The Heart of a Cow

If you’ve been following my heart journey you’ll know my procedure this past Tuesday was a big one. Not only was it an unexpected hiccup between the long list of initial tests I had to undergo to determine what would be done about my condition & surgery; it was a little invasive for my liking.

Last Thursday I went in to my pre-admission appointment for this particular procedure where I was seen by multiple medical professionals. I went on profusely about my multiple allergies, my anxiety issues & my NEED for sedation throughout this procedure (She assured me I would be sedated for one of the procedures). I also went as far as to tell the Doctor (who looked all of 15) that I didn’t give a rats ass what the procedure entailed, the less I knew the better for me mentally. Apparently that was not an option – I could not sign the consent form without being taken through the ins & outs of the procedure, as well as the long list of risks that came with it. No signature, no procedure. So I allowed her to tell me all about it, about the risks involved & about what the outcome of the testing would mean for me. I left the hospital that day dry-retching and in tears.

Hearing about the catheter being inserted into my groin that would go up into the heart & then into the lungs was enough to make me blanch; and then there was the second consent form for that procedure if there were issues going through my groin, they would then go through my jugular… Also, a surprise second procedure was the angiogram. Basically the same thing but the catheter would be inserted in my wrist. I was unaware up to that moment that I would be having both done. So while I proceeded to start sweating bullets over that, she then went over the risks. Small percentage risks that were super unlikely but made me want to shove those consent forms in the lovely little doctor’s pie hole. Trying to focus on the end goal & the fact that I needed to do all of this to get to surgery, not only to stop myself from basically dying faster than most, but improve my quality of life overall, I asked the natural question – would I know a surgery date long after that? I appreciate that doctors are factual & that it’s the nurses who do the bedside manner thing but she smiled so brightly as she said; “Depending on the results of these procedures we may have to medicate you, do other operations or procedures or you may not be deemed safe enough to do the surgery at all. Do you have any other questions for me today?” I made my escape from that office as fast as I could & hyperventilated in my car for a while before setting off home. Out of all of it, the icky procedure details, the scary risks no matter how small; it was the “…may not be deemed safe enough to do the surgery at all...” that echoed through my mind. Surely they would have a plan B. They couldn’t just let me slowly die, becoming more & more susceptible to strokes, heart failure and various other things as time went by & the damage increased. Surely.

So the weekend went by, slow as you like. I tried to enjoy the Easter break with Jake & Charli. I did, of course but the thoughts of procedures, risks, outcomes were always lurking not far from the surface of my mind.

Tuesday came, I dropped Charli at day-care, she was stoked for a second breakfast & said her goodbye happily, which was awesome. She has been cluing onto a lot of this stressful medical talk over the past 4 months & it has impacted her a fair bit on & off. My sister was due to pick me up & drop me to the hospital but there was a couple of hours to kill, I busied myself with housework & was surprisingly calm, although the anxiety was hovering at my back. The car ride was much the same, even arriving at the hospital, checking in & sitting in the waiting room only increased my nerves the slightest bit. I’m thankful my sister stayed with me until the nurse called me in.  I said a cheery goodbye. It wasn’t until then, until I was walking down cold blank hallways to a clinic room that the anxiety started to dig in its claws & settle in every part of me. Knowing it was time to get prepped for the procedure, knowing exactly what that procedure was, it was all I could think about. I tried to concentrate on one thing at a time. The nurse, Denise handed me one of those delightful hospital gowns that do up at the back & also a hospital robe to cover what would have been let exposed. She told me to strip down & put them on. I said “just leave my undies on?” She chuckled. “No undies for you today except these pretty paper ones, sweetheart” as she whipped them out of a packet with a flourish. “Don’t put them on just yet though.”

I was in jeans & a few layers (I knew the hospital would be cold) so it took me a bit to undress & fold everything into my overnight bag.  Denise was obviously under the impression I would be done & threw back the curtain in time to get a good look at every inch of my neglected-arse Mum bod.  She didn’t seem to mind quite as much as I did & told me to lay on the bed as soon as I was in my gowns. I did so. Then, like something out of a horror/comedy film she whipped up an electric razor out of nowhere as she said “Well, let’s see what’s down there” I’m not sure whether I was more mortified or amused. After this somewhat traumatic ordeal, the anxiety increased as I put on my delightful paper undies & sat at the table with her to “go over a few things”

I immediately let fly with “I know what I’m here for, why I’m having it done, I’m all good with that, I’m just feeling pretty anxious”

“I can see that, honey” as she flips to the medication section of my chart “they’ve written you up Temazepam, we’ll get that for you in the next room – whoa!” She’d reached the allergy section of that particular page… “so what DO we give you for nausea, honey?”

“Only Ondansetron”

“Okay, that’s all in order, let’s get you all ready!”

