Bipolar Bear

New-found peace

2011-07-07T11:48:00.000-07:00

Nearly a year since I walked out of my job never to go back, not knowing that was how it was going to be .... and here I am, home on permanent invalid leave and I have finally found something to replace work in my life

I have always been interested in Reiki, the Japanese system of healing through use of the Universal energies. Unfortunately, every time I thought about going on a course, they were in Paris or the UK and vastly expensive. Even if I had been able to afford the course, the accommodation and travelling fees would have been too much for me.

So I was really delighted to find a course just up the road which was free for those who couldn't afford it. I wrote to them and outlined my motivations and my income. I was accepted immediately.

Nobody can imagine how pleased I was. We decided to go and camp there to save me travelling up and down every day.

Immediately, in the first session I knew I had come home. All the healing I had been doing in the past was leading up to this and when one of the other students practiced on me, a peace deeper than any I have ever known took me over.

So here I am, practicing Reiki on myself every day, meditating on the CDs we were given and getting ready to take my level 2 at the end of August. That will allow me to practice on other people and to work at a distance.

Today was the first day since the course that I have been slightly out of sorts - normally I have been walking around calm and sereine. So I spent an hour on auto-treatment and came downstairs full of energy and ready to start over.

This is really where I should be.

Stand back!

2011-06-14T11:54:00.001-07:00

Hello again.

Been on a real mega rush for a few days. Running at such speed that I made very little sense when speaking. Topics change and interweave so quickly that normal human beings can't keep up.

So, having come down again I am having to stand back and look at what I am doing. I've been keeping myself very busy since I stopped work because ........... well because I can't get used to not being useful. I was an achiever before. "Good" wasn't good enough, I wanted to be great.

So not working and not achieving has been difficult. I have taken to being very very busy with my craft work - to the point of knitting jackets I don't need or making clothes I will never wear. I have wardrobes full of lovely "work" clothes that just aren't practical in a house-ful of dogs.

Not having any orders on my books at the moment for witches or hares or other toys, I am taking a moment to breathe. There must be other things I can do apart from knit and sew.

I am told I can write - those who have read my stories all say "Oh but you must publish" -how I wish it were that easy. Perhaps that is something I can investigate further

With sunny intervals

2011-06-01T04:28:00.000-07:00

Did I tell you that I am cyclothemic? If you know what that is you have just given yourself away - you have an intimate knowledge of my condition.

Bipolar Disorder comes into many categories - but I am hyperblessed with the most difficult to manage - I am cyclothemic, meaning that rather than my ups and downs lasting days, weeks, months (or even years in some cases) I can turn mood-flips within a day.

Yes, I can start the day crawling across the bedroom floor because I KNOW I have to get up but the body won't listen. I can get past lunchtime and suddenly take off into the air like a skylark, singing, dancing, telling myself jokes and talking about six subjects at once. In other words, from the lowest downer to the highest upper in 12 hours. This, need I tell you, is very, very tiring.

We only discovered this through using the monthly mood charts suggested to me by Ben, my moonson - looking at the rollercoaster patterns over a year it became blisteringly obvious to Dr W and self that I am a fast-mover (in the emotional sense only!)

In one way this is an enormous relief because before I was on the right medication I could be in a "state" (high or low) for a long time with no idea of when it was going to stop. At least now if I find myself on an excessive, I know it won't last too long. I also have coping strategies, like using my hyper-energized states to do a massive clean up on the house, knowing that I will "crash" shortly and have to rest. Conversely, when I am falling asleep with the effort of getting dressed, well, that is just the way it goes.

The other slight disadvantage is that on a high, I don't tend to take much notice of what I am doing and I wreck my back. I stay on my computer writing my homework for hours, oblivious of the fact that I am in a spine-destructive posture .... and I feel it for days afterwards.

The sunny intervals reference is the weather - cloudy with sunny intervals which is how I feel a lot of the time.

And the best sunny interval this week is that my doctor's sister is a Reiki master so he knows all about Reiki and he is quite happy for me to go to my Level One attunement course at the end of the month. Some MDs are not into it and get quite defensive but my dear Dr M is cool - if it does no good it certainly won't do any harm he says.

Actually he is wrong - there is a possibility that as a fairly typical Bippy I could go uber-Reiki and get all obssessive about it but at least, knowing that, I can try not to. I can look at the pile of "has-beens" in my obssession box (musical instruments, weaving, tap dancing (not with my back) you get the picture) and I don't want to add Reiki to that pile.

Thank you Pamela

2011-06-01T02:40:00.000-07:00

I am deeply endebted to Pamela Curtis in her Blog "Make this Awesome" http://makethislookawesome.blogspot.com/2011/05/disease-identity.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+MakeThisLookAwesome+%28Make+This+Look+Awesome...%29
because she has just stated far more eloquently than I ever could why I am, to a certain extent, my disease.

On Facebook I discovered a pretty wonderful gang of people, most of whom make me feel bad about complaining about my small woes - we all suffer from life-long illnesses, many with no hope of cure and all of which do not render us "visibly sick" Succinctly put, it's a piss-off!

It is great to be able to indulge in mutual support and sympathy. It is rare and as I have stated a few times, nobody who is not ill can imagine, no, you cannot walk in my shoes unless you have been there.

Facebook is a great place but you mustn't take it too seriously because as well as meeting some really great people, you can also bump into some right nutters .......... and coming from me, that is a pretty serious allegation.

Not too far back I made reference to "epileptics" and I got harangued by one of the "people are not their diseases" cult. I was told that I had no right to do this, I should say people suffering from epilepsy, or perhaps even that it was "the condition formerly known as epilepsy" I forget. All I can remember is that as someone who HAS TO refer to herself as a Bipolar, a Bippy or a Manic Depressive to explain her behaviour to others efficently and rapidly, I was furious.

I asked this woman if she herself were a sufferer from the "falling sicknss" and was rewarded with the info that no - she worked with some. So here we go again - do gooders shouting their heads off on behalf of people who didn't ask for their help. I was joined by a smashing guy who is deaf .... not, aurally challenged, or hearing impared - he says deaf and we have become mates, nice bloke. He tore into this woman as well and we kind of roared over the internet "It's our bloody handicap and we'll call it what we like"

So, please don't tell any of us that we are not defined by our disease, or what we can or cannot call it or ourselves ........ it's none of your damned business. Just accept that those of us, like Pamela, like Alex and like me, who manage day-to-day with our particular disabilities and try to keep going, are entitled to choose our own nomenclature. Leave us to get on with it and we'll be very grateful.

New tracks

2011-05-29T15:23:00.000-07:00

The amazing Dr W explained something to me - it was about the brain having to work out new pathways.

If your particular brain is used to thinking its way into depressive mode, then it will automatically go that way - line of least resistance, less frightening, more familiar. Rather like on a country ramble, if you come across a lane that is overgrown, full of briars, you probably will decide not to bother going down it.

Unfortunately for the manic depressive, you HAVE to be bothered. Rather like this past few days - I have been down. There may be reasons for it, there may not .... probably not, we are privileged, we Bippies, we can get down for no reason at all.

In this case it could be a combination of a few things having gone wrong and feeling a bit useless about no longer working - no matter how much people think they would love to stop work, it is a real bummer when you do.

Or it could just be my turn - the mind has decided to trundle off down a negative pathway and here we are on a depression session - which of course has caused me to react badly when my partner got mad at me ......... which made the whole sitch worse ............ and here we are now with me trying very hard to find the positive path, to fight through the briars and nettles and see if I can get through.

And the anti-depressants. Oh don't take those away from me, they are the machete!

Still waving

2011-05-28T07:39:00.001-07:00

Three years seem to have rushed by while I wasn't looking.

I remember writing that I often feel I am in a glass box, looking out. People can see me but they can't hear what I am saying. When I am screaming for help, they think I am waving and wave back, laughing.

No matter how sympathetic people are, no matter if they also live with a Bippy, they don't know how it feels. They can't imagine living without a skin.

I don't feel sorry for myself but sometimes I do feel a bit lonely, especially when circumstances gang up to give me a sense of victimisation.

We went off on our holidays to check out Portugal, see if that might be a nice place to winter with the money we would save by not heating our house - a bit like snowbirds in Florida. Upshot? Our beloved ancient caravan died.

Not a catastrophe, we scraped up enough to buy a 2-bedroom tent so we would still be able to go away, we even managed to afford camp beds - bit of luxury, not a blow-up mattress at our ages.

Things were looking good until I got generous. The car I had been using for work wasn't being used quite so much, although I did go and visit my family and friends in England recently and I offered it to a member of the extended family who seemed to need it. Well that was appreciated but would we please deliver it to the UK? That is a large commitment financially but we were assured that we'd be reimbursed.

Apparently we will be ............ in installments! So the Old Feller and I have spent our holiday savings delivering this car and now we can't have it all back until September, which is disappointing to say the least. We were rather looking forward to going away in our new tent and still being able to have a holiday even though our caravan died.

Bearing in mind that these people know that I am on invalidity benefit and we are far from rich ... that was very unkind. May their karma be hot on their heels I wish!

So we face the prospect of four months here ... better find more things to do!

Beginagain

2011-05-24T07:41:00.000-07:00

Hmmm where to start?

Definition - Medecin de Travail - don't really have one in the UK - it is the doctor appointed by the state who gives the OK for people to work or not. All workers have to see them once every two years to be signed up fit or not. If you have been off work for a while you have to go see this person as well as your own doctor to be allowed to resume your job.

I was under all kinds of restrictions from the M de T about my working conditions and hours but in August last year it became obvious that these were and were going to continue to be, completely ignored. This of course is illegal but I can't really comment on this as it may end up being the subject of a legal action.

So end of August I was suffering all kinds of stress-related illness as well as my diverticulitis and Bipolar Condition ....... including a real whizz-banger of a back problem. Put it this way - the stress had caused everything to tense up and the more tense I became, the more stressed I got and the more tense everything went ............

Long story very short I ended up being classified as complete invalid. On one hand this is good because I no longer have to worry about one extremely bad person who didn't care how much harm she did me, I don't have to drive two hours a day and I will never allow anyone to make me ill again. Bad side is the back problem is now chronic - like the diverticulitis and the Bipolar Condition, it won't go away. Other bad side - income is now halved. I am very poor.

However .... when I went to see my social worker about some of the ancilliary things to do with being a full-time invalid, she noticed the word "Prevoyance" on my salary slip - to which I had been contributing since I started there. This is an added sickness insurance.

Funny thing is - all the times I have been off sick, and this adds up to two years or more now, I should have been receiving a supplement, on top of the government sick pay. Every time I got a cheque off the health service, there should have been another one from the insurance company. I wonder why I never got them?

I should also be getting a supplement to my invalidity pay .......... from the insurance company, through my ex employers.

I'm waiting .....

Good to be back

2011-03-03T09:02:00.000-08:00

Hello folks

You will notice that the Blog is back and it is open to all

A few more days and I will be able to catch you all up with the antics that have had me off the air for nearly six months.

In the meantime - details to follow - I'm OK, not brilliant but OK and getting better.

Another year, another op

2010-10-25T07:15:00.000-07:00

So it has become a family tradition - at the end of every year I will go back into hospital and get opened up again.

This time I chose gall-bladder (tonsils being so "last year" and having been diagnosed with gallstones back in June. Gallstones are painful but my preferred surgeon refused to countenance another op except in the direst of emergencies. Having examined my previous scar (December last year, half my lower bowel disappeared) he tutted and shook his head (which is nearly as bad as a medical professional sucking their teeth and going oooooooooooooooo no)

Finally the pain was getting too much, I was gulping down strong painkillers like sweeties and my GP agreed I should go and beg the surgeon to agree to operate.

Having been in that clinic before it was all very civilised and the nursing staff mainly hadn't changed, greeting me like an old friend which is on the one hand very gratifying ........on the other hand it does make one wonder WHY they remember me quite so much - no matter, I will agree that it is the accent and stop worrying.

There ought to be a course during nursing studies labelled "non-elevation of hope" - don't for goodness sake assure a patient that she will be out of hospital for sure tomorrow. That is the surgeon's decision and no matter what "normally" happens, this patient may be (or in my case, usually IS) different or complicated and so normal rules do not apply.

I was subject to this and it was the only time I felt truly down - some eejit had decided to tell me I'd for sure be going home tomorrow ......... and I didn't. The walls closed in around me and I felt lousy and low and I probably cried.

Another course in nurse training should be "avoidance of stupid questiond" like "are you OK? How are things?" to a person from whom you have removed the front teeth. The resulting spluttering actually means "I'd feel a damn sight better with my teeth which are in the bathroom wrapped in a bit of toilet paper, thank you" And under no circumstances pretend to have understood and pat their arm sympathetically because you really do risk a slap.

The usual personal rules do apply - up and about in no time, immediate perkiness, dropping off to lethargy and fatigue a couple of days after coming home. Of course I am again plagued with a desire to get going and do things, forgetting that I am less than a fortnight out of the operating theatre and only a week home from hospital.

Will get there eventually.

why the big pause?

2010-10-21T10:43:00.000-07:00

This is a Polar Bear joke - Polar bear walks into the bar and says "Can I have a ........................... pint of lager please?" and the barman says "Why the big pause?" So the Polar Bear says "All Polar Bears have big paws. Boom Boom!"

But my big pause has been due to my clash with work. I have eventually accepted the inevitable and lodged a complaint for harrassment against the woman at work who wouldnt abide by my medical constraints. Nothing was done of course, she got promoted to Site Manager .......... so that was really useful.

I miss Facebook but I have been advised that it is dangerous to be on FB - already the Vile Creature from Hell (as I affectionately think of her) has been snooping on my FB page and asking other people to translate it for her.

There are many cases in France of workers getting the sack for things they have written on their FB pages - one girl who was off sick with depression got caught out when she said that for once she was having a good day and went out ...... oops! Two other guys wrote that their boss was a cretin .. might have been true but it was deemed to be defamatory.

I miss my friends but it is too easy to be tracked - unless all your friends are completely watertight with their security arrangements as well, you are open to snooping. I found this out when I was tracking someone I was fairly sure was a paedophile - he went underground and by visiting the wall of his best mate, noting who was posting most often and checking the content I could work out his new alias. The on-line police were glad of the info.

You will all understand if I dont write much about my situation at work. If you want an update - email me.

Ive been in hospital - my gallbladder is now history and I am fine. Tired, swollen out like a pregnant penguin but fine. I nearly had another breakdown with the vicous person getting at me but slowly my mind is recovering - my psychiatrist wanted to write me off for three months' sick leave but unfortunately due to my status as invalid I can't do that, but it shows how potty he thinks I am at the moment.

Why?

2010-08-26T13:03:00.000-07:00

We have a very good system of protection over here. If you are ill and have been off work for a long time, there is a special kind of doctor you have to see before you are allowed to take up your job again. This doctor will make any special recommendations to your employer about conditions necessary when you return.

I'm in the special position of being a "handicapped worker" as well as a partial invalid due to my Bipolar Condition. The doctor recommended several things that should or shouldn't happen - things like not being sent on long-distance visits to far-off companies, not being brought in to work only two hours, not being given long waiting periods between lessons - all quite sensible things that shouldn't be beyond the wit of any but a total moron to realise

Unfortunately some people can't see the need for these requirements and when I complain, I'm told - no one else is asking for these privileges -no that is because NO ONE ELSE HAS MY BLOODY HANDICAPS YOU MORON

Length doesn't matter

2010-08-24T10:40:00.000-07:00

Better a sandwich amongst friends than a feast with your enemies.

So we wanted to go away - and it didn't work. We saw a notice for a Goose Fair an hour and half up the road on a Sunday. It seemed a good idea to take the caravan and make a short weekend of it before I went back to work.

We also stopped off at a motorcycle dealers to see if I could get them to furnish the papers I need to get my bike registered in France(we have only been trying to do this for about four years!)

The campsite was great, worth the four star rating. The weather was too good - burning your eyes out and no shade to sit in. The fair was fun and we bumped into a couple of neighbours.

It is worth noting that we had a better time a couple of hours from home than we did trying to travel and explore.

I will learn

Still here ....

2010-08-24T10:23:00.000-07:00

"Still crazy after all this time."

Some time has elapsed since I wrote on here.

We tried to go away for a holiday at the beginning of August, as part of the three weeks enforced leave on which my firm insists.

I had a bad feeling about it - we planned to travel through Eastern Europe, Germany, Austria and Hungary to get to Transylvannia and eventually to the Black Sea so that the Old Feller could see from the surface what he has so often viewed through a periscope.

Of course, being our holiday, it went disastrously wrong, it always does. We had our first night on the Swiss border in glorious sunshine on a campsite we know very well and from then on, it rained. I have only seen heavier rain in Singapore.

We arrived at our first camp in Hungary in a torrential downpour and found ourselves camped next to the Elvis Presley Appreciation Society who sang Elvis songs in Hungarian all night - quite an experience.

By our second day in Budapest I'd had enough. We had a bag full of damp washing that we couldn't dry and my bed was full of mud. It turned out to be a very good idea because when we got home we found that all the places we had been were now under three feet of water.

On the way home we had two disasters - an Old Feller who shall remain nameless filled the fuel tank with water, necessitating a call out from Hungarian rescue who didn't speak English, we don't speak much German and we didn't have enough cash to pay them what they wanted. Dismal.

A fan belt broke - the Old Feller redeemed himself by fixing it at the side of the road and actually having a spare one in the cupboard.

On the bright side, I fell on my knees when we crossed the border to France and kissed the ground and it was unbelievably good to be home.

