I appear to have lost my voice here a wee bit. Usual reasons, really. Time. Tiredness. Trepidation over what sentence might just bite me on the arse at a later date. I think about lots of posts; every day, in fact, so I am going to have a try at blogging every day this month week, and, umm… see what happens.

Of course, I’m currently parked a little on the outside of self as I’ve been swallowing opioids like sweeties, so I hope I actually remember I’ve said that by tomorrow. Following an ibuprofen stock control blip, I was left with codeine as the only pharmacological line of defence between me and and savage internecine uterine war last night. I ingested sufficient quantities to put me into a most peculiar half-doze, thoroughly discombobulated and bewildered, and yet I remained in uterine anguish, which seems quite unfair.

Harry sat up to guzzle his usual half-pint at 2am and found he had mislaid his water bottle among the burgeoning soft-toy demographic of his bed. This generated prolonged yells of protest, and an eventual room upgrade, whereupon he promptly emptied half the bottle into our bed. I was dopey, but not that dopey. Cue immediate downgrade, and more protests.

Not a bad sleeper these days, Harry does go through the odd spate of poor nights. The night before last, he turned up at the side of our bed at 4am – having become disillusioned with either the temperature, the entertainment or the view in his own room – evidently aware that it was still very much sleepy-time, as he was cuddling his bedtime co-pilot, Gromit, firmly under one arm. Which would have been monstrous cute, had it not been, you know, 4am.

He seems to have had a narrow miss with Chicken Pox – we don’t vaccinate in the UK, we suffer in Spartan spots instead – which is flourishing unhealthily in children all around us, but which I think has now passed him by. I have been wielding the torch suspiciously over his face and chest when I go to bed, and my dreams have been populated by a strange hybrid of Harry and some chap out of Star Trek that I dimly remember as being a set of ambulatory red spots. Not a good look on him.

And I’m off to bed. I have an appointment with an anaesthetist tomorrow afternoon, whom I have to convince I am thin enough to safely knock out. Consultant told me I should shrink to at least 88kg before surgery- which I have, provided I am allowed to strip entirely naked on a kind set of scales – but she has also told my GP in a (lovely) letter that I am supposed to be getting down to a BMI of 29 before she operates. I will need to remove my clothes AND cut off all my hair AND thoroughly empty my bladder PLUS lose another 12lbs of excess baggage from somewhere about my person before I can tick that particular box. There is nearly two stone less of me than there was in early spring, but there is technically still much too much of me for a 6th September surgery date. I wonder if a corset will assist my camoflage?



10 Responses

  1. Perhaps you might just stand sideways, leer alluringly, and palm the doc a large banknote.

  2. Oh, how I’ve missed you.

    Aaaaaaand now I have to go look online to see how much it would cost to purchase a stuffed Gromit for Buddy over here in the US.

    Congratulations on your weight loss!!

  3. Nice to hear you once more!

    Wensleydale, Gromit? Awww. Harry is a child of excellent taste. And immune system (knocking on wood).

    Weight loss news is truly impressive. WELL DONE. Wow. Good luck today.

  4. That’s amazing weight loss! Congratulations! As for the BMI, isn’t that all kind of bollocks (as you Brits say) anyway? Well, good luck today and I hope you get the go-ahead!

    As for the laryngitis … gosh, I wish you didn’t have it, but I wonder how it can be avoided without a very secret place to write and a very strong password. And even then …anonymity is just so ephemeral on the web.

  5. I’m impressed with the weight loss, you go girl.

  6. I want a Gromit! Really quite badly!

    Why is it Everyone and Everything is Uncooperative just when you’re hurting like the bloody blue blazes and drugs are doing The Weirdness to the inside of your skull?

    Fingers very crossed all goes well at the appointment, and also that they plan on putting some kind of referee in there when they do go in to Sort The Uteri Out.

    They had BETTER Sort The Uteri Out. You have small persistent adorable sleep-disturbers to deal with. No one should have to deal with yelling at 4 am while their uteri beat seven bells out of each other as the codeine attacks the wrong end of them alltogether.

  7. AND I am a peculiar mix of envious and delighted about the missing 2 stone.

    AND AND I miss you and wish you blogged more and really really see why you don’t. *sigh*.

  8. Holy shit TWO stone? You deserve a medal (or a cake. or a medal that looks like a cake!)

    Well done you – that’s awesome!

    And I miss you too. Especially since we were round the corner from your neck of the woods but I couldn’t loosen MIL’s grip on us long enough to escape for tea!


  9. Excellent job on the weight loss! I am hopeful that your efforts will win you the surgery even if you haven’t precisely met the doctor’s requirements. Sometimes they just make stuff up to torture you, you know.

  10. […] was worried about my weight. Told to both ‘optimise my BMI’ (ie, reduce it to 29, which would be 82kg for me) AND reduce my shadow to at least that of an 88kg […]

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