Denise needed to calm down with her enthusiasm.

Into the next room we went. I put everything except my book & phone into a locker, done a pee test & waited what seemed like an eternity for Denise to get me my drugs. She instead started with my cannula, not the worst I’ve had but certainly no picnic, especially when sweet Denise turned into murder nurse for a moment there & brutally shoved the cannula in & out of my skin so I was almost barfing. She had put a cannula I’d never seen before in my arm – it had two inlets instead of one. I enquired as to why, she patted my arm & said “It’s just standard for this department”

Well fuck Denise, if I didn’t need my Temazepam before I certainly did now after your jiggling about & sorrowful look. “Can I have my relaxant now?”

After taking the relaxant & some Asprin to thin my blood for the procedure, I was still shitting bricks. I couldn’t read, I was too worked up. I scrolled social media aimlessly & annoyed friends on messenger with menial chatter.

Then old mate Roger in the beds over yonder, stops breathing. The nurses flock, they are yelling at him to “Take a big breath in for us, Roger!” & all I can hear is horrible gurgling. Thankfully after some time, Roger came good, the nurses resumed their other tasks. I was so glad that Roger was fine now, for Rogers’s sake… but I did sink a little further into my recliner as the panic began to rise. Between then & the next person I had to see, I resumed talking to friends, who made silly crass jokes & took my away from the cold waiting area, the itchy hospital clothes & the thoughts of what was to come. Suddenly a nurse was there asking to have a chat. I turned my phone off then, thinking this was it. Time to go in. Apparently not. She just wanted to clarify a heap of things. She left & I thought it would surely be soon. Another 2 hours passed in which I read & talked to other patients, the temazepam doing its job but wearing off slowly. I knew it was reaching the end of its effects when I became to restless to keep reading. Thankfully this was about the time the nurse came out to tell me I was going in next & asked me some questions. The doctor then came out to join us & asked pretty much the same stuff “Do you know what we are doing today & why we are doing it?” “Yep”

“Do you have any other questions or concerns?”

“I’m fine as long as you sedate me, I’d prefer to be sedated for both”

He looked at me “We aren’t sedating you for either  - it’s unnecessary. You will be fine.”

My face must have said “Um, WHAT?” quickly followed by “NOPE” because the student nurse them came sat with me until I was taken in – at which point I am crying and hyperventilating. The doctor did not give two shits. “Make her comfortable” was all he said to his staff.

Nurse 1: “Calm down love, the procedure will go much better if you’re calm & not hyperventilating on our table” She chuckled.

Nurse 2: Taping my hand to the table at an odd angle “Just taping your hand here because we need your wrist a certain way to get in there. You’re okay sweetheart, it’ll be over before you know it.” She continues to talk my through putting dye on my skin, explaining what the cold feeling is. The radiographer is then stroking my head getting me to look at him. “I’m Dean & I’m going to look after you okay, lovely?” Obviously they gave me something to calm me down but I was wide awake as I watched the x-ray of what was happening in my body. I told myself the more calm & still I was the better. It was hard to miss the monitor – it was bigger than our 55” Sony at home & it was riiight next to my head. So I watched. I felt no pain just weird little tugs here & there.

Suddenly it was over, as quick as it had begun & I was in a recovery bed where I was under strict instructions not to move my legs or the arm which they had used for entry. Denise returned, explained that she would remove the tube from my groin & would then have to keep pressure on for a while. She removed the catheter without pain & proceeded to apply pressure to the area & initiate awkward chit-chat. We remained this way for 15 minutes… I was wearing a bracelet of sorts acting as pressure to the entry site on my wrist, Denise would release some air from this every once in a while. They were adamant I stay lying & still for 3 hours but were happy enough for me to go home that day. I called Jake & let him know he could come get me at 7:15pm. I was given a sandwich & sat up barely enough to eat it. I managed between naps & inspections to my groin & wrist by Denise. There was a changeover of nurses, the wardies said hi on their way in & out. Nurses of the other patients also checked in. There was a large volume of traffic at the foot of my bed so I wasn’t surprised by another face popping up. He introduced himself & asked how I was doing – I immediately forgot his name because, well, there were simply too many people here to remember them all. I told him I felt fine, just looking forward to sitting up properly. He then spilled the news that he was my surgeon & took no time diving into specifics about exactly that. It was a blur. He talked about the fact that not having the surgery ultimately meant dying because of the damage my heart would sustain & once the damage was past a point there would be nothing they could do. Without prompting & much to my horror he then explained some intricacies of the surgery to me.

“We will open you up, put you on a bypass machine while we patch the hole in your heart. The patch will be made from the tissue of a cows heart. Then we will close you back up & you will recover”

“Yep, cool”

“Can I have a look at your chest?”