We spent two weeks at home in gorgeous weather and I was reminded again how much I like being here. That is why I live here, and why I want to stay here.

Unto the hills

2010-07-17T13:21:00.000-07:00

I will lift mine eyes unto the hills whence cometh my help.

Whenever things go really pear-shaped in my life I either go to the sea or the mountains. Something about the quality of the air there changes my thinking.

We have a saying in French - change of air, change of ideas and it is right.

It wasn't much - just a couple of days on a campsite up in the Jura, going into Switzerland, looking at the mountains, enjoying the lakes, drinking in the air and the splendour of it all.

No, I don't sit there making conscious comparisons and saying my wee troubles are nothing compared to the mountains because everything is relative and my troubles ARE mountainous in my life .......... but being in the mountain air, walking and looking is a very healing process.

The Old Feller and I have talked long and hard about various problems that face us, decisions that have to be made and we have laughed heartily for the first time in ages. We've also yelled at each other and let the negative energy out.

So we have come back lighter and brighter and feeling cleaner inside than we have in a long time, ready to face the decisions and possible changes that may have to come.

Limitations and Expectations

2010-07-08T09:56:00.000-07:00

Some time ago my friends in the UK said how good it would be if I could go over and visit. I agreed - how asolutely super it would be.

So we have been planning. I've taken time off work, so have other people, we have arranged to meet up, due to my gallbladder problems some plans have been made, modified and then cancelled but my intention was always to see as many of my friends in Great Britain as possibe - and most especially my best friend, my sister, Silver Ether - we chose each other, unike all other sisters who are foisted off at birth ......... ours has been a kinship of choice.

I was even, finally, going to get to meet the partner of my Moonson - something I was looking forward to enormously.

This has all taken a lot of time and effort on the part of a lot of people, so it was with great glee that I set off yesterday to drive to Dunkirk (a journey of 5 hours plus) to take the ferry the next day and then drive from Dover to the Midlands.

Long drive? Yes, maybe but I have done worse. I drive two hours a day every time I work. Different car? Yes, but the Old Feller's Astra used to be my work car and although the clutch is stiff as hell and it is a diesel that you really have to drive, rather than cruise in, it has a turbo that makes over-taking rather a nonsense. Doddle, see yer Jack!

So I was surprised when I started showing all the signs of panic attack. I pulled into an "aire de repos" and made myself a cup of tea on my bluey - enough of a survival teacher to still have that kind of thing with me and enough of a survival instructor to feel better just for knowing that I can still do that kind of thing. I rang home.

I took an anti stress pill and started out again. It was boiling hot - that could be why my blood pressure was so high I could feel it in my temples, I wanted to throw up and I was rigid. Catatonia kept kicking in and I blacked a couple of times - not what you need when you are driving but a classic panic attack reaction. I was worried about having an accident.

At the next aire I phoned home again and got hysterical - people were waiting for me- people who had taken holidays, changed their plans, were looking forward to seeing me, ............... I was told to come home. Nothing mattered but getting me home safely

So I turned back. I deliberately chose B roads so I wasn't on a motorway, driving on auto, going "deadstare", having to look at road signs and take notice, be alert. I felt better. It didn't make me feel better to have to admit that I had bitten off far more than I could chew

Yes, I have been ill for a long time - yes, I was operated on in December, yes I need another operation now and yes, my stress levels have been through the roof recently ........... but I should be able to cope. The relief I felt at heading home, back to my village where I am safe, was dispiriting in the extreme.

I am turning into a recluse - change scares me, going places alone scares me, opening the mail scares me, going to work scares me ................ this is a bad place to be.

I will go one day - I have promised - I have made a blood oath to my sister that I will go visiting - but this time I will have to acknowledge my limitations and go by train or fly. It will be done, but in a do-able manner.

About turn!

2010-06-26T02:34:00.000-07:00

I'm Bipolar - we don't do change. Even NICE change upsets us. If I had decided I was going to sit and crochet in front of the telly and I was told Johnny Depp wanted to take me to dinner, I would be put out ............I'd go, obviously, rude not to, but the change to my plans would bug me.

So when I went to see the surgeon, having psyched myself up to accept that I need another operation, I was ever so slightly peeved when he said he wouldn't consider operating before the autumn.

I am apparently too badly scarred and it is too soon after the last op for him to wish to go in if he can avoid it. Even if he waits til Autumn, he will not be able to do a coeloscopy - it will be another bloody great zip.

I should be pleased - with a combination of low fat, choesterol busting diet and exercise I should be able to keep the gallstones at bay and not be in pain. I will lose weight, I will be svelte and smooth ............ none of my bloody clothes will fit me.

But I am still a bit peeved - I had got used to the idea of being in hospital again - it isn't that I WANT an operation .......... I just hate change.

Scalpel !

2010-06-23T12:41:00.000-07:00

Gallstones.

All this time I could have been having something done about it if we had only known that I have gallstones.

By now, of course, it is too late to do anything but whip my gallbladder out and I have an appointment tomorrow morning to go and see the guy who separated me from half my colon back end of last year.

This time, fortunately it should be a quick keyhole job - three days in the clinic, a week at home and no more said about it.

I could cry though, I really could - when is it my turn to have some good health please and could it be soon? I am starting to wilt under the strain of perpetually feeling off-colour.

The diet is good - none of the things I like - chocolate, butter, cream, cheese, sweeties, fudge, home baking ......... but I do have to admit that even one day on a reduced fat diet makes me feel heaps better. My cholesterol is through the roof and the poor young GP nearly clacked his chin on the desk when he read my blood test results.

I know why - it is because back a year last February I stopped smoking. I stopped smoking because I wanted to be healthy - I didn't want to cough my life out with lung cancer or emphysema ... so instead I have munched and baked my way to cholesterol paradise and risk having heart attacks and strokes, just like dear old Mum.

Could I be forgiven for lying on the floor drumming my fists and heels and screaming "Not Fair" just for a minute, please? Hmmm? Could I?

Here we go again

2010-06-20T11:42:00.000-07:00

I risk boring you - the granules and powders that my specialist, Dr Nappy, gave me, don't work - in fact they made things worse.

I was in such terrible pain that I went back to my GP who gave me a week off and a prescription for GOUT pills .......... no I don't have gout. He decided I was just a victim of constipation and a good clear out would do it - hence the gout pills which have a side effect of terrible trots after two days.

I'm not really very happy. Know that? I am in fact bloody furious.

I decide to change my GP - fortunately our old guy is retiring in October so that will have to happen anyway - but the time has come. It is high time somebody took me seriously.

There is a gang of two young guys who have set up in our town and I booked in with them. The most frightening thing was writing up a history of my medical disasters in the last five years - scared the bejaysus out of me, no kidding.

The new doctor has taken a new angle on things - just supposing my present troubles have nothing to do with my diverticular disease? Imagine I hadn't had an operation last December? What else could it be? He imagines that his first instinct would be gall bladder problems and while we are on the subject, my Bipolar pills have a reputation for killing the liver, pancreas etc ........ yes, I was told that when I started on them.

Whacko - let's hit that one for six then shall we? I am off to the lab for a blood test (everything possible)and I have an appointment tomorrow morning for an X ray and echograph of the abdomen - he'd like to see what is going on in there. Nice one, new boy!

So by the time I see him tomorrow afternoon, armed with my xrays, echo results and bloods, we might have a better idea of what ails me and when I see the renowned Dr Nappy again on Friday I will have a letter from my new GP informing him of the new sitch. Similarly when I see my beloved Dr W on Thursday I might have a recommendation to change my Bipolar medication.

All go, all change ............ very tiring. I have chosen to work this week. I don't have to - I could take the week off - but I don't want to. I don't want to crumple under the strain unless I have to - ideally I want to get better. I'd like to go to the UK in July with my health a bit more under control than it is now.

I love Paris ........... or not

2010-06-04T04:48:00.000-07:00

It's no secret that I am a country critter. I don't like towns and have been utterly miserable every time I have been obliged by circumstances to live in one but sometimes we have to go where we are sent and visiting isn't living.

I got sent there on a day's training course yesterday. We were supposed to get up at 4am so went to bed at 9 but of course I woke up at 2.30 and couldn't get back to sleep.

We were at Dijon station in plenty of time for me to collect my tickets - I had indulged in the new technology, ordering and paying for my tickets on line and then putting my card into the machine at the station to recuperate them on the day (yes, I was nervous, what happens if it eats my card, doesn't work, won't give me the ticket, I fumble the code number they gave me .........but it worked)

SNCF the French railways, must have spent a fortune on their trains because they are fast, clean, realiable and comfortable. The one I took in the morning was a double decker but it didn't feel cramped at all. The trip took less than an hour and a half - which is pretty good in my book. I had time to show my ticket, look around a little bit and fall asleep. I just wish that passengers would take notice of the information all over the carriages that you are supposed to go out in the corridor to use your mobile phone.

Remember Crocodile Dundee? Well that's me. Put me in a city and I feel morally obliged to behave like a total hick. I could try to act like I am used to it but that would be a pratt-fall in the making.

This being France, I was almost bound to get strike hit at some point. I did well. Got off the train in Gare de Lyon, found the correct metro line, bought two tickets and then it all went pear-shaped. In the middle of the rush hour some demonstrating clowns had decided it was a good idea to walk about on the metro lines. Personally I would have mown them down and shown them what a frustrated commuter means in real life .......... but no, the powers that be decided to stop the trains. A lot of rather smug looking people who knew about buses in Paris shot off to get a bus instead. I don't and so I looked at a guy next to me and we did that very French shoulder-hunch and head-shake which means "Fucked if I know mate".

Fortunately just after that the trains started again (the guy next to me exchanged a high-five when they announced that!) with the only consequence being the train was horribly packed. I still enjoyed it though - the metro has air blowing through it so you don't get that stuffy, claustrophobic feeling I used to in the Tube as a student.... and your hair fluffs out behind you like in a shampoo-ad. Which made me laugh.

The course was on the Avenue George V which is next to the Champs Elysee of which most people have heard but I just got to walk down the Avenue with my mobile phone clamped to my ear giving a running commentary to the Old Feller. Amazing mixture of obscenely rich and obscene poverty. A woman on the pavement holding out a palsied hand with eyes like a beaten cocker spaniel. A real little dog (Shitzu I think) on a diamante lead. They both got a pat and a kind word ........ I'm like that (and the woman got a few pennies because I'm like that too) The little dog's fashion model owner looked surprised but eventually found an orthodontist's dream of a smile for me when she realised I was harmless.

The course was pretty useless but the people on it were cool and we had lunch in the smartest restaurant this bear has ever seen. I would normally be found around the back, rifling the dustbins but they took me in the front door where there was a stunningly kitted-out lassie who didn't appear to do anything but stand there and say Hello to people - I would like that job. I am not qualified but I'd like it.

Parisian waiters are really just as snooty and unhelpful as they are reputed to be. I don't know why but the awfully nice lad from the Cayman Islands who sat next to me and who lives in Paris told me to take no nonsense from them, they are just stupid, so I stuck to my guns and asked for a vegetarian option, and yes, I was sorry, I should probably have asked in advance but no, it was OK, I would just skip the main course if it was too much trouble and thank you, yes, please thank the chef very much indeed .......... and to be fair, what they produced as a "thrown together option" was bloody nice!

Home again - leaving myself long enough for there to be more demonstrations or strikes on the way back, I arrived at the station early. Arrived at Dijon at 8.40pm just as promised with the Old Feller waiting for me with a flask of tea. We drove home through the forests and I saw foxes and deer who seemed to have turned out just to welcome me home, that was nice of them.

This morning I went out with the dogs on my own and positively bathed in the greenery and sunlight and the views around me. The old cliché is right - it IS nice to go travelling, seeing other options but oh so nice to come home.

I phone, My phone

2010-06-04T01:53:00.000-07:00

This is quite complicated so pay attention. I only recently discovered the joys of having a reliable and good quality camera on my phone. This, of course, resulted in my phone throwing its hand in.

Old Feller bought me another one, using some points I had amassed. It was crap. The quality of the pictures were rubbish. So Old Feller took it back.

I was more than a bit surprised when he spoke to me at work and told me that he had now got me a phone that I know cost over 100€.

Home I came and find that we have the useless phone still, it hadn't been swapped, and we also had said brand new expensive phone and a mobicarte - a spare SIM. I phoned the shop. I get no satisfactory explanation. I tell the guy I am going to come down to the shop. He makes it clear that even if I come to the shop he is not going to budge, we are not getting a refund.

Before getting in the car I ask him to remove his trousers because I am coming down to the shop with the useless phone he sold us and I am going to put it somewhere unpleasant.

When I inform the yoof that the Old Feller is not only Old .... he is Deaf and English - it is not noble to take advantage of such people and sell them things they don't want and refusing them their rights. What we were sold was faulty, not fit for purpose and he WILL refund us.

Short version is, after an hour of faffing about, making phone calls, sending faxes, we come home with the new phone, an in-car charger set and about £25 refund having disposed of the useless phone and the unwanted SIM card.

Funnily enough, the yoof was more upset about me hanging up on him than me threatening to insert a mobile phone up his arse ............. strange that

Learn, learn, learn

2010-05-29T22:39:00.001-07:00

Keep saying that things I thought I knew come back and bite me seriously on the bum. It isn't enough to think we understand, we have to understand fundamentally in a gut-way.

The expression "to be gutted" comes from that horrible empty feeling when you realise that everything really is lost, there is no way out and from here on in it gets no better. Rather like the time I was with a group of people and I suddenly realised that one of them had made the link between me and that drunken old woman in the pub, it was my mother and now all chances of being taken on face value as a nice gal and not being pitied or isolated were out the window.

So - you can't change the past, you can only learn by it. That gutted feeling is positive - how can I use it? Hold onto it. Remember how bad I felt and ask myself if I would ever wish that on someone I love. No? Well behave in a way so your family and friends can be proud of you and not ashamed of you. Lesson learned.

You can't exactly know the future - yes, I know - you can do divination but no matter how many Tarot you pull or runes you throw, your future depends very much on your own behaviour. The divination can show what trends, dangers or opportunities lie ahead so you are ready for them. They can advise you to start or stop something you are doing or planning but they do not tell you exactly what your future is. You decide that by your actions - if you throw sickies all the time, don't do your job properly, arrive late and bad mouth your boss, guess what? You will get sacked.

So you have only the present for sure - enjoy it and live it so that you will have a happy past to look back on.
Live life so that your memories will make you glow with pleasure, not burn with shame.
And deal with things as they come up, prepare for the future as much as possible without being a worry-wort. That way you are not piling up a heap of disaster to fall on your head next week.

You have only the present - live it.

Hooray for Dr Nappy!

2010-05-28T11:25:00.000-07:00

So I went to my gut specialist Dr Nappy. He was pleased to see me as he wanted to tell me he had been right all along - I really DID need to have my operation.

So I told him the whole sorry tale about being in pain and being worried about getting hooked on these morphine tablets. He was more than a bit surprised that I had been given them for three months and asked if nobody had suggested finding out what was causing the pain, rather than just masking it. I replied that, yes I had decided to do that for myself which is why I was there.

He did his usual trick of using my painful tummy as a trampoline and then asked me if I had noticed I was blown up like a balloon. I replied that I had noticed but thought it might be an after-effect of the op. He said no, it was a sure-fire sign of bad infection.

So it all comes out - or doesn't. They have left some diverticulae riddled colon because it wasn't possible to remove the lot - so I will always have the tendency of getting infections and blowing up.

But the really good news is that they can do something about it. I now have some fairly disgusting granules that I have to swallow whole chased by a glass of water, some powders that will go in yoghurt or water and some antibiotics that, strangely enough, are pills.

OK it is possible that with the infection having really got a hold over the last three months, it might take a while to shift. But he was pretty annoyed that I hadn't even been offered a bit of sick leave when I was in pain - given morphine, yes, offered time-out, no.

But I have been dragging myself in and falling asleep when I was very bad, I should be getting better quite soon, no need to take time out.

Decision time

2010-05-24T13:03:00.001-07:00

This is going to be a hard one to write and possibly an even harder one to read, especially for my non-pagan friends.

Just as there are several types of christianity or buddhism, there are different types of paganism. I seem to have reached a crossroads in my faith.

When I was a child I was Viking obssessed. I read everything I could find on Norse mythology and I wished with all my heart that I could be an Odinist ........ but as far as I knew it didn't exist. So I made it up as I went along and kept to the Celtic path my mother followed while being nominally christian on the outside because it wasn't safe to be a witch then.

When the time came to choose my path for my initiation I was in a Wiccan group and it was made clear to me that "the Goddess" was my only choice. I chose the Goddess in her aspect as Cerridwen of the Caudron of Rebirth, the healer, the giver of life.

I have followed this path ever since and now I find that my old love is tugging my heart in a very painful way. I find Odin alternately stroking my hair and kicking my butt ...... He wants to be noticed. He wants my attention and He now has it.

I have had to go through a very intense struggle to come to the decision that I am not sworn to one route and one route only - faith is a living, evolving thing and anything that is cast in stone and unchanging is not faith, it is dogma.

My good friends have been very generous with their support and advice and for that I thank them from the bottom of my heart.

My Lady has given me leave of absence to study for a while what it feels like to have a father. I have been completely female dominated all of my life and it is time to discover what filial duties a daughter has to her dad. This does not mean that I have abandoned the Mother completely -of course not - any more than any child in a complete family can choose between their parents - I will always look up at Lady Luna and say "I greet my Mother in the sky in all her beauty.", but now I will also be acknowledging the male side of myself.

