…I hear the noise from out side and run out, something wasn’t right, but I put it down to the fact he was severely dehydrated, had done far too much, and I have been going through some very hard things on a personal level the last month or so, so I thought the stress and physically over doing it, had just all been too much, I was convinced if I could get some fluids into him he would be OK. But the night passed with neither of us sleeping, me nursing him through his incoherent mumbles and cries of pain. First thing that morning, I ring the doctor, he’s on his way round. I am reassured after, it appears he has done too much, the doctor knows well our situation too and thought the stress may have got to him as well, hence combined with doing too much, he had severe bronchitis, but the antibiotics and anti-vomittting tablets would sort him out. The day trails on, I manage to leave him a while in the afternoon to give him some peace, and take the kids outfor a nature walk. He just lies there, turns and rocks and tosses about in bed, I cannot get him to keep anything down, so the next morning I am at the doctors again, ‘it’s not right, how he is, I’ve never seen him like this.’ I tell him.
The dr changes the antibiotics and I leave feeling mildly reassured. But the pain and the vomiting continues, and I rush him to A and E where the firemen stretcher him into the unit. I wait 3 hours, colouring in fish with crayons, checking the clock regularly, why is every one who came after us now leaving? I numbly colour in fish, crying, knowing something’s not right. I tell Esmie it’ll all be alright, daddy’s poory and that’s why we are waiting, ‘yes, my angel' I cup her angelic little innocent face, ‘he will ‘be better’ but I don’t know when’ I answer her question. But the 5 minute intervals in which i regard the slowly ticking clock, have been my most painful, numb, confused, alone and slowly passing moments I have ever experienced. I continue to wait.
The scan has shown a blood clot on his brain, he is taken to intensive care. The doctor calls me into a room to explain this to me.
I can see you quickly, children are not normally permitted. But under the circumstances, we follow. Esmie and I, me cuddling my tears into her warm body, being carried by me.
As the tears roll uncontrollably down my face I try and stroke you to reassure you that it’ll all be alright…only here, I have no idea, I am so confused. The evening visit passes similarly, you lie there, I stroke your hurting head.
Everyone’s prayers and thoughts and emails and help and messages have been of great comfort to me over the past few days and I wanted here, to thank you all. I tell Alex, I remember all the messages and tell him almost the whole world is fighting for us! In our corner, we have quite a brigade it seems, and I cannot tell you how much this means, and how touched I am. As is he.
Today Alex is moved out of Intensive Care, and into the neurology department they rescan him and the results show there is no change. He will be under constant surveillance, and next Thursday have another scan, he will be home Friday if the scan shows the clot has started to be reabsorbed. The doctor tells me you're not out of the woods, but the fact there’s no change is good.
For you my angel, for the kids I am being strong, well, I am trying to be strong. But I miss you so very much, the valley of emptiness that fills me when everyone’s in bed is insurmountable. I just need you here.
You know you and the kids are my everything, and I am trying too, to stay positive, but the trying is hard, because I have some moments, when I find I am wandering, aimlessly looking at things in the supermarket, not knowing why I am here, I want to allowed to be all day and night by your side.
You ate a yoghurt tonight! Your first bit of food to pass your lips in 4 whole days. I broke down.
Honey, you’re SO very, very strong and so INCREDIBLY capable, I know you’re coming home, you have to. You just have to. You are so strong, so determined, you have the heart and the spirit of a lion, and you WILL pull through.
I love you, and I will be back tomorrow. Everyone’s thinking of us and praying hard. Their protection is strong and I will see you in the morning, before permitted ‘visiting’ hours, because I do not care!
Thank you every one from the bottom of our hearts for your support. I will try (at 2.30am) to get a bit of rest/hopefully sleep now.
Good night my honey, I miss you.