Why not mate? Go for it. He pulls down my gown & proceeds to put pressure on the top & bottom of my sternum. “You will be cut from here to here.”

“Yep, cool”

“Any other questions or concerns?”

“What will the time frame be on the surgery – when will I know the date?”

“Do you need to discuss any more of the surgery details with me or you are happy with the information you have to go ahead”

“I am keen to get this done”

“Great, my team will contact you with a date. It may be the week of or a couple of weeks out but it will be absolutely done within the next 4 weeks”

“That sounds good. Thank you”

“Excellent. Keep well, I will see you soon”

He leaves. I spent the next little while checking out my sternum & thinking about the joy my siblings will get knowing my heart will literally have a piece of cow in it…

I finally got out of bed. Slowly. The “pain” in my wrist & groin was more discomfort but it made getting dressed in a tiny change room a bit of a shit show. I managed & headed out to sit in a recliner to await Jake’s arrival. One of the nurses came to talk me through post-procedure care. I was feeling not flash but that was to be expected. She started explaining what to do if any of the sites started bleeding. I felt more crook as she went on. I told her I was quite prone to anxiety & asked if I could take a relaxant. That was absolutely fine. She continued on about how if the groin bled to apply pressure for 10 minutes & seek a GP or ER if it didn’t stop. They only went through a vein there so it would only dribble blood. It was here I told her I felt a little more crook & asked for a sick bag, which she got.

She then proceeded to tell me about my wrist. The wrist was an artery & would in fact spray bursts of blood with my heart beat. I needed to cover it with pressure immediately & call an ambulance if it didn’t stop.

It was here that I told her I felt worse & promptly fainted. I came to with 4 nurses sitting around my chair, a wet washer on my forehead, my feet up & on top of a pillow, a nurse stroking my hair & another putting my on an obs machine. My blood pressure & heart rate were through the floor but began to climb as time went on. On nurse sprayed some peppermint oil under my nose which worked wonders for clearing my head. Jake arrived & Charli was wide awake, her little face a mask of horror at the scene before her. I put on my best show – explaining that I had felt a bit sick but the nurses made me all better & I was okay now. I smiled & laughed & tried my very hardest not to bring up my sandwich from earlier. She was fine as soon as the nurses starting talking to her & she had to act shy…

The nurse that had been trying to explain post-procedure care to me took Jake away & gave him the run down. They believed that a big day with minimal liquid intake along with a sudden bought of anxiety was what made me faint & once my obs were sitting steady they were happy to let me go; over an hour later than I should have but at least I felt better.

The rest of the night was a blur of anxiety & feeling simply icky. Jake asked if I would like a relaxant & I said no – I was paranoid one of me sites would open overnight & I wouldn’t notice from the drugs. I slept anyway, my body simply exhausted. Knowing how upset & paranoid I was Jake set an alarm & check both my groin & wrist every couple of hours. What a bloke.

It’s now Thursday night, over 48 hours later & with a reduced waiting time for surgery that could be sprung on me at any moment, mixed with still feeling icky around both my groin & wrist, I’m feeling pretty shabby. The anxiety has become less of a thing that crops up & more of a consistent, nagging, debilitating leech that I cannot seem to shake. I’ve done nothing but sleep, eat & take relaxants for the past 2 days & I hope these are just the after effects of an information overload & crappy hospital experience.

Thanks so much to everyone who chatted to me on Tuesday; I’ve had people tell me it was only an angiogram or only a cardiac catheter but it was my first time having tubes shoved into my heart & lungs & it wasn’t so fun to watch. I’m hopeful it’ll be the first and last. That is, after a very keen little Indian man busts open my chest & fiddles with my heart.

And so the surgery countdown truly begins

Woolworths Meltdowns, Timely Santas & a splash of Divine Intervention

Today is they day before my 28^th birthday. It is the first day of a two and a half week holiday from work. Leading up, my plans for the day had changed again & again. As of early this morning it had become a day to get some stuff out of the way to enjoy said break. On the top of my agenda was the GP. For those of you that have known me long enough, you will know the extensive issues I have had with breast lumps & menstrual cycles – basically all things to do with being a woman.