We all have an animus or an anima but I have been denying my animus for so long that it has almost strangled me trying to escape. Now I can explore wholeness, balance and the spirit of a loving family.

In one way this is a departure for me, in another way it is going back to my childhood beliefs .......... whatever, it is an adventure and I am looking forward to it. I have already learned something - the world is not black and white, I do not have to be one thing or the other and the gods are more intelligent than us - they understand that we have to explore the alternatives, go down other paths, make friends with other beliefs .................. to be whole.

Take your pick

2010-05-19T08:14:00.000-07:00

Firstly -this is NOT a moan, complaint or whinge. It is an update.

Six months have elapsed since my operation to remove half my intestine. I am still in pain. Not the scar, that is fine. It looks dreadful but, with careful daily application of lavender ointment, it is nicely healed up.

No, the pain is internal and quite intense. It is so bad that I have had to take industrial strength pain killers that are morphine-derivative based. Guess what? They make me sleepy. Surprise surprise! This is on top of my Bipolar Condition medication which is also a pill with a side effect of .................. somnolence!

I suppose I am lucky that I can still drive at all. The other day on the way back from work I had to pull over and nod off for 15 minutes because I was falling asleep at the wheel.

Today I went to my GP to find out if it is normal to be still in pain after six months. My GP isn't very helpful - there are several possible reasons for the pain. I could be suffering from continuing diverticulitis, the reason why my intestine was originally removed. Only the most badly "contaminated" section was removed, consequently some of the remaining gut still has pockets in it.

It is possible I have adhesions. The only way to find that out, would be to go in and look. Another op. With the risk of more adhesions arising from the second op. Great!

It is also possible that the membrane between the muscle wall of the abdomen and the internal organs is getting inflamed. As my GP said, once you start messing about with it, the damn stuff gets tetchy and sensitive and plays up. Not a lot you can do about it.

We both sucked out teeth and stared at each other for a while and then I said "So we'll continue with the analgesics for another couple of months and see, shall we?" He nodded and then said that if it was no better in three months I would have to go back and see the surgeon again. I thanked him, took my prescription for three months' pills and left, knowing that I will not be going back to the surgeon. I don't NEED another op. I don't WANT another op.

I'll put up with the pain, thanks

Jammy!

2010-05-13T02:15:00.001-07:00

Not sure if all of you know this expression but Jammy is British slang for lucky - if you call someone a jammy bugger you mean they are a lucky person

I had a lovely bit of luck today. The Old Feller, on my recommendation, bought a 2kg case of strawberries from the local shop. I make jam - I make enough jam to last the year because I know that half a jar can disappear in one go on a cake or cheesecake. Consequently, when fruit is cheap I invest a lot of money on it.

These cases were 7€ - not a fortune but enough to notice, so I was pretty cross when he told me that almost half of them were rotten. Swizz! I asked if he had said anything and he said no, they wouldn't listen, he'd only get angry ....... so I did it myself.

In the shop this morning I said, very nicely, that we'd been disappointed with the strawberries and wham.............. immediately three more cases were produced to compensate us. Fair enough, they too contained a lot of rotters but there were certainly enough to make up for our previous spoils.

Restores my faith in shops completely - especially as our wee Shopi belongs to the same chain of concessions as that horrible supermarket where I got accused of stealing and they wouldn't back off ............... guess where I will and will not be shopping in the future? Right - where I am made to feel like a valued customer.

The kitchen is rapidly disappearing under a mountain of soft fruit so I'd better get out there and get jamming!

Koshare

2010-05-02T12:50:00.000-07:00

Pronounced Ko-shar-ee - the sacred clowns of the Hopi native american tribes.

I first came across the Koshare in Tony Hillerman's book Sacred Clowns. In ritual they demonstrate to the tribe how NOT to live one's life. I can imagine that this form of teaching has been used since humans first decided to tell each other how to live their lives.

I see the Chief Hunter in the flickering firelight of his cave, having done his painting (stone-age powerpoint presentation?) stamping around making a load of noise saying "Now, lads, this is exactly how you do NOT approach a mammoth, downwind, standing on twigs and stinking of human sweat"

When I read the account of the Koshare in the Mexican village celebration showing the tribe how to avoid greed by rushing around grabbing everything of value, I thought, yes, that seems OK. Yet again, in my head I understood it but in my heart I hadn't got it.

It wasn't until a real-life Koshare came into my life and I realised that this was not the first time, that it hit me how very valuable this form of teaching is. Koshare make themselves known almost instantly because you detest them. You don't know why. You honestly can't put your finger on it but you can't bear them.

Not until you remember the old adage that what you hate in others is what you dislike most in yourself, do you realise that this is a Koshare - this person is demonstrating behaviour of which you are guilty yourself and wish you weren't.

Do they "black cat" everything you say? Have they always done bigger, better, faster, stronger? Have you? Ever? Do they piss you off with some verbal or physical habit that is so obviously put-on? Sure you haven't done that?

Are they the most horrible show-offs? Well guess who else might be?

The very good thing about Koshare is that you know why they are there. It makes you think ................. doesn't it?

Private or Public?

2010-05-02T06:01:00.000-07:00

This post is prompted by a discussion on Facebook. It is a subject about which I know many people get very heated but it is one on which I can speak with authority as I have been in the position of having to make that decision.

In my very early 30s I had a positive result to a smear test - indicating the start of cervical cancer. At this time the medical reaction to this was "cold coagulation" a euphemism for burning away any possibly infected flesh on the cervix. Brutal, painful but apparently effective.

I asked my GP what should be done and when I could see a specialist as I understood cancer was not something to be messed about with. He looked somewhat shamefaced and said that, under the National Health Service system, I could only see a specialist if referred by him, the GP. OK, I replied happily, give me a referral. No, he couldn't do that. I had to have had three - yes, that was THREE - positive results on smear tests taken six months apart - which would have involved me waiting at least another year.

I sat back in my chair with my mouth hanging open. My father died of cancer aged 38. I didn't want to die in my early 30s. My GP went an even deeper shade of red and told me that there was another way around it if I didn't want to wait a year. I could pay for a private consultation with the specialist and then I wouldn't need a referral.

Anyone who has never been in this position can say I should have stuck to any kind of principles - if it is your own life or that of your partner or children, principles fly out of the window. I paid up, I saw the specialist the next week and within a month I was having half my cervix burned away.

It is possible that a delay of a year wouldn't have hurt me. Possible. But I wasnt willing to take that chance.

No, it's still there

2010-04-29T14:45:00.000-07:00

When things are going OK and the medication is working I am sometimes tempted to think that I am no longer Bippy. All is fine and perhaps I can't really remember being like this most of my life.

Then I suddenly do something so classically Bippy that I have to face it - it's still there.

I have had a few worries at work- something most people would just shrug off and the Old Feller has been telling me to just be cool, it's not a problem. But of course I AM Bippy and have no skin and it gets to me. I worry and fret and feel it so deeply that I send myself down the slippery slope to the depths.

Then I feel sorry for myself and the whole negative miserable cycle starts again. Fortunately I have very good friends who will either hold my hand or kick my butt and make me come out of it. They know that leaving me wallowing in the mudhole isn't good for any of us.

I am grateful. They are the people that will stop me trying to top myself again. I may have lost some of my fantastic creativity but I have lost the will to suicide also.

So thanks to all of them - I can't begin to tell them how much they do, just by being there, just by accepting that I am like I am .... that I am a bit weird and do funny things and over-react most of the time. And still love me.

Looking .............. good?

2010-04-22T10:21:00.000-07:00

It's weird. I used to hate having my photo taken. There is a bizarre face I pull whenever someone points a camera at me and I have a million snaps of me with that face on.

I used to like it when someone took my photo without telling me - I actually looked like me.

But these days, thanks to FB - I am getting more used to it. We are all showing each other holiday snaps, pikkies of our teddies, dogs, cats, partners ...... and inevitably us.

This morning I felt the urge to put on some make up. I have never been a huge make-up fan. I have always been able to go out with bare-faced cheek and tatty clothes. But just sometimes I get the desire to smack on a bit of slap and strut my stuff.

I suppose there was a time when I was attractive. There is one photo in my album when I lived aboard my boat and I was blonde, slim, bronzed and rather lovely ....... to the point where someone pointed at it and said "And WHO is that then?" I was embarrassed to say "Um, actually it is me".

I thought I was over that. I am older, wiser and realise that the outside doesn't matter. The inside is what counts. I am in the second half-century of my life - my face shows that. I have an interesting face. My face is slim, my body isn't. Strange combination.

Viewed from the waist up I am still rather attractive - shown in total I am out of proportion.

But I suppose I am still vain enough to wish I was still as beautiful as I was in that photo on my boat. Gods know why ............ it wouldn't earn me anything, I wouldn't be with anyone other than the Old Feller, it would just make me feel better.

Just updating

2010-04-21T14:56:00.000-07:00

It has been an experience for me, joining Facebook.

I am not a huge gadget fan. I don't have an iPod - we got one and the handles fell off (that is the punchline from a joke that was old when my Ma was a kid) but in this case it is tru - the old Feller bought me an MP3 player but didn't want to spend too much money as he wasn't sure I would use it (like you do with kids eh?) and so he took the advice of the kiddie on the electronics desk at the local shop and came home with a wee thing, the numbers of which neither of us could read on the LCD.

I went on Twitter and apart from following Stephen Fry for about a week, gave up. I heard about Facebook and it was without exception listed as "for saddos"

But I have caught up with a lot of people I met on the internet before and then lost again. This is a bit like when I really was a teenager. Even though Penzance was such a small place, we the spending teenagers would pick a pub, decide it was the biz and go there for a month or so.

Then for no reason we would decide to go somewhere different - and nothing clinched it - we could go to pseudo elegant, pricey places, down-at-heel working men's pubs.. what mattered was that we, the in crowd were there - and it was us who decided. There were those who never actually caught up with us. They were alway one pub behind.

And this is how the internet is like my adolescence.... I now have friends I have never met. I know them better than I know my family. There are people I speak to every day and I love. I have spent 30 years not speaking to some people in my family - we are putting that right and it was down to the previous generation.

But it is weird that I care so much about my on line family - I see us as a family that live in a big house and are out a lot of the time - we leave each other notes on the fridge doors .... I leave a post-it on my best friend's bedroom door if it is personal. I care about my family too, of course I do. But there is so much I don't know about them, whereas I know just about everything about my online family.

Even friends of theirs pop by. I just met a friend of friends who is going to have a sex change - really looking forward to when I come home and that friend is around - that is a bottle of wine around the kitchen table - because I am sure I will be able to identify with that .............. so much of what I do is bloke, bloke, bloke.

But I am ashamed to say that I can't always remember the names of my birth families' husbands, wives and children- maybe I can take the opportunity of FB to catch up

Questions

2010-04-19T06:46:00.000-07:00

This is going to sound a bit bizarre to those of you who know my faith.

It feels a bit weird too, seeing as I am a priestess, duly initiated and ordained.

I have always thought to myself that we use names of gods and goddesses to explain one gigantic force, male and female that is just too big for us to comprehend. So we make gods and goddesses in our own image and we can understand them.

So it doesn't matter if people follow one pantheon or the other, they are all following the quintessential Lady and Lord ....... the masculine and feminine energies in the world.

So far so good. I am a priestess of Isis of Ten Thousand Names (hah! even back then I went for the Great Mother in all her Incarnations) but if backed into a corner I would say my dedication was to Cerridwen of the Cauldron of Rebirth.

But just recently I woke up and asked myself if the druids haven't got it right on the button and there is only spirit. No gods, no goddesses, just the essential life force in every thing .... you , me, trees, rivers, sky, everything that has the spark of being. Awen? Arwenn? No idea how you spell it but that strikes me as a more sensible answer.

I have always respected the spirits of place - when I go somewhere I salute the guardian spirit of the place and ask to be admitted. I try to see the star spark in every creature (including people) I meet although some of them make it very hard work indeed.

So here I am - my robes have been packed away upstairs for a long time now - I don't even think priests and priestesses are necessary. Everyone can communicate with the spirit the way they want to (the Quakers have it right here) and it is only because some people want a person in authority to say the right words - death, birth, joining together, coming apart ........ it has to be made "official" which is why I used to officiate for others.

There is no call on me to do that now - I am in a pagan-free zone. Instead I devote myself to my role as healer - another friend in the village has cancer, bless her. I am doing what I can to protect her from being burned by the radiation treatment - already she looks more cheerful and optimistic - she's been to see the healer, nothing can go wrong and if she feels apprehensive, she can go back again. She has her charmed stone, she can take it back for re-charging like a battery - she'll be fine.

But I start to wonder whose power I am channelling. Certainly not mine.

Bring out your bed!

2010-04-17T02:38:00.000-07:00

We don't have car boot sales here. As is pretty well known, there is enough red tape in France to tie up each of its inhabitants ten times over. So the amount of administration involved in setting up a car boot sale and preventing undesirables laundering their dirty money or fencing hot property (that is the term, isn't it?) .... is obviously mind-bending.

We have just discovered that we are going to have an "Attic Emptying" next weekend - yes they give you a lot of notice. We have had to fill in a form swearing on our honour that we are not in the business, that we will only sell our own, used possessions and that we haven't taken part in more than two other of these affairs in the last 12 months. Given that we also had to give our names, dates of birth, numbers on our ID cards, driving licences, car number plates etc (this is pretty standard) it would be rather hard to cheat.

So now comes the interesting part - seeing as I had just despaired of ever finding an Attic Emptying near us and put most of my unwanted goods for sale on eBay ...... we go looking for stuff to fill the rather modest 3 metres we have booked at the even more modest price of 6 euros.

I have only been at it for an hour and I could already fill the stall with yarn and fabric. The old Feller has been out in the barn and could now open an antique shop with the implements he doesn't want - chainsaw too big for either of us to handle, bicycle I got given and have used about twice, it's all going.

And it will be fun - it is another of those "all in it together" village affairs that I so love. We'll be lined up along the road by the river, ^poking about in each other's stalls and gossiping - who's had an operation, baby, divorce, extra-marital affair etc.

All I need now is time - time and a bit of patience!

Forget it

2010-04-12T04:20:00.000-07:00

Last time I had a session with my psychiatrist, the magnificent Dr W, we spoke about my inability to let go of hurt and anger.

I told him about the woman who parked across my barn and blocked the exit and then behaved as if she had every right to do this because she had a guy in a wheelchair in her bus.

Dr W advised me to start concentrating on the physical outcome of the situation rather than the feelings. Yes, she was insensitive and lacking in courtesy but no, it shouldn't have made me angry for the rest of the day - this is totally Bippy behaviour.

He said - she moved the bus. You could park your van, that is what you wanted to do so the outcome is that you won .... if you want to look at it as winning and losing. Look at it another way - you asked her to move and she did. End of.

So I keep looking for opportunities to put this into practice and NOT hang onto hurt, anger and other negative emotions. Isn't it ironic that we all seem to be unable to hold onto fantastically positive emotions but can cling to negativity for all we are worth?

I am looking at a letter I got from the Headquarters of Carrefour, the supermarket chain where I was accused of shoplifting. They have closed ranks and say that they have no case to answer. Me wrong, them right. End of.

OK - nothing I can do about it. If I continue to be angry, the only person to suffer will be me. I can stop shopping there, I can tell all my friends what happened and ask them not to shop at CARREFOUR but that is all I can do.

So this is me letting go and walking away - I may flick the Vs at them - send a letter to the local manager telling him that I and my friends will be boycotting his shop, but I won't take them up on their invitation to go and talk to him. To what ends? What on earth could he say that would make me feel better if they are not prepared to apologise? And if I am not going to feel better, why go?

So here we are - forget it, let it go, move on and stop being a Bippy and behaving like a child - big girl now, nothing to be done, what is the next game please?

So that's that then

2010-04-09T05:45:00.000-07:00

I reported on here that I got accused of shoplifting.

I wrote to their Head Office and complained. I got a phone call from the local store where it happened and today I got a reply from the Head Office.

As you might have guessed, they have closed ranks, nothing happened, I am wrong, prove it! So there we go. They have given me the manager's name and a telephone number and suggested that "next time" I go in there I might phone to make sure he is there .................. to what point?

They are obviously not going to admit to any kind of misbehaviour on the part of their staff and I have no witnesses. It is my word against theirs, even though in their letter a video is mentioned - oh yes, a black and white silent video .... that shows exactly how their staff treated me and what they said.

But I am biding my time - obviously I am not going to go back there. I am not going to do anything until I have considered it a bit. I shall take the reply to work and ask my colleagues what they think, as they were the ones who told me initially to complain to Head Office. I'll take any suggestions you have.

I might start a Facebook page entitles Carrefour is a Pile of Shite. Who knows?

Mixed episode

2010-04-08T19:43:00.000-07:00

This is in no way a cry for help ............. if it were I'd be in the hospital with half a bottle of anti-depressants in my stomach already.

No, I just thought I'd let you all know what it feels like. I wrote the other day that I am in a classic manic. Redress that - I am showing some signs of classic hyper state - no sleep, mind overactive, lack of sense of danger, over-confident, arrogant (no, sorry that is default setting) .......... this is a dangerous one because I have little sense of risk either physical, emotional or financial.

It is in an exaggerated up mode that I have gone for wild ideas about jobs and money making. I can't judge distances and nearly crash my car. I throw myself into completely unsuitable relationships.

However this time I know that I am on a mixed episode which, if anything, is the worst of the lot because I am showing the physical signs of a manic or high but the emotional and mental signs of a depression.