Posted by Manic Mum at 09:07
Thursday, 6 October 2011
As I sit drinking cold soup, laundry piled high unfolded, kids in bed, their innocent heads sleep, I write through red, tear filled eyes. All I can think of is you. The ‘Visiting hours’ are over, I have had to come home. But my heart is yours, my soul and my life are there with you. Lying there. Not sleeping, you can’t, your head hurts too much, you are too confused. I go to stroke your chest, the heart monitor’s intrusive pads prevent me, your hands I cannot hold, the drips are in the strong hands that have carried both me and the kids for so many years. I tell you ‘it’s gonna be fine, you’ll be fine, you’ll be out soon’ but as I say the words my tears roll onto your face.
My ‘knight in shining armour', my soul mate, my ‘The one’…you lie there not knowing where to place yourself, tossing and turning in agonising pain.
Pacing the house is all I can do, I cannot think, I can only move. I just want to be next to you, holding you, caressing your head, loving you.
I am writing this now as I need to get this pain out somewhere, words are my aid, writing remains my comfort. But I just miss you.
I have never seen you like this, you’re always my strength, my confidant, my mentor, my advisor. Am I strong enough to do this now? Be ‘the strong one’ without you by my side, I don’t know.
It seems surreal, my head feels like it’s been taken from me, people speak to me and I can only say words, I’m numb, crippled with anxiety, the dread and fear pierce my heart.
Everyone sees us, comments on how healthy and happy we all look, how blessed our life is (and it really is). They do not see us beyond our doors when they close. No one has truly seen what you are, who you are, how you have been for me, what you do endlessly for me. No one sees the load you bear on your shoulders desperately trying to provide for me and our kids. Through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, through richness and through poorness we carry each other, our unit growing stronger with every breath we take, together. I have never known anyone like you, that’s why I cannot be without you. Your never waning strength in guarding the weight that bears heavily on your mind and shoulders as you by yourself, provide for us.
I doubt I shall sleep tonight, I shall carry on writing and pacing. Carry on hoping, praying and missing you.
May God’s strength be with you, that you come home to me, the kids, our life, to our bed. I daren’t sleep with you not there, it’s not the same bed, I am not in your arms tonight. I don’t know when I next will be. That’s what I am fighting to deal with.
Tomorrow morning I am coming to see you again. They tell me they should know more, whether they will have to operate or not. But they’re not allowing you any fluids, just in case. So I don’t know what to think. I am confused and without you, so very, very alone.
If God is listening to me he will hear my cries, my agony, he will see the depth of my pain, my loneliness, and how sacred I truly am. And if he is listening, may he offer you his strength, guard you and keep you, make you strong and well again.
We have been through so much, and yes, sometimes, we argue, but not much, especially all factors in our life that are unspoken or obvious, considered. We have grown together through honesty, communication, love, respect and belief. I feel numb without you, Alex, because you truly are my heart and soul.
Because you fulfil me, you guide me, help me, counsel me, test me in good ways and through your never diminishing everlasting love and belief in me, I am me.
I want to be there, I want to be in your arms, I miss you.
Posted by Manic Mum at 23:30
OK, I'll tell you, it's a baby 2 month old Lola. Worra cutie!
Have a great day all,
Posted by Manic Mum at 07:51
Wednesday, 5 October 2011
Well, by the beard of Zeus, where do I start today? I doubt I’ll not be able to include it all without you crying tears of dismay and boredom, so I’ll try and keep this brief…for your sake.
It seems Posh, with my TLC and Beaks by her side is slowly making a slight recovery, she’s lost the use of her legs all of a sudden, she was fine one day, and the next, couldn’t walk. Now she takes great delight in displaying to me her latest abilities, she can stand up for a few seconds, and manges to drag herself around the garden. She wags her tail when she sees me, it’s the truth man! She is my new 5th child, and for the minute that nurturing babies void is filled…for the moment! So anyway, that’s Posh and Beak’s daily saga recounted. Although Beaks has been a little speedy and stunned all day after dipping his beak in to drink my coffee. He didn’t like it, for the record. Never serve Beaks coffee, he’ll go off his head, charge around the garden quacked up to the eyeballs on caffeine and looking violated.