So today, being completely sick of the benign but ever painful lump that resides on the side of my left breast, that has kept me up a few nights this week alone due to its size, location & aching; I went to deal with that shit. I was told at March’s scan that if it continued to grow & cause me issues they would look into removing it – just as they did in the same spot almost 3 years ago. Surgery is not an issue for me. Been there, done that, basically my boobs look like Sally’s from The Nightmare Before Christmas & I have to fill out those forms before EVERY scan noting where my scars are & I have to go at that with crosses like there’s no tomorrow. In terms of the periods – well basically since I’ve had Charli my body has been like – “do you like PAIN & losing copious amounts of blood each month?” Apparently I said yes – long term problem being my iron levels & general wellbeing. I was feeling like crap for the vast majority of my time & have tried many different avenues to resolve the issue. My current treatment involves hormone medication & iron infusions. It has helped in some aspects but is certainly not a long term solution. Thankfully the grander plan is to have a hysterectomy – I am currently on a wait list & should be called in for the procedure in the next 12 or so months. Exciting – I think so. Having racked up quite a few different things at the GP visit; a radiology request, 2 prescriptions, a pathology request) I also asked if I could have some results from a random echocardiogram I had recently had sent to the office. I’d had it requested by a random GP I has seen about a viral flu who told me I had a heart murmur. News to me.

Eventful GP visit over, Mum, Charli & I made our way to the local shopping centre. We ran some errands & began our grocery shop. As ALWAYS, you go in to get 5 things and holy shit you need a bigger trolley. As such, when I rounded the corner of the frozen food section, heading into the last leg of the shop – butter, yoghurt, deli & the check out, I was keen. Get me out of here. My phone rang at this point & I checked to see who was calling “Mt Warren Park Medical Centre” displayed on my screen and my very first thought was “Bloody hell, they won’t send my results I’ll have to go back to the GP near work!” I answered & it was not any of the lovely receptionists that had called, it was the GP herself. Now I love this GP, hey – absolutely gets straight to the point. “We’ve received the results from the echocardiogram & you have an abnormality” My gut didn’t drop, just a slight flicker on my worry-o-meter. I was like “Ok… am I ok, should I be worried?” By this time Mum is watching me like a bloody hawk but I’m just casually getting Jacob’s yoghurt off the shelf. The GP says “No.” slight weight lift, until “Look, the results show that you have a hole in your heart which means you will need to see the cardiologist & ultimately you are going to have to have surgery.”

So, that weight came crashing right back on down & there went my stomach through the floor. The edge of the yoghurt fridge became my seat as I needed a moment to gather myself a little. “The GP continues on – “I’ve made another referral to the cardiologist & you need to take the appointment when they call you. If you have any questions or need anything you come in & see me, okay?” I agreed and said thank you as I hung up. 

Now let’s take stock here for a tick. It’s 5 days before Christmas, Woolies is bloody PACKED – anyone who knows Mum knows she is on me like white on rice right now – “what’s wrong!?” Mum is way up in my personal space & I barely choke out the basics just as the doctor had said them. It appears Mum is still comprehending as I try to regain my feet. We kinda just stand there, me silently but very visibly crying & Mum beginning to ask questions & cry herself. All I remember saying then was “Mum that’s heart surgery – surgery on my heart.” Like heart surgery was going to be performed on any other part of my anatomy… I think anyone who wanted Yoplait Yoghurt at this point just moved right along.

Now I’ve started to panic a little & we all know how that goes so I say to Mum, “I’ve gotta get out of here, let’s just go.” I make my way past the deli, heavy & numb, still silently bawling. I see the fancy cheeses & remember I had tried a new one at my work birthday afternoon tea just yesterday so I try to find it as tears stream down my face. Charli has clued on that something isn’t quite right “You sad?” “Mummy crying” “You okay Mummy *nodding*” I’ve picked a cheese but I’m not sure I can make it any further. Mum says I should ring the doctor & go ask more questions now. I know that clinic is always super busy & tell her I have Buckley’s of getting in. As we discuss what to do next, a random lady approaches us. I know I’m visibly upset & feel hot tears splash down as she says “Excuse me.” I think she is going to check I am ok but instead she simply hands Charli a gift bag – inside is a tub of playdough & some chocolates. To Mum & I she hands a sealed envelope each with a candy cane sticking out & says “Merry Christmas – there is a coffee voucher in each card – you should go have a coffee & a relax while she plays with the toy in the bag” If I wasn’t audibly sobbing before, I was now & if this poor woman wasn’t into hugs, well… I dove on her & told her this was exactly what I needed right now. She told me she had been in the same place last week – her friend then ventured over & hugged me as well.  It was a gorgeous moment, contrast amongst a very scary, confusing & surreal one. What beautiful humans, to set out to make other people’s day & not knowing a single thing about me or my day, showing such kindness & generosity. If anyone knows these beautiful ladies that were playing Santa at the Beenleigh Marketplace today, please say a massive thank you. They have no idea how much they lightened a very scary moment for me.

Onwards we forged – Mum called the GP & got me in… we had 20 or so minutes to now get our crying, shell-shocked asses through the CHRISTMAS BUSY check outs, to the car & back to the GP. No worries mate. Insert the poor bloke who was in front of me at the check outs. He happened to turn around & was confronted with a still silently crying me. He awkwardly smiled & done a very quick about face. Poor bastard was just there for Christmas Ham.