No matter how over-confident I appear on the outside, I am worrying deeply about how other people see me. Is everyone else as aware as I am that I am a total twat? Are they just being nice to me because they are nice people? Should I crawl into a corner and not communicate until I feel better about myself because I am sure I am getting on everyone else's nerves with my over-enthusiasm and puppy-like behaviour.

Bummer innit? These are the ones that would have sent me to the bottle. It is 4 am here and a year ago I would have been sitting here chain-smoking and probably knocking back a whole bottle of wine. I'm not doing that now and before you ask ..... OF COURSE I FEEL BETTER FOR IT .... I'm almost obliged to say that or what would be the point of continuing not to drink or smoke?

I could see myself as the tortured artist, sitting at my computer turning out prose with my fags and booze at my side on my filthy desk.

But that is not a good image. I must see myself as a nice lady with a nasty condition who has to do like her friend and get out there and do .... even when it hurts, not hide under the duvet and shout "Go Away" ............. but the temptation at the moment is strong.

Maybe when I get out in the fresh air with the hounds I will be grateful for not smoking. And when I don't make a spectacle of myself in the village I will be grateful I don't drink any more. And when I get some of my projects finished I will be glad I had the extra energy of a manic episode. The mixed episode is just the green beans - nobody likes them but we all have to eat them!

inhalation inspiration

2010-04-08T04:59:00.000-07:00

Was asked today by a friend about a cure for bad sinus problems, which hurt dreadfully I know.

Inhalation seems to have gone out of fashion these days. If you think about someone bending over a bowl with a towel over their head you imagine it is in the 1950s but it really is very effective.

I know we take pills for everything these days but inhalation gets right to the heart of the problem when it is sinus or breathing related. The active ingredient in the herb can go straight in and get going. The steam itself has a beneficial effect too being warm and damp.

A word about menthol crystals - they really are the biz, cheap as chips, get them from the local chemist's but BE CAREFUL. You need a tiny amount - a bit the size of matchhead in a bowl of boiling water is enough to start with - easier added than taken away.

This is a case of less is more big time - menthol can blow your socks off and cause ear wax to shoot out your lugholes if you are not careful with it and please don't go outside for at least half an hour after using it - your airways will be wide open and sensitive to infection.

I use thyme a lot in infusions because it is such a brilliant antiseptic - so a combination of thyme and menthol will attack the problem of congestion and the infection causing it ........... sorted!

Please don't hesitate to contact me if you have any particular questions about inhalation or any other herbal treatments I mention in the blog.

No, let me explain

2010-04-05T18:59:00.000-07:00

I so feel for my friend who started her blog about her particular life-long illness and how it affects her especially with regard to her relations with other people

If you haven't had a limb amputated and aren't strapped in a wheelchair dribbling most people tend to assume that there is nothing wrong with you. So those of us with conditions that come and go or get more or less severe sometimes come up against the most appalling ignorance.

Just a few examples - M.E.? Doesn't exist, self-indulgent, lazy rubbish, buck yourself up. The same kind of thing gets thrown at Bippies too.

As most of you know I had a large amount of intestine removed less than four months ago. On Thursday I had caught the gastro bug that was going around the office and as I was staggering to the door to go home, having chucked up, a colleague remarked archly that I was ill AGAIN? One of those several dipthong'd agains that last a good four seconds. I was feeling too yukky to even bother - Lady when your innards are in the state mine are, you don't want to be chucking up, really you don't.

Same with being Bippy. Nobody ever said that the medication would make it all go away. No. I am still Bippy, it's just that for a lot of the time my highs and lows are very much less excessive and I can cope with life - you don't open a wardrobe to find me falling out from my hiding place. But some people think that because I was off work for nearly two years and now take tablets I will be completely fine all the time. No - at this moment I have all the symptoms of a mega manic - can't sleep, plotting and planning in my head, projects starting at a rate of one every ten minutes, mind like a hamster in a wheel. It is uncomfortable but not fatal.

I also had a very idiotic remark made when I came back to work and told people I suffer from Bipolar Condition - manic depression. One woman said - oh I have never seen you depressed. You are always so bright and cheery, quite remarkably so.

Yes. I am. Except when I have to escape and cry where I can't be seen and wonder if I can get back out there and put the mask on again. Not now - that was then. Before the medication.

So yes, darling, I know exactly what you mean about hating yourself for having to excuse yourself - and throw yourself open to all kinds of misunderstanding and bitchery. So write your blog and between us we'll get them to understand. Eventually

The downside

2010-04-05T01:22:00.000-07:00

I had a funny feeling last night - sad and angry and distant. It wasn' t about me, I had had a nice afternoon with friends, so I contacted my closest psychic friend and asked if she was OK - yes apparently so.

Well this morning I walked Dogge-Dogge up the lane while the Old Feller brought the other two along in Myfanwe. Dogge-Dogge loves that - he likes to potter along at his own pace off the lead with Mum with nobody to bug him.

But when we get to the cross, the Old Feller is standing with something in his hands - it is a young thrush that was on the ground exhausted and he HAD to pick it up before the dogs trampled it to death.

We removed it to a place of safety and went for our walk hoping its mother would come and feed it or it would manage to get away under its own steam having rested ... but not very hopeful because a wild bird that is so knackered it allows itself to be picked up is a very unwell little critter.

Of course when we came back it was exactly where we had left it and against my better judgement I decided I had to give it a go - couldn't do any harm the damn thing was on its last legs anyway and a dose of sugar water might give it enough energy to eat something proper (chopped up worm) and then it could recover.

So we got it home and covered it and ourselves in honey and warm water mixture from a syringe and I took it outside to see how it would react. It gasped a few times and died - I felt its spirit leave its body there in my hands - I hate it when that happens and it happens far too often to me.

But that is the downside of being a pagan. You have to care. And that caring has to be more than words. You have to try and make a difference. And when that making a difference goes wrong, you have to accept the consequences and wear the responsibility. So I am in the middle of my garden with tears streaming down my face, holding a dead bird in my hand and muttering to the sky "I am sorry, I am so so sorry" before I say prayers over it and cremate it.

Them's the breaks - when it is good, it is very very good, and when it goes wrong ............. it is foul.

Perspectives

2010-04-03T11:38:00.000-07:00

I had a lovely comment from a friend on here - that is good. I do so love comments - they make me feel that I am not sitting in the dark talking to myself. You know what they say about people who talk to themselves ..............

I took one of those quiz things today, I am quite addicted to them. Even if for the most part they are multiple choice answers, none of which fit my real feelings - I came out as a lovely caring woman, self-sacrificing and that was a bit of a facer as I rather see myself as a bit of a selfish old beast. I make lots of nice cakes for people but that is because I like making cakes. I tend to mother people, but a psycho-therapist explained to me that I am trying to give to my friends and family the kind of childhood I wish I'd had.

I'd have liked a large mummy with a big kitchen who made bread and cakes and hugged you to her big bosom. But I didn't - so now I live it out vicariously.

But here we come to Perspective. That is how I see myself. It is quite possible that other people see me differently. It may be that they are right and I am wrong.

And another friend has very gently nudged me about my use of the word "witch". I agree. I am blithely flinging around a word that some people find very frightening. I know what I mean by it and so do a lot of my friends ..... but some probably don't.

Shakespeare said "That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet" and he is probably right. What I do for the most part is healing. Whether it is hands on healing with friends here or distance healing via my altar ..... it is sending good out into the world and bringing everyone I know who needs my thoughts into the light.

So let's give up on witch, let's say "healer" in English or "magnetiser" in French. It's less scary - and I don't want to frighten the horses and children.

Equinox

2010-03-27T22:58:00.000-07:00

For any of those I missed - Happy Ostara, Vernal Equinoctial blessings.

I like the Equinox and Solstices - they mean balance, something a Bippy isn't normally blessed with but I have to admit that my own "equilibre" is coming on. I didn't go screaming mad (well I did at first but only a little bit) when I was accused of shoplifting and then I did the sensible thing of finding out who their really Big Boss is and writing him a stinking letter and sending it recorded delivery because business law in France says that if you get one of those you HAVE TO reply to it.

And last night I went out. Not with the Old Feller. With some peeps from work and it was lovely. I took tea bags and coffee sticks and allowed myself to join in when an enormous bottle of champage was opened - general consensus being that in France, champagne isn't alcohol and you can get away with one glass when driving.

But it hit me hard that I am quite at home admitting I have mental health problems - I will even use my cuddly squidgy word for it - I am Bippy. Not that I suffer from Bipolar Disorder - but I am Bippy is much more approachable and friendly. And I'll tell anyone that.

I am even very open about my beliefs. I am a witch. When I arrived at the soirée last night a friend said to me "Is that right you're a witch? Well do something to my neck would you?" and I had no problem sitting in company doing that. It's not like they burn people at the stake any more..... far from it, over here people are much more open to that sort of thing, alternative healing, reiki, herbal remedies. My stuff goes down a storm.

But I still feel the need to cover up when we talk about drink. Anyone who has read this blog will know that my mother was an alcoholic and I have had more than my own fair share of problems with the booze. Under control at the moment (we can only ever say "at the moment" because we never know when the wee demon is going to whip out from under our noses and entice us off on a bender) .....but last night I was good and stuck to my tea and coffee and one glass of fizzy.

But I didn't tell anyone, I blamed my medication, I fudged the issue. No harm in that, maybe. But it is just hilariously funny (or very sad, depending on your viewpoint) that in modern society I can admit to Bipolar Disorder and witchcraft but I still feel my alcoholism is something shameful that I have chosen to do - not an illness with which I have been infected and which is probably hereditary.

But those of you who read my blog know.............. pass the word on ....... don't give her "just one" at the beginning of the evening because sure as eggs, it won't stop there!

Yarrow and fudge

2010-03-23T13:56:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows that yarrow is good against colds but today I proved an old wives' tale to be right.

I hadn't been able to test the theory since someone told me that yarrow leaves are a haemostatic - they stop bleeding. Fortunately, last summer when drying the flowers to make anti cold treatments, I took some of the dried leaves and stored them as a coarse powder in a jar.

Today I scratched myself quite badly on a rose thorn - it looked exactly like the anti-tetanus poster, "It doesn't have to be a rusty nail". It wouldn't stop bleeding, so I left it for a while to allow any bacteria to get out and then I sprinkled a small amount of yarrow-leaf powder on the other palm and rolled my cut finger across it. Bingo! Within seconds the bleeding had stopped!

I was amazed. I know I am a herb-freak but this was beyond my expectations.

I think this year I will start making a strong fresh yarrow-leaf and vaseline concoction which will work better as it will adhere to the cut.

And I have discovered a wonderful recipe for something new - peanut butter fudge! It was described to me as like eating chocolate on the beach after swimming when you were a kid ...... and the salt / sugar combination is truly fabulous. Here is a link to a lovely site with great thanks to them

http://www.joyofbaking.com/candy/PeanutButterFudge.html

Shopping

2010-03-20T06:15:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned a few times in this blog that I hate do-it-yourself checkouts at the supermarket.

Come to that I don't like supermarkets

When I think on it .......... I hate shopping full stop. It isn't so much the shopping as the moronic other shoppers. Or the quite frankly aggressive other shoppers. Or the shoppers who for some reason just HAVE TO bring half a bloody nursery school of kids with them ......... wouldn't you think they would get it done in half the time without the miniature hangers-on? And with less stress?

So anyway - many many moons ago I begged the Old Feller to take on the mantle of Shopping King as he doesn't work, can do it when I am out and the shops are quieter. He seemed really good at it - going from shop to shop to find the best bargains and always knowing who had the best cuts of bacon etc

I am therefore at a loss to know why we ended up shopping together today (Saturday) which is how I ended up being accused of shoplifting.

It will not happen again. Of that I am completely sure. My shopping takes place on the internet, in the mall opposite where I work when I have loads of time and no enormous amounts to carry ......... on my terms and in my time.

Thief? Thief?

2010-03-20T05:27:00.000-07:00

Only once before in my life have I been accused of shoplifting and it was as bad then as it was this morning.

I was in our local huge supermarket and I set the alarm off on the check out. I had unfortunately forgotten to take out of my handbag two pairs of reading glasses that the Old Feller and I had bought in the other supermarket ten minutes before but for which the Old Feller had the ticket and he was in the van with the dogs.

I explained and assumed there would be a good-natured Gallic shrug, possibly even an apology and I would go on my way clutching the two jars of spice and a small bag of tiny pegs that I had just bought.

No such thing. The nearly-shaven-headed manager, aged about 10, the geriatric head-cashier and everyone else in the store behaved as if I really were a thief.

As a Bippy I don't have any default setting but on / off - so I don't get the moderation option - I just blow. I blew. I screamed at them, I yelled that I was insulted. (I am not even sure they sell that brand of glasses in their store) and I reduced the baby-manager to the usual French spineless "Calmez-vous Madame" Will I fuck calm myself when my honour and reputation are being impugned.

I live by my word and my code of honour. If I don't have that I have nothing. So I let them know in no uncertain terms what I thought of this.

The final spasm of this act of barbarism on my integrity came when the cashier woman said it wasn't a good idea to bring purchases from another store into theirs and the next time ............ oh dear, what a stupid thing to say. "Next time?" I roared. I had the full attention of a Saturday morning full of shoppers supermarket next to the check out by now. "Next time? There will be no next time. I will never come back here because nobody ever gets the opportunity to accuse me of being a thief a second time"

As I flew out of the automatic doors I swear you could hear Ride of the Valkeries playing and the shadow of my winged helmet nearly blotted out the sun ....... and the baby manager was left stuttering that I wasn't being accused of .... but it was too late, I couldn't hear him, I was out of the shop and away.

And I meant it - I will never go there again - which is funny because, before that shop was Carrefour it was Champion and almost exactly the same bloody thing happened there five years ago and this was nearly the first time I had gone back in there since it changed hands ................ is this store cursed I ask.

Dreams

2010-03-19T13:04:00.000-07:00

I've been sleeping well lately. Possibly because I have been very tired or the new regime of morphine-derivative painkillers and herb tea works very well!

But I have had a series of related dreams in the last three nights, something that has never happened to me before.

It is as if the dreams were consecutive in the same story, so that the waking day interrupted a narrative. In the first dream I was beginning to organise a relief effort to some un-named third-world country in distress. I was trying to find out what kind of relief was necessary and going about getting it.

In the second dream I was organising transport and who would come with me - we were a group of four women.

Last night we actually set off and I was suddenly assailed by real panic when I realised that if we arrived in this far country, we would be stoned to death if we weren't veiled. In our haste to pack as much relief stuff as possible into our ship we didn't have a scrap of material with which to drape our heads.

I woke up sweating with fear because I could see this well-intentioned trip ending in disaster because we didn't have so much as a hessian sack to make ourselves acceptable.

Strange!

Rib of beef

2010-03-14T06:20:00.000-07:00

Today I am cooking for France.

I am going to be working for three days and we have a guest so I am preparing.

Here is our main course for tonight - I am not sure if I made this up or have adapted it so it doesn't have a title.

Rib of beef is tricky - it can be lovely and roast up a treat or it can come out tough as boots. So I am boxing clever.

Brown the rib of beef all over in a cast-iron casserole on the top of the stove - drop the meat onto the hot casserole and you shouldn't need to add any oil or fat as the beef will have enough fat on it. Add thickly sliced onion, garlic, leek and carrot. Put the lid on and leave it to cook slowly without adding any liquid. This way you get only the vegetable and meat juices. Add seasoning (I go mad with herbes de provence, salt, pepper and a bit of Worcester sauce)

After a little while you can put it in a slow oven for as long as you like.

Take the meat out when it is done. Either drain the liquid off and make a gravy, or whizz the cooked vegetables in the blender to make the sauce. Your choice

Skinless

2010-03-14T06:08:00.000-07:00

I just came across this description by Spike Milligan the well-known British comedian and depressive. He said that being in the depths of depression was like being skinless - so oversensitive as to be extremely painful;

Exactly what I have said - feeling things ten times more intensely than everyone else.

So today I had another example - out back of our house is our barn where we park our cars and in front of that a space which is not public even though it is opposite the Village Hall. It has taken us a long time to din into people that they are NOT to block the exit to our garage. If they come and ask us, we will facilitate it but just plonking vehicles there and hoping it will be OK doesn't work.

That seems both plain and reasonable to me - we are under no obligation to let people park there at all - it is only our public spiritedness that has prompted us to make the offer - tell us, we'll move our van and you can park there for the evening / day.

So today being polling day I came back from the shop in my van and couldn't get her into the barn because some bloody great Renault Master was parked right across the entrance. I went into the Hall (being used as a polling station) and complained. The young woman responsible seemed to think that because her passenger was in a wheelchair it gave her the right to park any damn where she liked, ignore all the No Parking and Keep Clear signs we have gone to the expense of putting up and she got quite pissy with me when I pointed out that all it took was a knock on our door - it wasn't her job to go knocking on doors, etc

That is the kind of thing that would irritate most people. But I am skinless. It has got me strung out for the rest of the day. The fact that she never even apologised or admitted that she was in the wrong will keep itching me al day. I will not be able to let it go.

Bitch

Food

2010-03-08T17:09:00.000-08:00

Doesn't really matter who does it

OK the Old Feller tends to go a bit on the black side and crunchy is good, with a bit of carbon is intensely fine for the digestion .............. but who am I to argue? I have a slightly wobbly digestion and can take most things.

But what is really really good for the digestion is someone doing it for you. Coming home and finding a plate of food on the table - never mind if it is swimming in grease or chock full of solid stuff you can't cope with ........... it's food and it's made with love and that is what is the best.