It’s been mayhem here today chez us. What with one appointment/meeting, and all that entails, gone to and thus, been broken little bit by little bit by the French administrative system again, I finally have arrived at the ‘picking up kids from school’ time of day (although Esmie just goes 4 mornings) Now, after doing the end of day school run, which went as follows: stepping out bleary eyed from the car, coffee breath, kissy kissying the mummies I had not seen in the morning (you only kissy kissy the same person once a day, that’s the French rules), I limp over, carrying Esmie to collect the 3 older kids. I am limping because today, when I decided Spring cleaning the garage would be a good idea, an extremely heavy box of tools fell directly onto my ankle bone. It is swollen, red and purple, and just b****y hurts, if I’m honest. But 4 kids, successfully rounded up, I commence mummy chit chat, or more accurately mummy shit shat, as one mum has been dying to tell everyone else that her son has diarrhea again. Had we heard? Really? We reply, ‘no way?’ ‘oh nos’ are echoed as I give my latest child’s illness anecdote, Mitzi, another ear infection. Plenty more WTF were we doing having kids? banter flies around.
I realise the time, and trying out several names before getting the right child’s name, I start to sweep sweating forehead with school broom, as I nearly crack under the effort of finally rounding up the stray kids. Herding them through the carpark (think of my poor heart) towards our car. I think twice about following through with my experiment, which went as follows: hoy the kids one-by-one at car, to see if magic really works, and by sprinkling magic ‘flying through car doors, them landing directly in their seats, automatically strapping them in’ dust upon their heads first, silencing window between mummy driving and backseat kid noise raised automatically too, mummy is CHILL! Realising we do not live in Harry Potter land, I decide against this for health and safety reasons. And also, as we live in real life, so we bezz home. I quickly whip on blister plasters, footie training for Monty tonight, rugby training fro Alex. Alex draws the short straw and gets the bike.
|Mitzi and Lola|
To be fair, cycling down to drop Monty off balancing a small child on my head, one dangling off my ears, flapping around in the wind, another clinging on front ways like a baboon, the other on my back holding on for dear life, this did not appeal. Alex can take him there, but I’ll have to do the 8pm pick up with the girls, rugby finishes too late. He leaves to take Monty, late because we can not find the car keys. He has no choice, he takes the uninsured car (long story, but we are in the process of doing it, so no deliberate fault of our own is it not insured, although we are not using it) but he had to take it. 10 minutes later he’s back flying through the door like he is chasing himself bellowing something about ‘nearly got stopped for speeding in the uninsured car by the same police that pulled us over for our tyres on the other car' (which will be replaced tomorrow I have to add) 'I think I out drove them though!' (well, I think I hear this) ‘Monty’s SHIN PADS!’ ok, shin pads got, in the meantime luckily I have found the keys (40 minutes later behind a cushion down the side of the sofa (thanks Lola, she later admits to having ‘forgotten’ where she put them). They’re gone, he speedy gonzalis it out of the drive. He’s ages, and I think the police have got him again, but they didn’t! Whoo hoo! For small mercies and all that.
I do the 8pm pick up, get home and tear round, downing milk and stuffing hunks of dry bread to keep me going that bit longer-till they’re in their beds.
Esmie wants ‘mulk’ so I tell her she can get it out of the fridge, oh god, what have I done? There is a huge shriek and enormous crash, I run into the garage. The fridge door is off again, and Esmie is lying underneath it. She’s managed to pull off the fridge’s suicidal door. Not knowing whether ‘Flat Stanley’ is a real life syndrome, I wonder, momentarily, if we could make a fortune telling our story and selling books about our ‘Flat Esmie’. Anyway, no harm done, and they’re now in bed.
I am off to rock in my favourite corner, and hangout with my duckling. What? That’s totally normal behaviour.