We made it though - with time to purchase a cold bag from the Coles next door to the GP because, Oh shit we have cold groceries in the car on a summer’s day…

The GP was wonderful – taking the time to explain to me what was on the report & answering all of my questions. Basically, the surgery is a must. The more time that passes the more stress & damage my heart will go through until it will eventually expand & I will be in a world of trouble.

The surgery itself – I have to wait & do more tests to see how intrusive it will be. It could be as “simple” as a probe going in through an artery in my leg (sooo not the horror images I had when the words “heart surgery” had flashed in neon in my brain initially). The tests will also show if this had been a long term thing (from birth is actually quite common). Having had Charli & surgery as recently as the past couple of years, I am amazed & slightly scared that this was never picked up on before. Another question to ask the cardiologist…

So. Yeah. After shaking off the initial “oh my god” of this news & speaking with the GP again, I have become quite calm. I am 100% aware of how lucky I am that this was randomly happened upon before time could do more damage to my heart. I am also on the lean toward divine intervention. TWO upcoming surgeries that could have been seriously dangerous in my condition & I would have gone under none the wiser. I am incredibly lucky.

Knowing I will absolutely shit bricks when it comes time for the actual surgery, I am taking comfort in the fact that this is vital to my long term health; that this surgery is common & that medical technology is so advanced. I am assured that I will be fine. I still have knocking knees.

So peeps, get your GP to have a listen in to your heart every now and again - The quicker the find, the better the outcome.

Mess is mine

When people talk to me about my Husband I tell them he “goes alright”. When they find out that he halves the house & baby duties with me, often times tipping the scale on his side, they are visibly in awe; but I play that one down too – “So he should! I work just as much as he does.”

A fortnight or so ago, someone told me we were “perfect” & likened us to a fairy tale. I didn’t laugh directly in their face but I certainly had an internal chuckle. It did get me thinking though.

The first year or so nearly killed us both. We were two entirely different extremes; Jacob was the easy going good guy who had learnt to lie his way around tough relationship situations just to keep the peace. I was the high strung, emotional crazy wench with serious depression & anxiety issues. So, lies were told, trust issues ensued. Fights were so often sometimes I wonder if we had a break between them. Words were said, things were done. It was ugly. There were so many times we both had the mind to walk away. Was it worth all of this?

And that’s when the fairy tale comes in. There was no evil witch, no fire-breathing dragon. We were our own villains. But we worked so unbelievably hard at us. We talked. We cried. We screamed. We went to therapists. We talked again & again & again. Jake learnt not to lie to cover up his mistakes. I learnt to let go of things & found a proper balance to control my anxiety & depression. We slowly but surely overcame the horrible parts of our tale & suddenly it was clear skies. 

We decided to get married. Then we decided to make a tiny human. Through all of that, I can assure you, it has not been “perfect”. My Husband still makes big mistakes, like packing a bag to leave the night we found out we were pregnant… Or calling me the morning of our wedding to say he wasn’t sure he wanted to get married that day. I love the timing of his meltdowns. Speaking of meltdowns, mine are still quite often – more so over spilling formula & not getting all of the washing done. A “fight” is a big thing for us, almost something to mark on the calendar they are so rare. We know how to talk to each other & we know how to help each other. All thanks to that one year of hell.

What set these thoughts to paper was a song. A song I had heard so many times before but never thought of in any relation to my life – until now. Not supposed to be a love song but the words ring with so much meaning, they sound so much like our fairy tale. Relationships are always messy so find someone to share the mess with.

‘Mess is Mine’ – Vance Joy

Resolutions to Last

A few weeks ago Hubby & I were discussing the upcoming end of the year. Jake believes that New Years Resolutions are silly & that if people need or want to change things they shouldn’t wait for a new year to do it but start working on it straight away. He has a point, of course. I on the other hand LOVE the idea of New Years Resolutions. For me the ticking over to 12:00am - although not ‘celebrated’ (usually pumping out the z’s well & truly before midnight) - brings hope & excitement. The first day of the first month of a brand new year sings opportunity to me. A fresh start. Another round of birthdays, Easter, Christmas & everything in between. Another 365 days with the knowledge & insight gained from all of the years past; but as is true every year that ticks over, I will have an extra 12 months of wisdom & ideas to guide me. An entire years worth of failures, triumphs, heartaches & joys that I did not have at the beginning of any new year before.