I have tried to explain to several doctors that I want to be vegetarian but it doesn't work. They have agreed with me .............. but that it is not workable. So we have come to an agreement that what is made for me with love, even if it is meat, is good.................. and who makes it will get a nice glass of fizz and a big hug.

Because he means well. He always means well. When I explain a vegetarian meal and he looks mystified and says - and the mince, or the ham, goes where? He means it. Bless.

So we put the mince or the slice of ham in somewhere. Not on my plate ..........but on his. Bless 'him;

Work, glorious work!

2010-03-08T10:46:00.000-08:00

I know this may sound weird to some people who wake up in the morning dreading going to work ........... but I love my job.

OK - paws up, I love my job much more now I am on restricted hours. There was a time when I wondered if I wouldn't be better bringing in a campbed to one of the classrooms and not bothering to go home and at that point I didn't love my job very much at all.

BUT, having had one extremely long and one moderately long period where I was stuck at home due to ill-health, I have to say that I am delighted to be back. The only thing that puts me off is the driving but that is my own fault. I need to live in the wilds, in the country where I can practice my religion, where I can see the green, where there is a chance every day of seeing birds and animals ....... the price is driving.

Come to think of it ........... it ain't that bad. I get to listen to local radio or relax to some of my CDs playing at full blast as I go through the lanes (no hassle to anyone)

I have contact - I look at lonely people and thank the gods that I have that contact. Our clients, my colleagues - just that little joy of "Hi, how ya doing?".

Like to come home. Like to be with my furry babies and the Ole Badger .......... but like to be out and earning too.

Waste not ........

2010-03-04T04:52:00.000-08:00

As you will have gathered, my little Scottish soul hates waste, particularly waste of food.

So you can imagine my reaction to seeing orange trees, loaded to bursting with fruit, in the streets of Spanish towns with NOBODY doing anything with the fruit. I watch buses running over perfectly good oranges and want to cry. There are kids in the world dying of vitamin deficiencies and here is waste biggest time possible.

OK there are many arguments - the oranges are Seville oranges, dead bitter and only useful for marmelade. They are on the roadside and covered in road dust etc. It would cost too much to pay people to pick them up.

Well I have some answers too - hadn't anyone noticed that the orange farms are also right by busy roads and so the fruit there will be covered in road dust but THEY are sold. The muck on the outside is easily scrubbed off and the fruit inside is fine. Why not use people on community service to pick the fruit?

When we were in Carthegena we stopped for a maximum of ten minutes to gather up some oranges. I have just made a year's worth of marmelade, the gorgeous bitter variety for the cost of a couple of bags of jam-sugar. I scrubbed them and made sure they were completely clean, then cut them into quarters and boiled them down to really soft. The pain-in-the-ass bit is digging out the pips and cutting the peel into strips but hey! I got the time. After that it is just a question of boiling up the resulting mush with a bit more liquid and an appropriate amount of jam-sugar for five minutes.

Now how much easier do you want it?

Surely someone somewhere could use the juice from these unwanted fruit and find a way of using it for people who need it. Or am I going to be going to Spain for the rest of my life to get free marmelade?

And no - I don't give it away. Having taken the trouble to find the fruit and make it, my reply is - go make your own, it's really good fun!

Interesting new pudding

2010-03-03T12:27:00.000-08:00

I invented this one today because I had stale bread and an abundance of apples in the store.

Ingredients

Stale bread
butter
3 eggs
3/4 pint milk
1/4 pint cream
vanilla essence
2 or 3 large apples, peeled, cored and sliced

cut the bread into slices and butter it. Lay it in a greased ovenproof dish, arranging alternate slices of bread and apple.
Mix a whole egg with half a pint of milk and a few drops of vanilla essence. Pour this mixture over the bread and apple and leave for at least 45 minutes for the bread to soak up the liquid.
Cook the pudding at 160°C for 45 minutes. Remove from the oven and cool.

Separate the other two eggs - make the whites into meringue and use the yolks to make custard with the other quarter of a pint of milk and same amount of cream.

Put the meringue on the pudding and cook til it's golden and cooked. Serve with the home-made custard.

It's good!

The Egg War

2010-03-02T13:11:00.001-08:00

Having been on the road since 10 on Monday morning and only had a couple of hours' sleep (and for me, a load of nasty nightmares) we were glad to make a stop at a motorway service station with a restaurant.

Imagine how much more delighted we were when we found they offered a British breakfast - two fried eggs, bacon, fried slice, sausage and potato fritter. The first problem was finding someone who would admit to being responsible for cooking this. The second, once an unwilling young lady was press-ganged into doing it, was to persuade her that the fried egg example on the plate displayed as an advert was exactly what it appeared to be - with a whole yolk, not a near-omlette and that trades descriptions demanded that what was offered was what was served.

After the second lot of eggs was broken and refused she threw a wobbly. She looked like she was going to throw the fish slice at us as well. Good job she didn't. She yelled at us, she said that she didn't understand but that didn't work either. I went and found the manager, the young man who had been telling her to cool it, not to stress ............ until he found that it was he and not she that was going to have to produce eight perfectly fried eggs because by then we had been joined by another British couple and they weren't fooled by his attempt to hide the menu. They had seen what was on offer and wanted it.

It had turned into a stand-off and we weren't going to be fobbed off. The manager really did lose out all ways around - in his place I would have apologised, not only for his staff's attitude and behaviour but for the whole sitch and I would have made some kind of peace-offering of free coffee or top-ups .... something. There were four of us, all travellers, all people who use his kind of establishment quite often and he is part of a chain ............. four of us at five remove is a lot of people - we can do a lot of damage to his chain's reputation.

Lessons were perhaps learned. I won't be fooled again. I KNOW the French can't do a British breakfast and I will not be tempted to believe they can. It will save a lot of time and angst.

Back I come

2010-03-02T12:57:00.000-08:00

Spain was fun, getting there and back wasn't. I have come to the conclusion that lorry drivers are the scum of the earth - no matter what nationality they are, their goal in life is to make it miserable for people like me with caravans even though I am kind and considerate and flash them in when they are overtaking. Bastards!

It took us three days to get down to our campsite between Carthegena and Almeria and two whole days to get home with only a couple of hours' sleep on the border town.

It was great to be on the coast, I miss the sea so much and it was fantastic to take two walks a day with the dogs on the beach. I have been very lax about not walking since my operation. This was good. We ate a very healthy diet of lots of fresh fruit and vegetables. Is it me or does the fruit really taste better in Spain? Is it because it is fresher, has travelled less and been chilled less? Whatever, I always appreciate what I eat more in Spain than I do here.

We indulged in the British shops and stocked up on things we can't get in France, also noting how much we DON'T need - we have got over them. I can now live without Marmite. We bought things that are amazingly cheap and loved them but didn't bring any home.

It was good - but was it worth it? I don't know. Travelling with our ancient Renault van, Myfanwe and the caravan Uncle Vanya is tiring. We can't go fast enough to beat the truckers and we have to keep stopping. It may be that we have to find another solution although we loved the adventures - we have used up most of the places we can get to in reasonable time ........ if it takes more than three days to get there, I need too much time off work to be able to go there!

We will see. Suggestions welcome.

No hablo mucho anything

2010-02-17T02:41:00.000-08:00

I am a bear of many tongues. That is I can say a few phrases in a lot of languages and I just had a hoot playing with a Spanish bear of not many tongues.

We are going to Spain. Hoorah and off we go - but we do have to arrange some campsites, even in February this can be tricky because the German and Dutch sun seekers (European version of the snowbirds in Florida) tend to fill up campsites like maggots in a tin.

So we ring up - we know how to ask people in Spanish if they speak English or French - always a good idea to start with the native language because it gives them a moment to hit the swap button and go into "other language" mode.

Old Feller phoned a campsite and asked if they spoke French or English - they said no and he put the phone down. I said "Twat" and wrote out the appropriate expressions in Spanish. He said "Bitch" and handed me the phone.

This is how we play here! I phoned the Spanish campsite and spoke to a centegenarian, starting with my usual ploy - I don't speak much Spanish ..... great giggles from both sides, obviously not with an accent like that, hur hur hur. So OK I am going to give you some dates when we would like to come to your campsite and our needs - big caravan, Renault Trafic, two people, three dogs, electricity - is this OK? See - all you have to do to speak a foreign language is talk like a five-year old.

She gives me a flood of Spanish - now come on,lady, I was nice to you, play pretty with me. And she hands me over to her husband who is about 150 and he tells me (in French, by the way) that the campsite is closed ......... which is not what it says on the website.

No worries - we laugh uproariously at each other and agree that their campsite is closed and I wish them a good day, they wish me a good holiday even if it is not on their campsite and we part friends .......... or I suppose we do. At the very least I am a funny footnote to a game of cards or a dinner with their grandchildren - and this woman phoned and she didn't speak Spanish .......

Whatever ......... if I have made someeone laugh it's good. And as a language teacher I have been made to understand how my students feel .......... again. This is why I go to countries where I don't speak the language - I need to know what it feels like to be an intelligent person who can't communicate .......... an orang utan.

Spicy sauce

2010-02-16T17:31:00.000-08:00

This is a fantastic stand-by

If you make too much - put it in the freezer because one day you will need it when you realise you have guests for dinner and can do stuffed peppers but need a sauce. Ha ha ha - here you go!

Very large tin of tomatoes .......... what would we do without them?
One large onion
two cloves garlic
either - a teaspoon of Patak's curry paste OR a squidge of chilli sauce

I don't mind in the slightest if you put it through a seive, blend it or boil it ........ but reduce the liquid content and get rid of the tomato seeds.

Hey presto or Voila (as we say) you have a spicy tomato sauce that will go with just about everything!

Peppers, stuffed and really good

2010-02-16T12:59:00.000-08:00

I have had fist fights with the old feller about these but I think they are great ..... so make your own mind up

mince
onion
garlic
chilli
peppers
cooked rice

not difficult is it?

Look at the materials?

Prepare the peppers, remove the seeds. Cut them open . duuuuh - how many people do you have? One pepper per person

OK - go mental with your kitchen robot ( that is what we call them in France) - chuck the mince onion garlic and chilic in, whizz it and throw it in the bowl with the mince. Add the cooked rice and a squidge of tomato purée.

I like to leave the mince mixture for a while in a cool place to settle and take up the flavours

When you are ready to cook - take the tops off the green peppers, keep the little hats, - discard the seeds, stuff with the mince mixture, bake in the oven for a 30 minutes at 200C

These are absolutely brilliant served with vegetable rice and a spicy sauce.

Spoil yourself rice pudding

2010-02-16T12:27:00.001-08:00

I am not going to give you the measures ............ see on Delia or go into your book

BUT

butter an ovenproof dish. Sprinkle pudding rice over the bottom of the dish. Pour over a tin of evaporated milk (Carnation? Ideal?), add half as much milk, a bit of brown sugar if you want and stick it in a very slow oven for a very long time.

Every so often take it out and mix the crust into the bottom. Make sure you have no thick crust .......... because

you will get the credit for making a home made pudding ....... ohhhhhhhhhhhh mamma, you spoil us ......... it has cost you a couple of moments. Easy innit?

Chicken and lemon

2010-02-16T12:13:00.000-08:00

I was asked to post this recipe. Make up some chicken stock - Oxo is OK

Take a chicken that you would roast. Mash some butter with a bit of salt and put some tarragon in.

Rub the butter and salt over the chicken and put it to roast in the oven. Cover the breast in foil and baste regularly. Do about half an hour per pound (500g) - take the chicken out of the oven and leave it to rest covered with foil or a tea towel

Drain the excess fat off the roasting pan - you can see it is clear. Then sprinkle a little flour over the rest of the juices - stir. Nice non-lumpy stuff? OK - add the chicken stock gradually until it is the right consistency for sauce

Add some cream if you feel like spoiling everyone. Not too much and don't boil because it will make it useless. Temptation is always to shove half a bucket in .... don't

Ooops - menu

2010-02-16T11:32:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you just have to accept that you have screwed up.

I was going to do spring rolls - I thought I had the stuff in the cupboard. I inherited a lot of Chinese and Asian cooking stuff from my daughter in law who is buddhist (yer right) and cooks Asian.

but like a total twaaaaaaaaaaaaat I didn't look at the wrappers before I announced with a great flourish ......... I am going to cook Vietnamese Spring Rolls.

Like would have been a good idea to have the right rice film to make the pancake / Spring rolls ........... instead of the dim sum triangles.

No problem - got the filling going as stir fry in the pan .........chuck some chilli chicken sauce in. Serve it on Cantonese rice. No problem

Don't worry

2010-02-14T07:51:00.000-08:00

It may be that my bad dreams have prompted me to look further inside but I have come to some decisions today vis a vis my Bippy propensity to worry myself sick.

Work? Well they know I am fragile and they are very good about it. They know that if they don't overload me, I can do very good work. I am also now protected from overwork by my invalidity and handicapped worker status. I am not in a position of authority, have no responsibility for anything but the quality of my own work and am not in line for any kind of promotion. So - no worries.

Clothes - why do I not wear all these lovely things I sew and knit? I make the excuse that I don't want the dogs ruining them by jumping all over them so I save my nice clothes for work or going out. We don't go out much. What a waste! I spend all my time at home looking like a bag of rubbish. So, pretty things out of the wardrobe and if they get ruined, well I will make some more, I have plenty of fabric and yarn in my store.

Goals - nobody is pushing me. There is only me making impossible goals for me. I have this stupid Bippy tendancy of setting aims for myself and then going mental when I find I can't do it. So I will stop.

Happy ...

2010-02-14T00:33:00.000-08:00

Valentine's Day.

Was told quite firmly that we don't do that kind of thing. And we don't ... much. So I am woken up with a bunch of flowers. That is soooooooo cheating! If it goes on like this I will be buying boxes of chocolates in secret, hiding them til I see if he has got the flowers and then going Ha! Surprise right back at you!

To be honest I am not feeling 100% today. I've been having very bad dreams recently culminating in a series of absolute belters last night which left me awake and shaking this morning.

Perhaps I am not over the operation yet - I still get internal pains and my scar hurts quite often. I am permanently tired but then I am fighting a cold. I do wish the clients would stop turning up snottering all over us ....... but then we have so few clients at the moment we are rushing to embrace them, cold or no!

Perhaps a walk will do me good - I have been holed up indoors for too long and I need to stretch. I begin to understand the Russian people who went mad being stuck in their log cabins during the winter, ran outside and died of cold.

No, I don't intend to do that, but I will go outside.

Frugal

2010-02-10T11:15:00.000-08:00

Had an interesting conversation with a friend on Facebook recently about saving money and not wasting stuff.

As I might have said before - I was brought up by a Scottish mother and frugality (or being stingy as it was known then) was second nature to us. Nowadays, what with ecology, saving the planet, the economic crisis and a general turning against waste .... everyone is doing it and I feel slightly less Scrooge-like.

So this week, I am proud to say, I have rustled up a rather elegant lunch made entirely from leftovers from three dinners. One portion of quiche between two, two cold sausages, one leftover boiled potato made into spud salad, half a small cervelat sausage I found in the bottom of the fridge .... add a tomato, a couple of lettuce leaves and a few slices of cucumber and there it is.

I also invented a pudding tonight out of stale bread (crumbed), curd cheese mixed with a pot of fromage frais (on their consume-by date), apples and bananas that were going over .... add a bit of cinnamon, sugar, muesli and top with meringue and it would be a prize-winner for a dinner party. Why the meringue? Because you have used the egg yolks to make real custard of course. Real scrummy custard.

So there you go - no waste and belly buster ingenuity, only thing you need is time. No, I can't do it when I get home at 8 pm.

Breathe in .......... and sleep

2010-02-07T09:52:00.000-08:00

I didn't get told to do this, I worked it out for myself.

Being Bippy means being reactive. It means flying off the handle either for good or bad almost instantly, sometimes before the situation has even developed.

My beloved shrink has said to me that being Bippy is to be emotive and reactive and I will just learn to live with it but I thought I might be able to prove him wrong ....... like I do.

So now, instead of reacting straightaway, I stop. The old adage of count to ten, or sleep on it, or take a deep breath, actually works. I have tried it out on the Old Feller and it works - it has avoided a few spats.

Recently something happened that upset me a bit. In the past I would have lashed out at the person concerned and made a scene. I would have blown it up out of all proportions (I have done this sooooooooooo often in the past and feel bad about it) but this time, I slept on it. I took my time and sent a very polite and un-emotive message.

The other person responded and we have sorted it out. No hassle, no vitriol, good outcome.

I am not perfect. I am getting better.

A Fit of the Tidies

2010-02-07T03:09:00.000-08:00

Most of you who read regularly will have gathered that housework and cleaning are not number one on my list of priorities or favourite occupations.

I blame my mother for this. (Why not? I blame her for most of my less savoury characteristics, bless!) She always used to look out of the window before starting any form of cleaning. If it was nice weather she would swear quietly and say "Might be raining tomorrow - housework is rainy-day work" and we would go out. This is not to say that during the monsoon period our house was sparkling .... far from it, rainy days were for sitting down with a pot of tea and playing a board game or watching a black and white film.

But today I have had one of my rare attacks - a fit of the tidies. This is usually displacement activity and replaces something I don't feel up to - in this case, the Old Feller's quilted fleece bodywarmer. It's not that I don't want to do it - it is fiddly because I am making the quilting myself so it is a three layer job and I need to be really in the mood or I will make mistakes.