Tamsyn x *whirl winds it out of the room as she realises she has not yet mopped, spins too fast and falls a*s* ove t*t *
Tuesday, 4 October 2011
Stevie Wonder is an ALL time favourite of mine, the kids know his songs off by heart, and Mitzi always tells me that the song 'Isn't she loveeeellleeeeeyyyyyy' is about her... My choice of tune for today is Stevie Wonder singing 'Free'...I love it, it's such an inspirational song, and he RULES!... Take a minute out and listen to some Stevie...!
See you tomorrow,
Posted by Manic Mum at 09:21
Monday, 3 October 2011
I fling open the wardrobe and grab randomly at clothes, with the intent of covering my ‘bits’ well, you never know?
I began the evening with kids in bed, sitting down, downing a large glass of water (thirsty work running kids you know…) Alex walks back in the room as I place the glass down. ‘Did you just drink from that glass?’ Oh God, here we go…it turns out he had just trapped the enlarged angry mutant hornet which had been terrorising anything and everything in our bedroom in that very same glass. I sat there for the next half hour, waiting, waiting and wondering what the side effects may be. I was a sitting scientific experiment waiting to react physiologically on some global level. After half an hour, and no, as yet, debilitating side effects, I begin to move slowly, checking myself limb by limb, reflexes, OK, mouth, throat, tongue, still capable (to the extent they ever are at any rate) so I begin to relax.
|The support team!|
I head off for a quick bath, come back in, sit down to write my blog. As I do so, either the same, or a different (my word they are HUGE mother f******, just for the record, and they always seem so p****d off, unnecessarily, they are the dark side, not us, little innocent humans they chose to sting with intent to KILL! KILL! KILL!). So he’s back in the bed room, I am starker’s, having just had a bath, and think quickly, if I cover my eyes, maybe he won’t see me, no, OK I am not 5-years-old anymore, so I fling open the wardrobe and grab randomly at clothes, with the intent of covering my ‘bits’ well, you never know? It seems to be dive bombing me and I flail around wildly, letting out sporadic squeals tripping over putting trousers on and freaking out hearing buzzing getting closer as I T-shirt my upper body up and thus for the few seconds I am pulling on the T-shirt I am blinded, FREAKING. It dive bombs me and lands on my head well of course I flip and slap myself on the head??? Hornets, I do not do. Wasps, mean, but small, doable, bees, pretty cute really, they’re a breed that subconsciously feel so guilty after stinging someone once, they actually die, so I hold nothing against them, but hornets...you are stepping into a WHOLE different flying stinging insect level. It was a success though, I was not stung, and we used the glass again to get it out and slammed the window shut after and wrote a ‘you are not welcome hornets’ sign up on the window. They can read you know. A resounding success; and this time the glass is sterilised.
|Monty in action!|
Monty had a football tournament this Saturday, and my God it was hot. 33 degrees and the 1st of October. Full summer, he played like a star, made such an effort and although they did not win I blame this on the other weaker pathetic playing kids…OK, bit full on, they all ‘did their best’ and that’s what counts isn’t it? Unless you want to win…?! I cheer him on in French, not wanting to stand out too much, Alex doesn’t care and is English and vocal and loudly too…oh the shame…
|Monty taking the 'offside' kick? I think that's what it's called, oh my shamefull ignorance...|
Sunday we spent with a phone call at 11am a friend wanting to know if I could look after her kids this afternoon, she’d be round in 15. Ok, unprepared, but still, a friend in need and all that, so she drops them off, and 6 kids blowing bubbles in their water and having a food fight (quickly stopped as the chickens got wind of it) was not what I had had on the agenda for today. But it was in fact cut short, her hubby had arrived back early, and after 2 hours (not the original ‘oh, till about 8 this evening’) their daddy is here to pick them up. So I am free, well, 2 kids down, leaving me with 4. Homework done, we’re off to the football grounds for Alex and Monty to do a bit of training, and me to do a nature walk and 'throwing and catching' with the girls (not throwing them, I hasten to add). I am pretty rubbish at catching, something will catch my attention, I get it in the face, or I just focus SO intensely that I hold my arms out too wide like a kid and it slips right on through. My girls are great, but catching is not our forte (although Mitzi is brilliant but I don’t want to take anything away from the concentrated efforts of the other 2) Esmie, every time she catches it, and in catching, this ranges from it falling on the ground near her, and her picking it up whooping coz she has ‘caught’ it, to mini strops when she misses it and it’s the other person’s fault for throwing a rubbish throw. But all in all, it was a great afternoon.