In saying all of this 2017 started in a way that I would never have deemed appropriate of being exciting, hopeful or happy. I woke up on the 1^st of January in a 2-star Motel Room with nothing but Milo for breakfast & heading to my in-laws for a get together that would last most of the day. My in-laws aren’t big fans of me, or I them. It was a long day & came out the other side anxious & itching to be home. The support & love I am always surrounded with when I feel downtrodden was on the other end of a 12 hour drive. So instead of waiting until the early hours of the morning to take off, I asked hubby would he very much mind getting his ass in the car - right that instant. He didn’t miss a beat. Packing like we would win a prize if we were faster, we hit the road north at 4:30pm Queensland time.

Through the hours of driving in the rainy darkness I had so much time to think. Between stopping to change shitty nappies & refuel (ourselves & the car) it occurred to me that I still hadn’t made any promises to myself for the year ahead. I contemplated. Lose weight – obviously. Get ahead financially – another obvious one. I went through a few until it occurred to me that each New Years we make resolutions to force ourselves to do the things we hate or that are hard to do. Diet. Exercise. Saving. For me, all of these things come & go. Sometimes we spend our way through the months & other times it’s 2-minute noodles for tea & no new razors. Some days I do all things health & fitness. Other days I eat copious amounts of carbs & sugar & nestle myself into the couch so good I need a hand getting up. So no, this year I couldn’t bring myself to decide I wasn’t allowed to eat badly or splurge on the next Lego sale. I knew none of that shit would stick, it never does. I will happily ebb & flow on these.

Then I wondered what actually made my happy. So many things; good books and movies, bubble baths & tattoos, good music & dancing, gardening & baking, taking photos & writing. Little tiny day to day things. Things I have not let into my life quite enough because I have spent so much time deciding to be pro weight-loss & financial gain. I decided to make sure I filled my days with all of these little joys. I also realised that what made me that absolute happiest was my people. My family & friends. Not just them though. Yeah, they go alright, I love them to absolute bits & they of course light up my life but what really makes me swell with excitement, joy & contentment is seeing them happy.

And so my Twenty Seventeen truly begins – and the decision to make myself & everyone in my life as happy as possible. To simply enjoy. I think this one might stick & might be the resolution that lives on into each year.

Happy New Year to all. I hope your days & months fill with everything you hope for to make an amazing year.

Golf Balls & a Possum

Today I noticed that we had put away more savings than we had planned - a nice surprise with baby not too far away & several appliances that could finally die at any given moment. To celebrate, I asked my Husband if he wanted to do a short-notice date night. It's not a regular thing for us, so Jake was stoked. We both looked forward to it all day & planned to walk the dogs, go out for a nice meal & then see where the wind blew us.

Stress strikes me down most days. I have small panic attacks, work through them as usual & move on. Mostly, I've learnt to deal. Mostly is the operative word. Sometimes things overwhelm and stump me for what can be hours & sometimes days. So when I got home & seen the golf balls, I may have had a slight meltdown.

Our neighbours over the back, you see - are (for lack of being able to filter my absolute rage for these people) a bunch of assheads. From the parents all the way down to the screaming toddler. We have had some serious issues with them that called for police coming to the house and a security camera being bought for the back yard. With the knowledge that we were going out, I turned said security camera on and happily chatting to the dogs, went about checking it was all in position. Well it was, with about six golf balls hanging in our anti-dog-escape fencing directly above it. Of course, paranoia kicked right in - "They've been trying to knock the camera down with golf balls so they can climb over and hurt the dogs or break in!!" I felt sick to the core. I put the dogs inside and went directly to our next door neighbour to ask it maybe their kids had been playing with the balls and put them there. She knew nothing of it and had pretty much the same reaction as me "Those bastards!"
That was the end to date night. I was not leaving the house or my dogs with the knowledge that these people were actively trying to knock the camera down.

Jake came home & I pointed to the balls, I had by then brought inside. He excitedly said "Golf Balls!" with a lopsided goofy grin that I could have decked him for. How could he not be concerned about where they came from & why I was obviously upset!? "I collected them when I took the dogs walking on the golf course." That was his next cheerful little sentence. I actually buckled with relief, causing a flood of "are you ok's" & many apologies after I explained what had been the obvious scenario in my mind. We laughed it off, took the dogs for a walk & got ready to hit up one of our favourite restaurants.

Our night was fun & relaxing. There was Mexican food, discussions about what to ask at prospective day-cares for Charli & then 3 rounds of horrendous bowling (mostly on my part). We headed on home with take away dessert - another of our favourites; Gooey Caramel Cheesecake. Music up loud & keen for pyjamas, we roared onto the highway in my beastly little Yaris, Betty... and there it was, the next source of destruction for my fragile little anti-stress bubble. A Possum. Too late to brake in time and going too fast to swerve on the wet road, with cars coming up behind me & cars on the highway next to me. I had nowhere to go - I tried to judge my car placement on the road to get over the top of the cute little critter. I got his tail. I checked the rear vision mirror to see that he was fine & that another thoughtful human was trying to do the same & managed to swerve over little possum as well. Beyond that though, I don't know of little possums fate.