So this morning, armed with a mug of lovely coffee and a quiet mind I tackled a pile of filing, paperwork and sorting. What a joy that is.

And I have got into it. The last bit of paperwork I tackled is my outstanding holiday entitlement. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I have missed ALL my holidays from work in the last year due to illness. So, following the European court ruling, my employers are bound to give me all those holidays back. I have no doubt whatsoever that they would have done so anyway but I have a news article to wave about if anyone questions my right to it. In fairness we have come to an agreement that I will take my four weeks when it best suits the company - no need to be awkward about things!

Picking my way carefully through the odd French system of Bank Holidays I have discovered that I can get nearly two weeks off for the price of four working days in May. This is because we have Bank Holidays on the day that they fall - not on Mondays. Hoorah for us. It has the downside that some years the Bank Holidays fall on Sundays and we lose them. But it has the upside that you can take a couple of days off and get very long weekends without using up much of your holiday entitlement.

So, one very cheerful little bear is packing her caravan for a trip off at the end of Feb / beginning of March with the possiblity of more in May ........... wheeeeeee

Balance

2010-02-06T03:35:00.000-08:00

Where does the week go?

I am back at work and I had forgotten what a delicious treat the weekend becomes in that situation. Admittedly I am only working three days a week due to the continuing cock-up with my hours - am I working 8 or 18 per week? Does anyone know the formula to work it out?

This will resolve itself now I have unleashed my Social Worker on them - she is a specialist and will gently guide them down the path of having an invalid and handicapped on the pay-roll ( it isn't all tax dodges, there are down-sides too!)

But here we are - I have got over my manic rush of Monday. I am now beautifully balanced on that knife edge of energetic but not manically so and able to be calm and quietly happy ........ this is a rare state of being for a Bippy so enjoy it! I am.

Diving into Delia Smith's online cookbook (blessed be Saint Delia!) I came across a recipe for tart with pears and Roquefort cheese with balsamic vinaigrette oooooh yes I think we will have that for sure. So I jumped into the van and poddled off up to the little superette to get my ingredients, tripped over the wool stand and came home thoughtful.

Anyone who has been here before will know that I am an inveterate knitter and my current project of a nine-colour Fair Isle waistcoat which is sending me bog-eyed and rheumatic will shortly be finished. I have been a terribly frugal old bear this year. I haven't bought any new wool for a particular project. I have been using up some of the bin bag of leftovers but just as with food one cannot live on leftovers alone and I decided to really splash out and spend under £20 on the yarn for an aran cardigan.

I can justify this by saying I really need a brown jacket or cardigan. I have lots of cream and brown trousers, skirts and blouses ..... so I found some lovely cream / brown fleck yarn and dug out a pattern from my enormous folder.

There we go - Bippy behaviour again. Go shop, see wool, rush home, dig out patterns, find appropriate one, gallop back up to shop with dogs hanging out of van windows, tongues flapping and the Willian Tell Overture playing to buy the wool. Now THAT my friends, is a Bippy! To see is to do. Total reactive.

But I am happy - I will finish my Fair Isle. Well I will once the rheumaticky pains in my fingers die down. In the meantime .......... where are those thicker needles, I might just check the tension needed for that Aran cardigan .........

Higher and higher

2010-02-02T01:35:00.000-08:00

Oops!

Have woken up really manic this morning - not often I do that but I am classic today - singing, talking really fast, getting obssessed with words, especially strings of words like "I've-gotta-pocketful-of-bikkies-for-the-dogs" repeated endlessly. Laughing uproariously. Telling myself jokes and amusing myself enormously with my wit.

I could climb a mountain, run a mile, paint a picture, sing an opera all on my own (all the parts), just about anything you name ............. well I couldn't but that is how it feels.

Think that sounds good? Well it is. It's brilliant BUT I know that I will come down shortly and I risk crashing exhausted. I know myself too well and I understand the dangers - I could burn out and end up completely knackered, have to lie down and be useless tomorrow, possibly the rest of the week.

So I have to sit on this endless energy and dole it out in manageable portions. I am going to go outside and make a snowman.

That will burn off a lot of physical energy and I can come back in and do something a little more cerebral.

Bippies take a lot of managing - by themselves and by their families and friends - we are not easy people to live with.

Revelations

2010-02-01T10:37:00.001-08:00

Went to my darling Dr W today. He is pleased with me.

I am pleased with me. I have made enormous and rapid recovery from my operation, not fallen down a black hole despite quite a lot of pain and gone back to work.

I did, however, talk to him about the hamster in the wheel - which is what my mind feels like most of the time. I can't stop. Round and round and round. No relief, no rest, no quiet.

Just sometimes, not very often, my mind goes still. It is bliss. I revel in those moments and, as I explained to the psychiatrist, it is like eating an enormous slice of chocolate cake - rare and enjoyable.

I have very little control over this but I am learning to take deep breaths before I react - Bippies are emotive, reactionary, over-sensitive, skinless wonders. We leap down people's throats before they have finished speaking if we think they have insulted or hurt us.

But I am using deep breathing techniques to control this. Stop. Breathe, reflect, pause, now react.

It isn't a perfected art yet, but it is better than it was.

I didn't even get mad today when I drove for two and a half hours for nothing as my client didn't turn up. I took it very philosophically, treating it as an opportunity to prepare my lessons for the rest of the week and spend some time with my clients and the people from telesales upstairs.

Perspective - question of perspective, but the little hamster still runs around and around and around.

Bear Show on Ice!

2010-01-31T02:26:00.000-08:00

Did I mention very glibly in my last post that I was driving to work in the snow? Silly me!

With husband number 2 I lived in Yorkshire and was used to getting my car through winter weather for five months of the year ................. but that was a helluva long time ago now, I was very much younger and very much more brave (or foolhardy, whichever you like)

So coming home from work on Friday was not funny. Peculiar - yes. Funny as in amusing - most certainly not. The road was 100% frozen slush. Even the Dijonnais were driving carefully and that is most unusual.

Once out of Dijon and on the country roads it became hellish. There were cars in the fields upside down or on their noses where they had spun off the road. It was like some ghastly Roman reminder - burning Christians lining the road to discourage others from converting.

Even with snow tyres on and driving the heavy-duty Astra estate, not my lightweight little blue car which is designed for whizzing about with the top down and wearing sunglasses listening to rock music (well I can dream, can't I? I am only over 50 on the OUTSIDE) ... even with all those precautions, I was slithering about like a snake on acid listening to ACDC.

On a very good day it takes me 50 minutes to get to work in bright sunshine and with no traffic. On a bad day, in the dark, pissing rain or at harvest time when I get stuck behind one tractor after another, it has taken me up to an hour and a half. But on Friday it took me over two hours!!!!

I wasn't a happy little bear. I got in the house, trembling for a cup of tea and swearing like a trooper, but at least I did get home. Judging from the vehicles in fields, some poor sods didn't.

I just hope that on Monday somebody at work has sorted out the problem of whether they are going to let me work 16 hours or try to limit me to 8 hours a week because of my invalidity ............. because to be very honest, if they limit me to 8, it isn't going to be worth the diesel to go in there.

Watch this space - more weather reports regularly!

Hi Hooooooooooooooooooooooooo

2010-01-28T08:34:00.000-08:00

It's back to work we go.

I imagine if I were being interviewed by a journalist they'd ask "How do you feel?" and the answer is "Great. Just great, thanks"

It isn't that I don't like being at home or that I don't appreciate the Old Feller's company - far from it. It's just that the way our society is organised one is only at home with time to spare when one is too ill to make the most of it.

In the last week when I finally started to feel better, I dived into sewing and enjoyed it. But for most of the nearly three months I've been off I have been dripping around like a half-dead creature from beyond the grave.

It is absolutely brilliant to be back at work - to see all my colleagues and to feel useful again. Everyone gave me big hugs, people seemed very pleased to see me and that was good too.

OK I am going to be tired - I know that. Battling through the snow both ways today has shown me that it is not going to be a picnic but hey, it's got its up-sides - I get to listen to French local radio - nowhere else would you have a National broadcast at lunchtime consisting of a quiz on soup!!!! No, really, a quiz on soup. Brilliant. And a far more reliable weather forecast. And the "for sale" feature which is ALWAYS some ole granny trying to flog a non-matching wardrobe and dressing table at some way-inflated price.

So, yes, it feels good, thanks. Very good.

Administration strikes again

2010-01-28T02:20:00.000-08:00

I had an appointment with the Social Security doctor this morning which I have to do before being allowed to go back to work after a long illness.

Normally I get kept hanging around for at least half an hour so I had brought Sudoku books etc to keep myself amused. Surprise - straight into the office. Not my usual doctor so I had also brought a whole dossier of paperwork - surprise, he didn't want to see it.

So I was in and out again by ten past nine. Only slight head-fuzziness is that according to French law my invalidity benefit added to my current wages must not exceed my previous salary - I have to reduce my hours to make sure of that. Oh hum.

So I am hoping that coming down to 16 hours a week contact (that is not including prep time or travelling) will do that because if I find I am earning too much I will have to ask my boss if I can reduce my hours even further and he won't like that very much.

But on the good side the doctor did put on his recommendations that I should only work 3 - 4 days a week - hahahhahaha possiblility of a three day week!!! and my hours should be grouped together and my visits out should be curtailed.

Now THAT is good.

OH and it snowed this morning - we could have taken money on that, couldn't we? It has been fine for ages and today, with me planning on leaving the house at 7.30 we get snow - so I left early.

And I drove slowly, avoiding using my brakes, changing gear to slow down, leaving plenty of room for the vehicle in front ...... and there were still idiot bastids overtaking me and squeezing in, using up my security zone and going too fast.

Well I hope they get wiped out but don't kill anyone else in the process - for goodness sake, we were driving past cars upside down on the side of the road, can't these people take a hint? One car was up on its nose on the side of a field where it had left the road so forcefully - see what happens? Hmmm? Taking notice are we?

No. Ah well - plodding Patsy here will go home slowly - there is a nice cup of liquorice and mint tea waiting for me and I will take my time getting to it!

Remedies

2010-01-23T05:39:00.001-08:00

Blessed be the Yarrow plant!

The Old Feller has had a cold for over a week and I have been trying like crazy to make him take yarrow against it - relieves the symptoms to the extent that you forget you have a cold ... doesn't cure it but nothing does.

Eventually, when the cold got unbearable, he was ready to try anything, even my home-grown muck.

And, as you could have expected with me having passed two days in excellent form, I have caught it. So I am shovelling Echinacea tablets and Yarrow infusion down my throat as fast as I can, which is quite safe as the only possible side effect of over-dosing on Yarrow is improved blood-clotting, which, given that the Old Feller and I are both taking anti-coagulants, wouldn't be so bad.

I woke up this morning feeling frightful but only four hours after my first swig of Yarrow, I am much better. Taking a quiet Saturday afternoon with my knitting in front of the detective shows, but feeling very much better.

Blessed be my herb garden and the received wisdom of the Old Ones.

More like it !

2010-01-21T00:52:00.000-08:00

I hesitate to say this because, being Bippy, I am ever so very used to nothing lasting for more than a little while (especially moods) but I really do feel that I am getting back to the old me. No, the really really old me from ages back before my last few suicide attempts, before my last nervous breakdown, before all my physical problems .......... probably me like I was six or seven years ago but not boozing.

That is good. That is brilliant.

My mood is positive, I am cheerful and energetic. I can feel that I am still tired deep down but I can also feel that fading away. Going back to work is a great prospect. Just going for a walk around the village is a wonderful idea.

I know - it sounds a bit manic and it probably is - but that is soooooo much better than being so ill and so tired that just going upstairs and back down again meant I had to sit on the sofa for half an hour to recover. I think I have been very ill.

But never mind - I think I am not very ill any more and life is good. That's much more like it!

Much better!

2010-01-20T02:07:00.000-08:00

Notice nice new pikkie of snow bear saying "Hello" and waving a friendly paw - much more like the nice, smiley bear who is writing this.

I have had a lovely morning. Despite not wanting to go out, and having been woken up by the Old Feller shouting again, I toddled off in my little blue car and went to get my injection.

I have an accent. My French is just about fluent but I still have an accent you could cut with a knife and fork. This is sometimes a bad thing (see posts about racism etc) but it can also be a good thing because it gives people a hook on which to hang a conversation. Opening gambits can be "you're not from around here", "you've got a slight accent, haven't you?" down to the very blunt "where are you from then?" and it gives us a chance to get chatting. So I had a delightful chat with the three doctors running the vaccination centre as I was the only patient in there and they were falling over each other to treat me. Much chuckling and mutters of "charmante, charmante" which I haven't been called in ages but is the usual French reaction to a British accent - quite charming.

I got my bit of personal shopping done and then went to recuperate my points on my fidelity card .... oh dear. I took the precaution of asking at the help desk before I did my shopping - yes I could get the money off right away, no more getting vouchers and waiting til the next day, everything ok, no problem.

Well there was. One of the problems of living in the country is my address - there is another village with a similar name but not double barrelled like our and far away in the county. If people just write the first bit of our village's name it goes to the other one and either gets returned to sender or lost.

It would appear that the company that control our fidelity card had been sending bumf to the other village, got it returned and blanked our card while still crediting the points when we shopped. Duuuuuuuuuh! So I got it sorted.

Good morning though - I am now sitting here with a cup of coffee and a croissant making a list of things I have to do to be ready to go back to work on Monday! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!

And another thing ......

2010-01-19T07:10:00.000-08:00

I went to town this morning - good idea to get the little blue car running after her long holiday in the barn - she'll be out and about a lot more from Monday.

I decided to get my swine flue jab before I go back to work. I had my bit of paper, I knew where the centre is, off I went.

It was shut. Due to an unexpectedly low acceptance rate on the invitations, they are only open Wednesdays and Fridays. Damn! I'll have to go tomorrow morning - that is another two hour trip!

So I went to find an Imbolc pressie for a friend, shop that used to do a very nice line in incense. Damned if I could find any in there - no they closed that section of lines down, perhaps I'd like a houseplant instead ....... yes, to send over the water, I'm sure that is a good idea, not!

And I have put on those jeans that look like they were made for a 12-year old. But once on they expand due to the magic of Lycra or some such demonic nonsense and insist on falling around my arse unless I am wearing a belt.

Bums! I will go to the shops. No token for the trolley and no big re-usable bag.

Never mind - I found a euro in my purse for the trolley and bought yet another strong bag .......... so useful for knitting or crochet. And the Social rang up to tell me I AM due some money............ alright, I knew that, shut up, leave it, never mind, aaaaaaaaaagggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhh

Where's the brick wall?

2010-01-19T04:29:00.000-08:00

I should have seen it coming really, shouldn't I? Got the certificate, got approved as invalid and told how much I would get each month. So far, so good.

But of course there is a problem. The head honcho at Social Services sent me the wrong kind of certificate. There are two kinds of invalid - total and partial. I am partial (or category I) he had got me down as total (or category II)

Big difference - total invalids don't have to work but then don't receive enough to make up for my loss of earnings AND they don't get sick pay because obviously if you don't work, you get ill, you don't get compensation for loss of earnings because you don't have any earnings. With me so far?

But I am category I, able to work and able to get sick with other things apart from my Bipolar Disorder which is the reason I am on invalidity benefit. Stands to reason really, if you think outside the box of Social Security - I am invalid but can still work on reduced hours despite my illness but I am still capable of breaking my leg or getting flu. In those circumstances I will be off work but it will be nothing to do with my being Bippy.

At the moment I am off work because half my intestine got cut out - nobody can call that malingering! So I ring the Social to ask where my sick pay has gone and I am told that as I am now on invalidity pension I am not entitled to sick pay. I argue. That is a big mistake. Never argue with a fat woman who has been given authority but no brain.

I ring my social worker, I ring my psychiatrist and I send a very stern letter to the Head Doctor at Social Service - I am NOT and I repeat NOT a total invalid and I am entitled to sick pay.

Butts would appear to have been kicked all over the shop because a woman has just rung me up to explain to me that I am entitled to sick pay if my illness doesn't concern my Bippiness ................ yes, I scream down the phone, I KNOW! THAT IS WHAT I WAS TRYING TO EXPLAIN TO YOUR COLLEAGUES YESTERDAY

So it sounds like they are going to pay me. But what a bloody nightmare. Fancy having to go through that when I am already fragile, prone to anxiety and "down on my nerves" as they used to say.

Sleep deprivation

2010-01-17T17:59:00.000-08:00

Pretty sure it is the anaesthetic wreaking revenge on me but my sleep patterns have gone all to cock.

I am finding myself unable to get out of bed until gone 10 and then in a state of groaning zombie un-cheerfulness. I can, as in "it is not physically impossible", get out of bed before that but I only fall asleep on the sofa as soon as my backside hits it so the whole operation seems a bit pointless.

The morning usually passes in a blur of drinking tea, feeling like death and listening to the radio.

Often I feel so ghastly that I go back to bed for an hour after lunch - Bingo, three pm comes and I feel better - at 3 in the afternoon I am as I should be at 8 am - bouncing around with energy and enthusiasm.

By then it is time to make a fresh pot of tea which I drink with the Old Feller who has been quietly plodding on with his jobs, then get the hounds together to go out for a walk and think about starting to make dinner.

You can see why I am not getting much done. Good job I gave up smoking really because if you added together all the ten-minute fag-breaks I used to need, I would get nothing done at all - total zero, nada.

So this evening I decided to take drastic measures - I administered the chemical cosh, went to bed at 10 and read my book, fearful that the Old Feller would wake up in the armchair and decide to join me at 2am. No - bless his heart he joined me at 11 and we went to sleep. Deep, dreamless, chemically-induced sleep in my case.

