Six Degrees

I have always been dubious of the Six Degrees of Separation theory. It has always seemed to me to be just a little too neat. But as of now I have to revise my opinion.

The reason for this reassessment of my position is down to Facebook (other social networking sites are available) and runs thus:

• I have a connection on Facebook with an antiques dealer in San Diego - I don't know him. 
• We linked up through an art dealer in Salt Lake City - who I also don't know. 
• Who knows a poster dealer in the Sweden - who I do.
• The other evening the Arts Dealer posted something on his wall to which I replied. Someone from his circle of friends posted something back, with a remark for me, and we got into conversation. This chap is back here in the UK and lives just a mile or so down the road. Given his interests and location it is almost certain that we have either a friend in common, or that he and his family have at some time come and seen a show where I work. I may even have met him.

But all this means that there is a problem. Apparently I can't count myself in this chain - which makes sense I guess - so the chain is either to short and the world far smaller than we thought, or two steps of my chain are unaccounted for.

It would be interesting to know which it is.

Hard as nails

For the last four weeks I have had the most fabulous nails. Not acrylic, manicured or even painted, just fabulous. As I used to; back when I was at college and later whilst working in galleries. Long, natural, unpainted nails. The sort of nails that are as long beyond the finger-end as they are back to the cuticle. the sort of nail that fascinate people and lead them to say things like "Are they real?"

It has been most enjoyable. They click satisfyingly on door-frames and hard surfaces, they make little papery sounds against one another, and feel as smooth and as cool as bone against your skin. Of course they would be no good used in anger against someone else's skin; they's just tear off. But boy do they look like they could do some damage!

Now the only reason they've gotten like this is because of my sick leave. No lifting, no driving and lots of sitting around. And with no work; no pounding away on a keyboard, no fumbling with huge bunches of keys, no lugging boxes of ice-creams, or rummaging through bags of change to chip or bend them back. Heavenly.

But off they have to come. My sister is wallpapering her dining room and has requested my support. She's not done any wallpapering for a long time, then again neither have I, and we have most certainly not done DIY together in an age. I am going to interfere, she is going to get cross and we will most assuredly shout at one-another as some point.

My sister knows all this as well as I do, but this is her solution to the challenge of keeping my mind off my partner's health scare. So tonight, off shall come my invalids' nails, so that tomorrow no nails will be inadvertently poked through any drops of expensive wallpaper.

Therapy.

Thanks sis!

Visitors

I need to focus on something other than heath worries. For a start it is making me miserable, when I'm miserable I don't sleep properly and when I don't sleep properly, guess what? Yup: miserable, tired, unhealthy woman. But beyond that, let's be honest, whining is just plain dull for everyone not directly benefiting from the sheer self-indulgence of it..

So, time to accentuate the positive find something else to occupy myself. I am  not going to dwell on what health advice my partner is currently ignoring at the doctor's surgery. Neither am I going to spend the morning trawling the internet and scaring myself. And I am absolutely not going to blub down the phone to any more relatives. Not today anyway.

So - looking for diversion - today I checked my stats...

Now, a day or so ago I rather jokingly imagined that I had an American readership. And whad'ya know...

I do! I have an American readership! Or rather someone (emphasis on the one) from that far distant shore has set off the tripwires on the monitoring gizmo. But that intrepid explorer was not alone, Canada has taken a peak too, thrice! I hope I didn't depress them.

I wonder what they were looking for?

I wonder if they will be back?

Crumbs...I'm going to have to up my game.

Feeling Helpless II

Please excuse the bittiness of this post. I'm trying to think my way through so many things just now

The doctors have spoken: hypertensive retinopathy caused by high blood pressure. Tablets and 2 weeks off work.

Except of course it isn't as simple as that. I have been reading up on Hypertension and what I'm reading scares me.

There are multiple causes and he scores highly on almost all of them. they include stress, irregular exercise, poor & irregular diet, binge drinking, smoking and Vitamin D deficiency. My partner scores highly on all but one.