I immediately clapped a hand over my mouth, the overwhelming nausea set in super quick. Breathing through my nose to try and quell my stirred up Mexican dinner reappearing, I only got half way home before I couldn't hold it down anymore. I managed to get off the road & the door half open before I spewed all over the door frame - then again in the gutter before my dear husband took the keys and got us the rest of the way home. He also cleaned the car spew and let me sob a little about my little possum buddy and what part I might have played in scaring or hurting him. He also got me a spoon & my slice of cheesecake & sat with me while I then pondered if I was okay enough to remove myself from the couch.

I realised tonight at some hazy point during delicious dessert and salty tears that as much as I freaked out, I never wanted to forget. I don't want to forget the hilarity of my short-lived golf ball obsession. I don't want to forget my Husband showing me his daily route to walk the dogs & which houses have dogs that bark & where Nelson & Maggie both always stop to wee. I don't want to forget the high-five & little excitement I got when we decided that we would read the BFG to Charli, even though she is still growing in my belly. I don't want to forget sore fingers from bowling balls and the surprise of getting a strike among all of the gutter-balls. I especially never wanted to forget my Husband, reassuring me with pats on the leg & stories about how fast and smart possums are, cleaning the spew out of my car without even a question or being asked to & taking the next small step for me when I am stuck whimpering on the lounge.

Because its all of the thousands of days like these that will end up being my life & really, what's not to love about that.

Breaking all the rules...

Online dating is something I'd refused to dapple in. Ever. It was a personal rule in my life. I broke this rule after some pressure from outside influences, finally giving in late last year & signing up to a few sites. eHarmony was the only one that lasted more than a week. I signed up for 3 months & made myself a few rules to get me through what I envisaged to be a horrible experience.

One of these rules was that I would not, under any circumstances, respond to an 'icebreaker'. (Basically the same as hitting a 'like' button) If someone was interested enough in me they would talk to me, asking & answering questions, even if prompted from the system.

I held fast to this rule, checking out the profiles of the guys who had sent them & rolling my eyes.

Then, suddenly, this one guy.

I seen the 'icebreaker' notification, sighed, and checked his profile. I read it, and re-read it. I looked through the photos more than once, and then, an internal battle raged. 

I had made a rule, dammit. 

Who was this guy, to come up on my screen & not allow me simply ignore his existence? 

I broke my rule.

Now, I'm not overly Facebook savvy. I post a lot, like & comment on things I see, but stalking is just not my forte. It is also not something I like to do. Another little rule.

How else though, to get to know someone who lives a touch under 1000kms away? 

Talking was fantastic, but he could say & act however he pleased & I would know no different.

Seeing how he interacted with family & friends on a public forum was what I was after.

Facebook stalker extraordinaire I became. Another rule down the drain.

It was the 4th of January when Jacob asked me if I would like him to fly up & take me out to dinner at some point. Naturally, when I seen the message I was completely out of range. It only took me less than 10 minutes to get close enough to my sister's wi-fi to respond, but I can assure you, it was a very long 10 minutes.

There was absolutely no hesitation for me to say yes.

As things turned out, Jacob couldn't make it up here until mid to late March. After a couple of phone calls & daily conversations, my impatience & excitement got the better of me. I booked a flight to Sydney for the weekend.

All week I could barely think of anything else except the upcoming meeting of this man that I had been talking to constantly for what seemed like forever. He made me laugh, shared in my boring day-to-day life & didn't question when I was being a complete dork. In fact, he got it. There was also no judgement when he called me for the first time ever & I continuously slurped on ice-cream & Milo throughout the entire conversation.

The day before I flew out (Valentine's Day), I spent nervously shopping for something nice to wear, getting my hair cut & barely eating a thing thanks to the wonderful nerves coursing through my body. I was entirely convinced I would walk off that plane & be a disappointment. Post retail therapy, I came home to a long-stem rose & a card with the message "Hey Gorgeous" and nothing else. Now my confusion here was that it could only have come from Jacob, he says those exact words to me. A lot. But I had never once given him my address.

Insert sneaky best friend who had asked me for my address earlier that week for "contact details" on a form.

The effort to find out my address, send a rose & note for me to receive on Valentines Day pretty much blew my mind. It also abated all of my fears...

Mostly.

So last Saturday I got on a plane, on my own, for the very first time in my life.

I avoid getting onto any sort of aircraft as much as possible, only swallowing my fear of flying to take my Mum various places. There was no rule as such that I would never fly alone... It was simply something that I would never do unless absolutely necessary, because lets face it, I lose my mind. Flying makes me panic. My anxiety attack is not pretty. I cry silently, I clutch at the hand rests every time the plane so much as rattles. I honestly fear that I will not make it to the other side. Not due to the plane crashing, but simply because the gaping hole in my chest feels as though it will be the end of me.