Which was fine ........... until he got up at 2 for a pee. Which woke me up. Which meant that I had the option of switching on the light and reading again -my normal intellectual lullaby with the disadvantage that it would also wake up the Old Feller. Or the other option of getting up and tackling the list of jobs that were starting to form in my head.

This is a good one - lying in bed unable to sleep a person can think up so many things that need doing that over two hours' useful work can be envisaged. Unfortunately, once downstairs the list shrinks to occupy 45 minutes maximum and one ends up playing silly games on the computer.

So I have emptied the other half of the wardrobe (did the first half yesterday afternoon once I was post-3 and joyful) I have a stack of T shirts to be either given to the Old Feller to replace his fringed-neckline rather old ones or to go upstairs for summer-wear under shirts/jackets.

I am about to tackle my desk which is nearly clear but doing the usual flat-surface trick of attracting all and any unwanted objects ......... which then never move and explains how dining tables and desks end up invisible under a mountain of extraneous matter.

But I might just have a quick game of Bejewelled while I finish my Redbush Tea.

Success

2010-01-14T04:19:00.000-08:00

Needed some positive news today - don't know why but I am feeling rubbish today.

Didn't do too much yesterday - well I don't think so. Had a lovely night's sleep (am sleeping sooooooooooooo much better since we stopped the dogs coming up and kipping on the bed, it gives us so much more room and covers for US!) and didn't wake up too early;

But I am feeling rotten.

So I was delighted that our secretary has been as good as her word and got me a medical visit for the Tuesday after I am supposed to start back to work.

I should be able to get everything sorted out that week then - whoopee!

Work? Wot's that?

2010-01-13T07:21:00.000-08:00

So much better am I feeling now that it has crossed my mind that I could go back to work at the end of the month when my sick note runs out.

I even considered that I could go back earlier to assist at a course that would really interest me. Unfortunately that would mean I'd have to go to my doctor and ask him to shorten my sick note ...........according to our secretary that would make her life very awkward.

Shame.

However. It gets more interesting - now that I have been accepted as qualifying for Invalidity Benefit by the Social Security, I have to go and see the industrial doctor to get her recommendations before resuming work.

I want to have a meeting with my employers and re-negotiate my contract. I would be happy to work Saturday mornings as part of my package. I know that my colleagues who have kids don't like doing it and if I am only working four days a week it wouldn't bother me one bit when I have my weekends.

I told that to our secretary who was delighted (she is sick of trying to find people to work Saturdays)so now I am just waiting for her to organise my meeting with the doctor, which I have to have before my meeting with my employers ...... gets very French, doesn't it?

And at some time I am going to have to convince one of the pedagogical team to give me a private course on the computer teaching that I am going to miss.

Clicks

2010-01-09T08:44:00.000-08:00

Another thing that we Bippies suffer from is "clicks"

That's my word for prompts - that immediately become a hive of bees in the bonnet.

I have lost count of the number of times I have heard something on the radio or TV and it has been the click that prompted me to get on the computer and search teh internet for hours ............... either for a recipe or to buy something on eBay but always for something that is going to be THE answer - my life will be complete or at least less fragmented if I have (or can make) this thing.

It was butterscotch the other day - hours and hours of trying to find the recipe for making sweeties, not sauce, not cookies ......... and eventually I realised that buying "caramels durs" would be just as good.

Swazzle - I became obssessed with being able to do a decent Punch and Judy performance - I bought a swazzle to do the genuine Mr Punch voice ....... only to realise that I can do one just as well with my own voice and with my gut troubles I really didn't want to risk swallowing the damn thing!

This costs me time and money - I have musical instruments in the house which I know I will never play - I have others that I learned and then dropped once I knew I could do it - that was the challenge. Now I know I can do it, I don't HAVE TO.

I make clothes I don't need and will not wear. I have boxes of material I have bought because they were a bargain - I may never make them up. I have tried patchwork but it drives me bonkers.

There are bin-bags full of yarn in my house too - leftovers, bargains, don't ask me - they might become crochet squares, they might not, they might become Picasso jumpers, they might not.

I would sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo like to tidy up - mentally and physically but it isn't going to happen - not unless I can get rid of the clicks.

Back-tracking

2010-01-09T08:30:00.000-08:00

It seems that my physical problems have eclipsed my Bipolar entries a bit recently so I am going to share something that is going through my head (or driving me out of my mind) a bit at the moment.

You might remember that I told you that Bippies are plagued with regret about past situations and reactions? Most people get that but WE are really put through hoops by it. We lie awake worrying about things we said or did in the past - or didn't say or didn't do - which is pretty useless as it can't be changed.

Today I keep thinking about an incident when I was visiting a company for my work. I give lessons to a group there and we go for coffee break together in a communal room with their colleagues. Some clown started taking the piss out of my accent. Everyone noticed. There was an uncomfortable silence.

I had several options. I took the rational and legally good one - I went to the Head of Human Resources and lodged a complaint about racism.

When I got back to work I was told off - I was told I should not have gone to their HR, I should have come back to our office and lodged a complaint with OUR HR - oh yes, so they could ignore it completely and not offend a client. I think not. It was wrapped up in all kinds of flannel about my company wanting to protect their own, our HR being in a better position to talk to their HR ........ no, sorry I told their HR quite straighforwardly exactly what happened.

I now wish I had handled it differently. I wish I had gone over to that fat, stupid git and introduced myself, told him I didn't like racists and then smacked him in the mouth. No official line, no complaints, just the Glasgow terms and conditions ...................... take the piss out of me, nurse your broken jaw ...... think about it again next time you feel like victimising a Brit, more particularly a Scot.

OK it isn't a good idea but I really do wish I'd done it.

On the up

2010-01-06T01:36:00.001-08:00

Things are on the up.

My digestive system appears to be working better than it has in years - I suppose I will always have to keep an eye on it and treat it a bit like a child with a short attention span but so far, so good. Psychologically it is doing me a world of good being able to eat whatever I like while taking reponsibility for monitoring the sitch the next day.

My wounds are responding brilliantly to the hot scrub / slather in marigold ointment treatment and perhaps a bit of witchcraft thrown in - I always say a spell is never wasted, can't do any harm and might do some good. But then my marigold ointment is becoming internationally famous - I got a call from a lady in Ireland the other day who needs some for her daughter who has eczema and my stuff is the only thing that touches it.

The only thing I need to work on now is my muscles - they don't appear to like being sliced up and sewn together again and they make this known every time I try to get in or out of a car or armchair. They kick me firmly in the tummy and go "Oi, take it easy" ................... knowing that this is one thing I find very hard.

So I go for little walks around the village trying to hold my tummy muscles in - which makes my trousers fall down .............. can't have everything, can we?

Driving Force

2010-01-04T06:07:00.000-08:00

Due to a mix up with the Old Feller and his appointment with the physiotherapist, I had to go to town to see my shrink on my own. This is a very Good Thing.

It made me get out and about whether I wanted to or not. And it was great - even distant contact with others is lovely - stopping to let people cross the road, waving other people out of parking spots, smiling ...... contact, nice.

I went shopping! I was careful not to pick up anything heavy (I am limited to under 6 kgs) and I chose lots of things that I have not been able to eat for years ..... salads, granary bread with seeds on it, Chicken Tikka sandwiches with raw carrot etc ... oh the joy of it)

I got home and tackled the pile of paperwork that has been sitting on my desk for ages and now I am shattered but I feel good on it.

I have to go back to work in exactly three weeks' time - so the faster I can get myself back together (gently) the better.

Reminders

2010-01-02T21:39:00.001-08:00

Up at 6 this morning. No reason, not in pain, just not wanting to lie awake and cause an epidemic of waking up in the household.

This is fairly typical - general anaesthetics give me the gears. I suffer from upset sleeping pattern for months afterwards. It usually takes about three months for me to get back to normal from an op - and I am fairly sure it is just the knock-out juice.

My next project is to get my energy levels back to where they should be and that will be hard because I have to do it gradually and the one thing that Bippies don't do is gradual - all or nothing, that's us. Last night I suddenly thought about Butterscotch sweeties and Bingo! My world suddenly revolved around Butterscotch - could I make some? Could I find a recipe that didn't involve stuff I can't buy easily around here? I spent a good hour on the computer bashing away at recipe sites ........ it's OK, I am over it now but that is a good example - one idea is enough to release a hive of bees in my bonnet.

But I must hold onto some thoughts as well - how dismal it was in the Box. How utterly low I felt when I was unable to move - that is an invitation to count blessings! And, once out of the Box, even worse in a way, having to drag myself up and down the corridor in my pink fleece dressing gown, trailing tubes and bags and plastic bottles behind me or clutched in my free hand (the one that wasn't holding the drip stand) and becoming an object of curiosity from the visitors. I had to walk, I knew that. It was part of my healing but I felt like screaming at these people who stared, fascinated at my appendages half-filled with ketchup "You are in a bloody hospital for heaven's sake! What do you expect to see?" Although the temptation to do a "Curse of the Mummy" walk and groan ....... was high!

I must hold onto those thoughts because if I ever feel down or put-out or hard-done-by - I must remember those feelings and not being able to get a proper cup of tea, ever! And I can walk around with no bottles or bags.

Progress

2010-01-02T05:14:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year - good start for me - have got out and about a bit more

Am getting sick of being told I am convalescing ...... yes, I know but I DO have to get back to work in 3 weeks' time. And if I get completely exhausted just putting my clothes on, well I ain't going to be much use, am I?

So - I have got back to having a shower every morning - don't knock it, until you have been deprived of that joy, you can't know how much it sets one up for the day! And I have thrown myself on my marigold salve for physical healing on my wounds (the micropore tape was ripping off more skin than the dressings were saving so I figured we would win if we excluded the micropore) and I have been burning gold-coloured incense to speed this along magically.

Works for me!

And it does seem to work - the complete mess below my navel region would appear to be sorting itself out to a series of scars with which I can live - if I ever get bored I can play my vertical scar like a xylophone on the bumps!

My walk around the village just now didn't take me any longer than it normally does and I feel more positive for having done it. A lot of my "convalescence" has been sheer brute laziness and an unwillingness to go out in the cold and wet.

No more - a walk every day and a bit more tidying and sorting indoors ..... little and often, like the eating and we'll get there.

The sewerage system seems to be working too - READ ON AT YOUR PERIL - I WILL TALK ABOUT POO

Having spent more than three years with chronic diarrhoea it is a novel experience to have to worry if I am suffering from constipation but it is a huge joy to be able to eat anything I like on the understanding that if anything has a bad effect on my bowel then I have to react the next day by altering my diet. This is how I have come to the conclusion that the system does not wish to be overloaded and I have to eat little and often.

It is also a great comfort that I came home from the clinic with pages of advice about what to do if I got "loose" and only a paragraph about cures for constipation .......... guess which way I have been going and consequently eating my way through my list of "never ever ever" on my old diet sheet ........ hur hur hur, I can eat figs and prunes and nuts and muesli and vegetables and fresh fruit and all kinds of things that have been a total no-no up til now.

So with a combination of witchcraft, home made potions, diet and exercise I am going to get back to work at the end of January - if I believed in resolutions it would be on my list, but I don't, so it isn't, it is just a promise to myself.

New year's eve 2009

2009-12-31T02:10:00.000-08:00

anastomosis - a friend has written it down for me so I can tell you all that this is what I had done to me (40cms of bowel whipped out and the two ends re-joined)

Been out for a walk, fed the horses, hobbled around the shop. Not got a lot planned for tonight and will almost certainly NOT be staying up til midnight (don't normally do so now just after an op, don't think so)

As I may have said recently, the last year has not been my best as far as health goes but there have been compensations - the Old Feller and I have never been closer or better mates - which at our age is far more important than passionate. Mutual help and support is there, which is so lacking in other relationships I see.

I went back to riding. OK, this now looks as if it was a very short-lived pleasure as I won't be going back to it. But it was interesting to go into a different discipline in something about which I thought I knew just about everything. BUT - having had the kind of surgery I have just had, I don't think it would be a good idea to risk it again - I don't like hacking, that is sitting on a horse being a passenger while it wanders about the lanes. If I can't do exercises and stretch myself and the horse, which involves a lot of twisting and turning around the abdominal region ......... then I will stop.

But it has shown me why people keep horses that they can't ride. I have discovered that even if I can't ride, I can still love horses for what they are. Another revelation.

I have very few regrets about 2009 as that is a complete waste of time - learn from it, make adjustments for the future based on that learning, but don't regret.

My hopes for 2010 are limited and prosaic. I hope I can go back to work. I hope the Old Feller and I have another year together with our three dogs - we lost Gavroche this year and I would like to hold onto the others for another 12 months, if that is OK with the gods. I would like to find another passion to replace riding, one that takes into account my physical limitations but could fascinate me as much.

But I am realistic enough to know that there are things in my character that I can't change - I am a Bippy, I will worry, I am a bit obssessive/compulsive (I suffer from whole hives of bees in bonnets), I will take up interests and leave them half-finshed.

I can't change these things but I can be more aware of them and perhaps try to tone them down.

I hope I can continue to find enormous happiness in small, simple, everyday things and to have no desire to get "things". I am blessed with a lack of acquisitiveness - I rejoice.

If I am going to allow myself one desire for next year it might be - tidy. I would like to be a bit more tidy. Perhaps that could become my riding replacement, instead of horsemanship, I could do houseproud. Yes, cheap and useful, that would do ........ I'll let you know.

Bad night, good morning

2009-12-30T03:07:00.000-08:00

Another of those disturbed and disturbing nights. Went to bed faaaaaaaaar too early and got woken up with the Old Feller having one of his conversations from one side of a river to the other (from a previous existence I suspect). This time it concerned a "sleeping barge" which he was describing and about which he was giving instructions to someone over half a mile away. I told him the chap had understood and maybe he should pack it in now .......... the good thing about his nocturnal shouting is that although he is fast asleep he hears me and tends to react accordingly. Getting stressed and cross doesn't have a good reaction as he tends to punch out and it can get quite physically dangerous.

No worries. Except that, once awake, I don't go back to sleep and spent most of the night doing my Bipolar "excessive worrying, worst case scenario plus plus" game. This time I started obsessing about whether my bowel was working properly and if I got constipated would I burst internal stitches, release fecal matter into my abdominal cavity and die of peritonitis? (Yes, this is very normal Bipolar over-the-top thinking)

But this morning I suddenly realised that the doctor had advised me what to do if my dressing stuck to my wound and that included soaking it off with water with a couple of drops of bleach in it ........... bing! If soaking my dressing off was allowed, then a shower couldn't be out of the question, could it?

I made sure I had the Old Feller on hand, not to pick me up off the floor, poor old darling is waaaaaaaaaaaaaay past that these days but to call for assistance if I did get into trouble.

Oh ye gods that felt good - don't get me wrong, I have been washing my hair and having a good old guddle around with a flannel ever since the nurses stopped bed-bathing me but to get under the water and really get clean and rinsed ............ oh joy oh bliss!

I then changed my dressing and was delighted to find it nearly clean. I was in such a good mood that I made jokes with the Old Feller about railways and my lower abdomen and how much it resembled a map of the Great Western ....... including goods yards and disused stations where I still have nasty sores from the strapping. I traced a line from Taunton through Bideford (which I was making up but it amused us both)

OK - it isn't pretty. If I were vain I would be upset. If I were a beach-goer and a bikini wearer I would cry ........... but to my great delight I am not. Nobody need ever see my belly apart from me, the Old Feller and medical people - and that is how it should be, I am happy. No complaints from this side at all.

AND I realised yesterday that I am an impatient patient. Cross with myself for not getting enough done (well hardly anything really) it suddenly came to me that it was only a week since I came home, only two weeks since I came out of The Box. I am expecting miracles .......... but I will have to accept just pretty damn good!

And further .......

2009-12-28T09:09:00.000-08:00

Went to the doctor this afternoon and he said that the nurse had been over-worrying. After examining it he said that my wound was healing nicely, no infection, nothing to worry about and that from now on I can dress it myself and I don't need antibiotics.

That is nice. While I am very fond of Christine our district nurse it has been a bit of a bind clearing off the kitchen table every evening so I could lay on a clean towel with a cushion under my head .......... very turn of the century!

I am feeling much more energetic which is good and I am making dinner this evening!

Blessings ............ count 'em

2009-12-28T00:44:00.000-08:00

Just looked back and realised that my blog has been a bit grey lately. Given that I don't like it when my friends and relations bombard me with relentless gloom, I am going to have a slight crow this morning.

So OK my physical health has been total shite in the last 12 months, but I have been much better mentally.

And even if I haven't been much better, I have been more aware - being Bippy is like taking part in a Loony Toons cartoon, running like stink only to find the cliff has disappeared from under you and you are now running on thin air .......... before crashing to the ground. So I have been more aware of when I was heading inexorably towards the cliff edge.

I am home - it is a million percent better than being in hospital even though the staff were great. I can have cups of tea whenever I want, I can eat just about what I like, I just have to keep an eye on how my digestive system is working and balance it out .......

I can even get out for a walk now and again .......... which is where I am off to now. Toodle pip!

Rapid cycling

2009-12-27T02:12:00.000-08:00

This is a term usually linked with Bippies - most Bippies do their up / down cycles in periods of months rather than days but "rapid cycling" can occur where we go up : down / up in a day or two .......... very unsettling.

My GP said that I would do the euphoria bit, come back down to earth, stabilise out and then maybe get a bit of post-op depression, but he was talking in terms of months because the rest of his patients are non-Bippies.