He works for the emergency services, in a high stress role. He works long hours, they don't get the breaks they are entitled to, so he can't eat sensibly at work. Because of the shift work he doesn't really eat sensibly when he gets home either. Because of the nights, he doesn't get enough sunlight so doesn't get enough vitamin D. Add to that a traumatic divorce, our sometimes explosive relationship and a fairly consistent history of emotional body-blows dealt by life and you have a man who has had a tendency to use alcohol as a crutch too. On the plus side - he's never smoked, runs and has been trying to get fitter.

From what I've been reading the eye bleed is a fairly extreme symptom and could indicate that things have gone rather far. He has certainly been suffering from a lot of headaches recently.

It was only a couple of months ago that I was pleading with him to change the way he lived for his children's sake. Now it turns out that he is a recipe for the stroke I feared. 

I have to work out how to help without making the stress greater.

Feeling Helpless

When things go wrong for the people you love, you want to help. You want to be able to be with them, hold their hand and offer reassurance. You know you can't make it better, but you want them to have the comfort of your being there; and you want the comfort of being there with them. But that isn't always possible - and it hurts.

The man I love lives hours away from me. He works very hard and doesn't see his children as often as he wants. This week he worked about 70 hours and - since he always counts the minutes till the children can be with him - it has been a very long one. So it has been especially hard that, this weekend, something should happen than meant he needed to go first to the optician, then to A&E, then onto a ward, and that the children should have to go back to their Mum just hours after they'd arrived. Having just returned to school after the summer break, they will have had so many things to tell him, so much that they will have wanted to squeeze in that precious 2 days with Daddy. It breaks my heart.

And me? I am sitting at home, unable to drive, unable to get there, sending text messages with offers of help that I know are futile; waiting to hear what the doctors say.

Waiting.

I'm not good at waiting.

The Mooncup Conundrum

There was something else not touched on in the hospital's literature on the Suburethral Sling (TVT) procedure .

The Mooncup question.

After a TVT procedure you have to embrace abstinence and, additionally, are not allowed to use tampons for 4-6 weeks. But what about a Mooncup?

A Mooncup - or Divacup for all those 100s of US readers I have now I am on my 3rd post - is a woman/environment friendly alternative to traditional disposable sanitary products. It is a silicone cup that sits just inside you and collects that fluid which in TV commercials is always a nice, non-threatening, pale blue colour. Now because it does sit so low in the body I wondered if I would still be ok to use mine. I haven't worn an external pad since I was a teenager and did not relish the prospect, not even for just one month, not one little bit. 

So.... I asked the nurse. Correction I asked the Gynaecology nurse. 

Me: "I don't use tampons, I use a Mooncup, would I be alright using that?"

Her: "What's that?"

Me: "It is a silicone cup, it is an alternative...." - you get the picture...see above...

Her: "Never heard of one, are they new?"

Me: "No, the idea has been about since the 1930's, though then they were made of rubber."

Her: "Oh, you learn something new every day."

Outcome? The Gynae nurse learned something new and hopefully went away and did a bit of research. The patient didn't and had to use pads.

Is it unreasonable to expect a healthcare professional, working in the Department of Female Plumbing, to au fait with all the types of sanitary protection on the market? - Discuss.

What is the nature of the emergency?

I can't drive at the moment.

It isn't that I have been banned or anything dramatic like that. The fact is that I recently had a small surgical procedure - intended to ensure that I will never be one of those old ladies that smell faintly of urine - and as a consequence am not allowed to climb behind the wheel of my little tank until I can "perform an emergency stop".

How one is supposed to establish than one can once again perform said emergency stop, without putting back onto the horizon the prospect of drifting through old age accompanied by Hint de Eau de Bus-Shelter, isn't addressed in the any of the plethora of poorly photocopied, contradictory and frankly scary information sheets that were thrust into my hand by the nurse at the pre-op assessment.

Should I sit in my armchair, indulge in a solo rendition of The Wheels on the Bus and pretend to take a spin round the skid pan at Brands Hatch? Perhaps I should go out and attempt to double-dig the garden. Or borrow a particularly large dog, take it for a long walk through a field brim full of nice juicy rabbits, then hang on to its lead and hope...

Hmm...

I think I'll just practice on the Dyson. Downstairs only though; I'm not allowed to lift either.