I managed to put one foot in front of the other & board my flight, hoping & praying I would sit next to someone who I could talk to as a distraction. I sat next to 2 gorgeous young girls from Germany who struggled with their English. Of course.

I also made it to the Sydney airport, hitting the tarmac with so much relief I could feel it in every tip of my body. Disembarking though, only brought with it an entirely different anxiety.

What if this was entirely awkward...

The second I walked into baggage claim, to see Jacob stand up & come towards me, instant excitement, familiarity & a complete sense of warmth took over everything else. He also had a block of chocolate I had jokingly claimed I would need after enduring a flight... that wasn't including the other 2 blocks waiting in the car, either.

I spent an amazing weekend, talking, sharing, laughing & being doted on. Even the odd moments of silence were comfortable & relaxing. I discovered a whole lot more about Jacob, setting my feelings even more alight. It was almost a silly question to ask, 'where to from here?'
We have something very special to pursue.

I remember my Mum once telling me it was not just about how I may feel about someone, it was about how they made me feel about myself.

Now I understand.

Sometimes it's as simple as Milo Cookies...

I was depressed today. I'm not gonna sugar coat it. I've been in & out of depression going on 4 years now. Extreme highs & dangerous lows with constant anxiety nipping at my heels.

This is okay. I don't blog to relieve my problems, I blog when I am inspired. So please, read on.

I just spent a lovely weekend in Pottsville, seeing my nieces, nephews, pregnant sister & newest brother-in-law. Their amazing beach house was filled with big belly laughs, constant chatter & a feeling of life.
On the way there it was freeing to be driving with the windows down, singing at the top of my lungs (partly to drown out the horrific crackle of my very worn-out speakers).
Walking along the beach, greeting passers by & feeling pure happiness just watching the other beach-goers enjoy some simple pleasures - horse-riding, fishing, playing fetch with their dogs. I could have spent eternity on that beach.

It wasn't until I got home, exhausted & sunburt, I crashed out on my couch. Waking up from a dreamless sleep I found my self in the dark, alone with anxiety creeping through the cracks. It's not the first time & I'm sure it won't be the last. I made myself hot drinks, chatted to my friends & got through until I found sleep again.

Suddenly, it was time to get ready for work. But this time my sleep hadn't been without dreams & they were not pleasant.
My dreams have always been pretty intense, keeping me awake through the night for months at a time. They increase my anxiety on a regular basis but since getting my new dream-catcher I haven't been having any issues at all. Whether our old friends the Indians were onto something or simply by the power of my mind, it had worked for a while. Not today. The dreams had me overcome with panic.
Waking up & remembering a dream is one thing, waking up amid one already lost in tears & fear is another.

My panicked crying is a pretty shoddy sight to be had, I'm sure. I can barely breathe, there is no control or level of dignity. I tried to shake it off, get up & move on. No dice. Shamefully I didn't have the willpower or the care. I gave up. I stayed that way until 11:30 in the morning. It took me all those hours to find a way out of bed. I numbly went about doing housework, trying to make some use of myself, hoping I'd feel better.
A load of washing. A load of dishes. Couch. More tears, more fear, complete helplessness. I talked to a friend. I felt no better. Into a hot shower with a bottle of wine I went.

It's hard to admit that I gave in. I never want to feel the low. It's unimaginably horrible. But after all these years I know I am the only one who can fight back. No matter how much support, no matter how many times I fall, I am the only one who can truly help myself. All of you out there who know it will understand. Depression is not something we choose. It's certainly not something we want to feel. It's suffocating, all consuming & sometimes although we fight, it wins us over for a time.

Today it won.
Tonight it will not.

With nothing but a chuppa-chup & half a cup of warm Milo in my belly all day, I knew the depression was starting to slip away when I suddenly felt hungry. Problem: I have just about nothing to eat in my house at the moment. No milk, bread or eggs... no, you know, food. The nearest food was at the servo. Sorry, I refuse to pay triple the price for grocery items nor go out in to the cold for them.

Digging time. Butter. Flour. Sugar... Milo:  Inspiration.

I don't measure when I cook anymore. I'm a 'roundabout that much' kinda lass. Consistency & taste tests are the best. So sorry guys, no recipe for this.

And here you have them... Milo Cookies. My most yummy spur-of-the-moment creation yet.
One of the smallest things to happen in my day yet the biggest combatant of my disabling depression.

So hold on all of you out there who feel it too. You're not alone & you're certainly not doing anything wrong. When it gets too much, the answer can be something as simple as Milo Cookies...