Speaking of wind, it’s a tad breezy up here today. Our big old battle bus Grand Scenic was being blown all over the road. At one point I swear we were on 2 wheels from a sudden gust. “Stop flying, Mummy!” Midi helpfully commanded.
As we pulled in to our home street, I found our (oversized) wheelie bin on its side and the 2 recycling boxes nowhere to be seen. I left the kids safely strapped inside and jogged to the brow of the hill. Spying the boxes in one front garden, the lid in another and the big boulder I use to hold it all together in yet another garden, I scooped them all up and was nearly felled as the wind caught the lid and whipped it out my hands.
I looked round to see if the girls were laughing at their silly clown of a mother, only to see the slates from the house opposite, and their next-door-neighbour’s, slide off and into their respective gardens. Now I know I’ve not had a lot of sleep recently, but I really thought I was dreaming. Till I saw our wheelie bin spin round in the wind, lumber into a clumsy takeoff, judder a shaky right bank, then land nearly 10 feet away. Yikes! Shields up!
The girls thought me insisting on carrying them in to the house one at a time and at a full run very hilarious and definitely the way ahead. Well, I was worried about a roof tile hitting them on their little toddler heads. Either that, or a flying tombstone (it was either a gravestone or a fridge top that I saw fly over the cemetery wall into the garden of the new block of flats next door).
Not had a lot of sleep? Well, last night I had a gallstone attack. It really hurt. Really, really hurt. I may have cried. I last had an episode 4 years ago when Maxi was a baby. In fact, I had monthly episodes for 5 or 6 months. An ultrasound showed ‘numerous small-medium sized gallstones’. I was supposed to have my gallbladder removed but I
bottled out reacted to the very macho and overbearing lady (Army) surgeon who perhaps thought she was talking to someone else (surely not to me!) when she repeatedly replied to my questions for more information with “You are to have your gallbladder removed”. I hate being ordered about at the best of times, but I really got the hump at the following conversation, transcribed as best as I remember:
I refused to sign the consent form and agreed with my normal doctor that I’d just wait and see what happened. I stopped having the monthly attacks after that, so to be honest forgot all about my gallstones. Till last night. I think the culprit might have been a roast fatty shoulder of pork. Either that or the roast potatoes in dripping. Or the apple crumble in a gallon of double cream. On top of the morning’s roll and sausage. You see, I’ve not changed my EEAE diet (eat everything, absolutely everything), because I’ve not had an attack in 4 years. Guess who’s trotting off to consult with her friendly neighbourhood GP tomorrow?! I now live 580 miles away from the last doctor, so I may have a better result. I guess having a gallbladder removed is more like getting your appendix out rather than the Medieval torture I’m anticipating?
Anyway, I was uncomfortable from 8pm, starting to hurt a lot from midnight, proper ouchy OMG I can’t breathe from 0100hrs and started thinking I might not die after all around 0430hrs. Midi came into our bed and threw herself around my swollen tummy from 0445hrs. Mini and Maxi kicked off around 0600hrs. The colours in my world today are therefore not quite right…