|A VERY hot, VERY thirsty Monty! Nice work son!|
The weather is unbelievable at the moment, and we are making the most of it, November, it rains. It has every single year since we have been here, and I now begin to dread November here each year. It’s bloody miserable torrential rain, that seems completely unnecessary. Well, we are still in October, so I am focussing on this.
Now, I am off to check out the food I am probably burning, and sign everything for school I was supposed to sign and give back 3 weeks ago now…
See you tomorrow!
Tamsyn x *sees hornet tapping at the window, refers it to the sign, it nods dejectedly and flies off to dive bomb other naked humans*
Sunday, 2 October 2011
Thought For The Day, today is based on environmental concerns. We ALL live on this earth, we are ALL responsible for all of our behaviours and attitudes, and this includes respecting and ‘keeping’ (tending) our planet. We can all make a few simple steps, and in so doing make a GLOBAL difference…really, it ‘starts at home’ as they say.
Here is an extract from the book I have just finished reading, which explains what I have been thinking about more and more. With 4 kids, I need to make sure I am doing the right thing, and thus providing for them an example and a role to follow:
“...Yet not all is negative. Despite the urgency of the (environmental) crisis, and the difficulty of going against our materialistic culture, there is also good news in living more simply. Sociologists and others have written of the epidemic of ‘Affluenza’ sweeping Western nations. This has been defined as ‘a painful, contagious, virally transmitted condition of overload, debt, anxiety, and waste resulting from the dogged pursuit of more’. Reducing our addiction to filling the inner void with ‘retail therapy’ or electronic games, to traveling faster and further, to earning more yet enjoying less, can only be good for us. Reconnecting with nature and our place in it, that genuine relationships give more satisfaction than inanimate or virtual ones: all these have great social, psychological and physical benefits.” Dave Bookless.
Well, something to think about this week at any rate...
Have a FAB Sunday,
See you tomorrow,
Saturday, 1 October 2011
1 When you are self-febreezing to erradicte Smelling of hot duckling, hot duckling p*** and stale milk that you realise you have issues to deal with in your life…
2 That looking after ducklings takes more ‘OMG new born baby, I am hereby certifying to self-forgetting till they grow up’ energy than you think…
3 I want a tortoise, no I really do! Alex?...*door slams, car wheelys out of the drive, ‘I have left you, honey’ note found*
4 That when you get tipped over the edge, the only way to go is back up.
5 Why not believe in God? A creator? Someone who is the ‘everything happens for a reason’ Director? If you do believe, and there IS nothing there at the end, you’ve lived life consciensciuosly and trying to live positively (and doesn’t the world need more of that energy about?) and if he/it does exist, then thank God you believed!
6 Hey, some dinosaurs were as small as a hen ( I reckon my hens must be dinosuars, there’s no other logical explanation for their behaviour)
7 Tracks left in the mud by dinosaurs provide clues as to how quickly they moved. By measuring the distance between footprints, experts have worked out that some dinosaurs could have reached speeds up to 25 mph.
8 I have been researching dinosaur facts this week…couldn’t you tell?
9 Well I have just learned that your sense of smell cannot save a burned dinner, which I have just achieved in sitting down to write my blog. Sorry gang.
10 Seeing the ‘bigger’ picture, is ALWAYS essential.
thanks for stopping by!
See you tomorrow for 'Thought For The Day,'
Posted by Manic Mum at 11:43