Rest

Imagine if this was your day...

8am - You are gently woken by your husband. He makes you breakfast before taking the children to school. You sit at the kitchen table with your laptop, crochet, books, magazines and DVDs to hand.

9am - Your husband comes home from the school run, makes you another cup of tea and fills your glass with water before he starts work. He works from home and is in his office should you need him.

10am - Your husband makes sure you have everything you need. He passes you a banana to save you going to the fruit bowl. You think about having a shower.

11am - You shower and dress, taking your time. Afterwards you go back to the kitchen table.

12pm - Your husband makes you a cup of tea, before asking what you would like for lunch. He pops to the supermarket. You rest your head on your hands.

1pm - Your mum arrives. She asks if you need anything before starting on the housework. You explain exactly how you want the laundry done.

2pm - Your mum makes you a cup of tea, fills your water glass and then starts preparing the evening meal.

3pm - Your mum collects the children from school. You listen to them read for a little while. Your mum plays with them in the other room.

4pm - Your mum cooks. You explain exactly how you like your fish cooked, which wooden spoon for the sauce, how much pasta to put in the pan.

5pm - You eat while your mum loads the dishwasher and washes the pans.

6pm - Your husband baths the children. You sit and watch. He reads them a bedtime story. You sit and watch. Your children gently hug you goodnight. You kiss their heads.

7pm - Your husband makes you a cup of tea and makes sure you're comfortable. He spends the evening with you. You try to concentrate on a film.

8pm - You start to think about going to bed.

9pm - Your husband refreshes your water while you sort out your medication.

10pm - You go to bed.


Does that sound like fun to you? I mean, who wouldn't like to be waited on hand and foot? Me, that's who. It's horrendous. I've been out of hospital for nearly three weeks and this has been my life.

I always thought I was a stereotypical fatandlazy person, but now I realise that I hardly ever sat in one place for long. I was always doing at least three things at once. I never left a room, or walked up the stairs, empty handed. I was always busy. I rarely sat and watched television. I did everything at top speed.

On my discharge from hospital, after being treated for pneumonia, all the consultant said to me was 'You can go home now. Rest'. That was it.

Rest.

I haven't sat at the kitchen table day in day out for weeks because I like to do as I'm told, or because I'm fatandlazy, but because I physically can not do anything else. I have no energy. It is difficult to describe exactly how that feels. You're not out of breath. You're not yawning. You just have to sit down. You have to rest.

The first week out of hospital I sat and willed myself to stay alive. That sounds dramatic, but I felt at death's door half the time. Last week I progressed to being able to make my own cups of tea, but had to sit down - exhausted - afterwards. This week I have forced myself to eat more in an attempt to generate some energy and it is working. I've read the children's bedtime stories, I've folded a bit of washing and I've chopped a bit of salad. After each tiny burst of activity I go back to my seat and sit for an hour, but I am improving.

I had no idea that recovery from pneumonia could be so slow, but I understand now that it could take 4-6 months before I'm back to normal. That's a awful lot of rest. I wish I could concentrate on my laptop, crochet, books, magazines and DVDs. Most of the time I just sit and rest.


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Rest

Morphine for Breakfast

Pain is a strange thing. Once it's gone you can't remember it, although you know it was unbearable at the time. If I'm in pain now, I always compare it with the pain of being in labour. Is it worse than being in labour? It can't be. Surely labour pain set the bar at an all time high? The pain of pneumonia and pleurisy was pretty awful. Added to this I was holding so much tension in my shoulders that I had muscle spasms. I certainly couldn't sleep because of the pain.

In hospital I was given morphine in A&E, but once on the ward I must have been marked down as only give pain relief if required. With hindsight this was a mistake. Pretty soon I needed all the pain killers, one after another, until I was left sitting in bed just blinking. The pain was still there, but I was so out of it I had drifted away and been replaced by Zombie Sandy. I'd stopped screaming and crying anyway.

I saw doctors and an amazing physio. The physio reminded me to how to breathe using my diaphragm - not my shoulders. I was given regular pain killers and the option of morphine at night, when the pain was unmanageable. I took it. The early hours of the morning were worst.

After five days in hospital my blood test results showed an improvement in the sepsis and pneumonia. During the day I was fairly mobile, once I'd come round. The doctors dangled the carrot of going home, but only if I could manage without morphine. I was desperate to see my children. Then I remembered a pain management technique I had been taught. Mind over matter was worth a try.

This was the point I contacted Dawn from Think It Change It. I was her guinea pig when she was training to become a Cognitive Hypnotherapist last year. I asked for a reminder of the technique that she had taught me to help with my slipped disc. She dropped what she was doing and rang me. I spent the rest of the day practising. I repeated this mantra and used it throughout the night:
My muscles are completely relaxed. My back and my shoulder are as comfortably numb as my leg.
Mumbo jumbo you may say, but it got me through the night. It wasn't easy, but I managed the pain without morphine. I slept for three hours too. In the morning I was able to text Andy "Fruit & Fibre for breakfast" and he knew I would be coming home that day.

I can't thank Dawn, or recommend her services, highly enough. She has also helped me to remove the mental barriers that were preventing me from losing weight. At some point I'll do a ta daa post, as I am a fair bit smaller than I was last year. Dawn works from her therapy room in Dundee, but also offers downloads and online support. Check out her website to see if she can help you with phobias, pain, weight, smoking and more. She has also written a book about her personal transformation, again details are on her website. I'm proud to call her my friend.

Morphine for Breakfast

I Didn't Say Goodbye

The last couple of weeks have been a bit difficult.

I am trying not to dwell on how seriously ill I was, but I am struggling to process my thoughts. I went from thinking I had flu, to collapsing and going to A&E via ambulance. I then spent a further five days in hospital, in quite a bad way. I've been home since Saturday and am still pretty poorly.

I guess I am in shock that my life, and that of my family, could change so quickly.

I'm only 43. I had pneumonia, sepsis and pleurisy. My blood pressure dropped to below 60/30. I had hallucinations. I cried with pain, then was in too much pain to cry. I was given morphine every day in hospital. I still haven't slept properly. I've had consultants leaning over me telling me I'm seriously ill. One A&E doctor got very excited over my blood test results and chest x-ray - she'd never seen anything like them. It's all been rather surreal.

I've watched my mum worry that she was going to lose another child. I've watched my husband age. I've put on a brave face and smiled at my boys. I held on tight to them when I got home.

The worst part was realising that I hadn't said goodbye to my children. I was quite out of it as I left the house with the paramedics, but I thought if I didn't say goodbye then I would have to come back to them. Later, when I felt worse, I panicked. My babies could be left without a mummy and I hadn't said goodbye, or told them I loved them. I hadn't written them letters, kissed them or held their hands. I couldn't remember what they looked like.

Now I am home. I think I'm out of the woods, but I'm not certain. We have a great deal of support from family, friends and neighbours. When people have offered help, they've meant it. The NHS have been excellent, I was surprised by the high standard of care at Milton Keynes hospital - from staff at all levels. I've even had a home visit from my GP.

My four year old, Cash, said he'd put a wish on the wishing tree at school. He said he wished his mummy would get better. I'm doing my best, darling boy.



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I Didn't Say Goodbye