So I have started doing this within 24-hour periods.

Yesterday I woke up full of beans, happy with a nice long sleep, wanting to do something so went out for a walk with Old Feller and the hounds, bumped into the shotgun-weilding hunters and gave them a bit of verbal about getting in my way (yer, like they scare me ............. one bit)

So by yesterday evening when my dressing was changed I started to feel very washed-out and unwell. Didn't sleep well. Up and down all night and got myself in a right tizzy.

The nurse has advised me to go to the GP on Monday (tomorrow) as she had no more mandate to come visit and dress my wound and needs a chit from a doctor - no doubt I need more care. Site of the drain is still spewing out foul-smelling gunk which may or may not demand treatment with antibiotics but the other, bigger scar is looking clean and responding very well to my marigold and lavender salve (grown in the garden, prepared with a spell) so all in all I can't complain, even if, from the waist down I look like an Igor from Terry Pratchett's Discworld.

For those of you unfamiliar with Igors, think Victor Frankenstein's creature but worse.

So, the switchback continues mentally and physically. Watch this space!

And down again

2009-12-25T01:26:00.000-08:00

I was warned this might happen.

Having come home as up as can be, done too much (yes, just walking between the bathroom, kitchen and sofa is too much) I have got a bit down.

Not mentally - but my wounds hurt, I have no energy (I've lost the will to knit) and I don't feel nearly as chipper as I did.

My long North / South wound is fine - all stitches out and from tonight will be without a dressing ........ but the other one risks being infected and I may have to go looking for antibiotics on Boxing Day ... the gunk pouring out of it is not nice, let's just say that, shall we?

But life is still good - it is better than being in hospital and I am home with my Old Feller and hounds - life is good.

All good stuff

2009-12-23T05:08:00.001-08:00

So I didn't sleep last night. Not much, not really. I managed a couple of hours between 9.30 and 2 and then 5 to 7.30 ............ inbetween which I wrote my blog, tidied up the computer, drank Redbush tea and generally amused myself.

But despite that I am pretty chipper today. I'm wearing those thick tights which are a gods-send because they act as a second bandage, don't rub or ruck-up and don't look too bad with one of my very long hand-knits and furry boots. New look to go with my slimmed down version - weighed myself and found I've shed at least 6 kilos, which can't be bad.

I've managed to unpack some of my stuff. The Old Feller went to town and, for someone who doesn't do Christmas or anything like it, did a fair impression of stocking up for a feast. Bless his darling heart. So I reciprocated by putting on my CDs I bought before going into hospital "Now that's what I call Xmas" ........... make an effort, why not?

This afternoon I have to go to the GP for some painkillers because my wounds are doing an alternating itchy / hurty double act and there are moments when I could tear my belly to bits.

So today is a good one. All I need to do now is be able to sleep tonight!

Not for the faint-hearted

2009-12-22T17:14:00.000-08:00

Squeamish, please abstain here. I think I am obliged to write that by Health and Safety.

So ........... what is it like having most of your colon removed? Not very nice.

The operation took five hours because even though I had had a colloscopy and you would think that the film could be passed from one expert to the next, we still rely on hand written notes with vague things like "oooooh nasty" on them, so the surgeon has to go in and find out for himself just HOW ooooooooh nasty the intestine is.

Mine was apparently very ooooooooh nasty with masses of adhesions and it wasn't possible to take out all the affected area, just the worst of it.

On the bright side, the two ends were joined and are functioning without a bag so that is the best I could have hoped for.

After surgery I was put in "The Box" which is a 5-bed unit for intensive and barrier post-op nursing - only close family, half an hour maximum visits with visitors gowned up. Didn't stop the Old Feller pulling his mask off to give me a nice big kissie which caused me to burst into tears because The Box is not a nice place.

I understand why babies cry. It is beastly to be put in one position and be unable to move without help. The wonderful hospital beds with an electronic zapper were banned in The Box because they interfered with other monitors so I couldn't even zap myself into a sitting position. Every time I wanted anything at all I had to buzz for a nurse. This to Mrs Independant who gets things done without aid - doesn't cross the mind to even think of asking for aid. Get it sorted, get it done.

Tubes were going in and out of me in every orifice but my ears. I couldn't turn on my side. There were two lowest points - one came when I managed to lift my head and examine my wound site (I know, bloody nosy cow) and apart from the very long scar from my pubis to above my belly button where the original incision had been (and some rather scruffy stitch work if I might say so - I wouldn't enter it for the Women's Institute Summer Fair) I found a gizmo that looked suspiciously like a collostomy bag from which went a drain and try as I might I couldn't follow the tube to its ending.

The morning nurse probably doesn't know how close she came to strangulation when I grabbed her by the collar and pointed at this monstrosity and hissed "What is it?" Whe assured me it was a drain. We both peered at the transparent top and I expressed the opinion that it looked mightily like a bit of intestine doing its best to escape but she assured me that it only "looked" that way, it was temporary, it would go. I cried then because I thought "she would say that, wouldn't she? If it is a bloody bag they would wait til I was stronger before telling me that the worst had happened, that the one in ten chance had come up"

My second big weep came when the fat slag night nurse who doesn't hear alarms, know what a shower is or come to check when people's monitors are going crazy, gave me my sleeping tablet to take later. She put it on the side table on the side where my arm was pretty hampered by art-installation drips. I looked at it and just KNEW I was going to drop the ferking thing. Sure enough, an hour later when I wanted to take my pill the little beggar slipped between my fingers and dropped on the floor. I couldn't even hang over the side of the bed to see it, never mind recuperate it so I lay helplessly weeping over my lost Stilnox. Then I rang the buzzer and hoped she'd come.

The catheter coming out was fun. No, it wasn't, that was irony. It hurt, I knew I had an infection (you just know these things) and then I had to start ringing the buzzer for a bedpan every time I needed a pee and having an infection that was pretty regularly. I hate being dependant .... ringing for a bedpan is dependant.

Then they started getting very interested in my farts or lack of. I explained not once but several times that I was holding back because I could feel a danger of "follow through". Oh ho ho ho ho no, not possible, they trilled, we cleared you out before the op. Oh up yer bucket I thought back, one good fart is going to get very messy, believe me - I am the driver of this machine and I know what I am doing.

So eventually, with my catheter out I could esconce myself on a bedpan and give it a Miles Davis rendition on the arse trumpet - I was right, they were wrong and from there we have had no problems. All systems go.

A rather pompous surgeon (not my beloved Donald Duck) passed through the Box and asked me in very serious tones "And have you farted?" (no, he did, he actually said "farted" and not "passed wind" or something) so when I replied "Yes thank you Sir" all the nurses fell about laughing

They are a funny lot.

OK - I have two holes in my belly - a long one that forms a perfect T with my previous gyne lines and a rather distinctive offset one where my drains were ........... if it were a compass rose we would have east west with north to mid and a north-east.

I am leaking gunk and the nurse has to come and play clean-up every day - think I will clear a space on the kitchen table - real pioneer stuff - hot water and plenty of it, the nurse is coming!

Normal Service

2009-12-22T16:57:00.000-08:00

............... has been resumed, any further disturbance is your problem, feel free to adjust your set as much as you like.

So I am home. Very tiring that, coming out of hospital. One part of you wants to just get stuck back into being normal and doing things and the other half is tapping its foot and wagging its finger and playing you recordings of the surgeon who sounds like Donald Duck telling you to take it easy, lift nothing more than 6kg and relax relax relax for a month .................. yes, like I am sooooooooooo going to do that!

Someone tell me how it can be that in decent health (I can just about remember that) I am able to ignore all faults in the house and, head down, eyes shut, go straight into whatever project is taking up my mind at that moment? Whereas now, staggering from kitchen to living room and bathroom being the furthest excesses of my outings, I am driven to distraction by things not being in the right place? I am seized by a desire to tidy up? Half finished projects are blowing raspberries at me?

Ah well, such is life - and now some brickbats and roses - deepest apologies to those who got missed off the Old Feller's list of people to whom daily updates were to be sent, you are probably no more pissed off than the people who have no interest but got put on the list anyway.

And my apologies also to the person who wanted me to stay longer in hospital so that she could continue to get "interesting" emails :-( ................. nope, sorry, not an option. And check back, dear, you have been off my forwarding list for cute pictures and stuff for over six months.

Enormous bunch of roses to the Old Feller who battled his way through all kinds of weather to bring me toys, games, distractions, clean nighties and most importantly, his dear self. I would choose the worst weather in living memory to be over an hour's drive away, wouldn't I?

Tired, of course, but happy. Happy to be able to roll over in bed, hampered only by hounds, not yards of tubing. Cups of tea anytime. Real coffee not that muck from the machine at 50c a go .............. just a bit of strength needed.

Oh - and I have lost weight. Hardly surprising really when I wasn't given any food for five days. Not that it is highly noticeable - my face is all sunken cheeks and hollow eyes (bit good that) but of course my middle is still swollen up like a watermelon from the operation. So it won't be til all that sorts itself out that I might be sliding into a couple of sizes smaller jeans.

OK - that is now - next comes the yukky details;

Monday

2009-12-07T01:48:00.000-08:00

The symptoms get worse - I have no idea why but I am usually freezing and my joints hurt most abominably, to the point where I can hardly walk.

I am hoping that this will all disappear once I have had my operation.

This morning I have abandoned my idea of waxing ........ even if my tuchus needs to be hairless for the op, I don't think now is a good time to make a first foray into strip waxing. According to various blog articles etc on the net, it is advisable to have a Brazilian in a salon before trying it at home ........ OK, for a change I will take advice.

So I have shaved. I am sat at the desk, listening to a very entertaining item on Grimaldi - I was in love with the Comedia del Arte when I was a drama student! I was a brilliant Harlequin. I smell of soap and the fact that I am bleeding profusely below the belt ......... just adds to the list of uncomfortable things I am looking forward to getting rid of.

I have to check my kit again. I read my book from the hospital and this one actually TELLS one to bring towels etc ........ that wasn't told me in my other hospital, I had to work it out for myself when I was given a bed sheet with which to dry myself - doesn't work.

Organised bear

2009-12-02T23:51:00.000-08:00

Think I have it sorted.

Got my medical insurance to fax an agreement to the clinic (yes, this is a peculiarity of the French system) and got a copy of their fax sent to me so if the clinic say they don't have it I can go "ta daaaaaaaaaaah" and produce MY copy. We have played this game before!

How does it work? Every medical procedure - visit to your GP, dentist, operation etc has a price that is paid by the Social Security which is not the price charged. We all have medical insurance to pay for the rest and nobody will admit you to a hospital if you don't have an agreement for the charges ........... yes, it does look a bit like the American system. My particular medical insurance covers me for a private room (if the hospital has one available) which is pretty good as I seem to be a magnet for loud old ladies who spend their nights screaming or pooing the bed.

So I have arranged my visits to the anaesthetist and the cardiologist and I have a copy of the agreement in my hot little paw .......... think we are winning.

Take it easy today bear. Tomorrow is Old Badger's birthday. Blessed be!

Grisly details

2009-12-02T11:15:00.000-08:00

Thought I had better give you some grisly details before people run away with the worst ideas.

Yes, I am having a portion of my colon removed but no, I will not necessarily be having a colostomy bag. There is only a one-in-ten chance that will happen - the surgeon wants to cut out the damaged part and sew the two good ends together. That is why I will be in hospital for 10 days - they want to be sure the sewer pipes are working OK before they let me out.

Even if I do have to have a bag, in the western world these are disposable - and I believe have been so for some decades. Don't go there!

According to the specialist, the guy who knows, after my operation I will be back to how I was some years ago before I got diverticulitis - I will be able to eat whatever I want. That will be a real treat!

So it is going to be rough but it could be a lot worse. I imagine it will be no worse than the sigmoiditis that I had last June.

Let's hope eh?

Timetable

2009-12-01T22:43:00.000-08:00

Old Feller got a point on his license and it is my fault ......... of course it is, he was taking me to try and get a cardiology appointment. I wasn't driving, you understand, he was, but it was MY appointment so it must be my fault he was speeding. Of course it was.

But, 60€ and a point on the licence later (which is only the one he got back last month swapped over again and as he reminded me, THAT was when he was driving me for a medical appointment too ........ do you see a pattern emerging here?) ... we are organised.

The rest of this week looks relatively quiet but then I realise it is Wednesday and that the rest of this week isn't a very long time especially as Friday is Old Feller's birthday and I will cook him a birthday dinner even if I can't eat it with him and I will make a bloody fuss so don't tell me I am not to OK?

Monday I have a very late appointment with the cardiologist. Tuesday it is the anaesthetist and Wednesday early morning I am into the clinic.

And being France nothing is done without a ton of paperwork so I had better pour myself a cup of tea and get on with the forms, questionnaires and other documents I brought home yesterday - damn good job my ability to carry heavy weights isn't diminished ..... my "operation" folder bulges ever fatter!

Date set

2009-12-01T09:15:00.000-08:00

Went to the clinic this afternoon and met my surgeon - nice man, shame he sounds like Donald Duck.

Very sensible chap, thought he better tell me that he would only take out the severely affected part of my colon (surprise !!!!!!!!) and that it was a serious operation (no, really??????????)

And I am scared, well of course I am - I knew all that before and I was scared so going to see him hasn't improved anything but there is bugger all I can do about it so I have booked my op for the 11th December (go into the clinic the day before to be starved and cleaned out) and just have to run around booking appointments with cardiologists and anaesthetists etc

I will be in for 10 days. Longer than I thought. It will not be a laparoscopy, it will be a bloody great cut in my belly - well who would not have bet on that then eh? Too much to bring out to do it by laparoscopy - so there you go.

I'll be OK. I will

Things get moving

2009-11-23T08:03:00.000-08:00

Having had my investigation last Friday and today being Monday I have been to my GP and he has given me the name of a surgeon with whom he works closely.

So I rang, not very hopeful of getting any kind of answer near 5 pm but bingo! Got the secretary, got an appointment and will be seeing Dr Baker next Tuesday in the afternoon.

Dr Baker is not a baker, he is a surgeon. Dr Nappy is a gastro man in Besançon and my gynaecologist is called Mrs Dildo - you couldn't make it up.

The only slight disappointment is that I won't be in Dijon, I will be in Vesoul, which is equally far from home but where I know nobody so my colleagues won't be able to visit.

But then I will only be there for five days ....... so they tell me. No worries!

Perspective

2009-11-22T01:41:00.000-08:00

There is a really good audio diary on You and Yours on BBC Radio 4 on Thursday from a fellow Bippy.

He said something that made me sit up - we suffer, like everyone else, from regrets, those nasty, all-consuming regrets that hit you about 4am. Not necessarily guilt - we very often have NO idea if things are our fault or not, so assume they are even when other people are being totally unreasonable. According to the Great Dr W, that is one of the things on which I have to work - standing back and accepting that just sometimes, things are other people's fault and not mine.

These regrets hit us harder and more often than other non-Bippies. We lie awake wanting to put the pillow over our face and die ........ which is counter-productive as we can't undo the situation and quite probably it is something that a non-Bippy would just dismiss as "oh dear, how sad, never mind"

It takes us much longer to get a handle of perspective on these events or situations. And I have just got one on a couple of things that have been bugging me for a while - it is the Wizard of Oz syndrome - is that all it is? Is that really what I was soooooooooooo upset about? Ye gods, how stupid is that?

Feels good.

Dressing up - really

2009-11-21T08:25:00.000-08:00

That's what it is. People call it "re-enactment" because they are ashamed of enjoying such a childish thing as dressing up and playing let's pretend.

I know this because we got invited to a "re-enactment" weekend. This particular group were cowboys but I can imagine that the experience would have been the same no matter whether they were mediaeval, Civil War (British or American) or World War II (we have a lot of those in France which is a bit weird considering all you have to do is walk around with your hands up .... so the French dress up as Americans and get to be heroic - talk about reversing history!)

So here is a bit of advice for anyone invited to this kind of thing.

a) Don't expect too much. These people get off on dressing up. Once they have done that, they are finished. It's rather like a fancy dress party - once you get over the giggling at each others' costumes, it's just another party.

b) Don't take advice from the Group Geek - it gets expensive. We made that mistake and I ended up spending a lot of time and money researching authentic costumes for us - it was just before the "DO" when he said to me "of course your buttons must be made of wood" that alarm bells began ringing in my head and I said "You, of course, make your own" knowing he would say he did.

c) If at all possible use stuff you already have or go to the expense of hiring something - it will be cheaper in the long run than ending up with what I have - an outfit in my wardrobe that will never be used again, skirt, jacket, snood, blouse, boots, the lot. I am unlikely to go to work as a lady of the 1860s Americas ..... work it out for yourself.

d) Take something to amuse yourself - Sudoku, crosswords, anything to distract you from a bunch of people stalking around talking to each other in a ridiculous manner (what they imagine to be the correct way of speaking for the time involved - even if they don't speak the correct language - imagine cowboy American with a heavy French accent ....... yes, doesn't bear thinking about, does it?)

e) Remember that they are really getting off on this and don't laugh. No matter how contradictory their behaviour - and it can get quite bizarre - you are in their little dream and rather than giggle helplessly when they apply 21st century manners to another era, excuse yourself and leave. I disgraced myself completely by snorting drink down my nose when a "cowboy" curled his lip at someone eating with their fingers .......... time to go.

Better still - thank them profusely and find a reason NOT to attend. Far safer that way. Then you can listen enthralled when they tell you what a wonderful weekend you missed - and thank your lucky stars you weren't there!