Heyy,
What a different world in which I report to you this afternoon. Since last weeks frolic's in cocktail bars and fancy restaurants things have certainly not been the same. Here in the UK we have just had a public address from our Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, stating a national emergency against what can only be described as Pandemic upon unfathomable proportions.
Several weeks ago we heard whisperings from the East regarding COVID-19 - A new illness that can affect your lungs and airways caused by a virus called Coronavirus. However, Coronavirus isn't by itself a new thing as MERS (Middle East respiratory syndrome) and SARS (severe acute respiratory syndrome) which, having killed more than 1,500 people between them since 2002 is slowly being caught up by its new cousin on the block, COVID-19.
The source of the COVID-19 coronavirus is believed to be a food market in Wuhan, China which sold both dead and live animals including fish and birds. The risk of viruses and cross-contamination from animals to humans is more likely in places such as this because hygiene standards are difficult to maintain as well as them being typically densely packed. Whilst there is speculation that the original host is thought to be bats who may have infected live chickens or other animals sold there, the animal source of the latest outbreak has not yet been identified. That being said, Bats are host to a wide range of zoonotic viruses including Ebola, HIV and rabies, which seems unfair given how cute they are!
Quickly spreading across China the first European country to be affected was Italy. Hitting the headlines every day with its mounting death count suddenly it went from a bit of a laugh about how someone should let Ozzy Osbourne know, to now being a little more worried that it was getting closer to our doorstep. Soon enough the UK government announced some advice, although not at all helpful considering that it is typically cold and flu season. The NHS website states that a high temperature whereby you feel hot to touch on your chest or back and a new, continuous cough (coughing a lot for more than an hour, or 3 or more coughing episodes in 24 hours). The Italians seemed OK though, they were still out partying (literally), getting their hair done and visiting restaurants and cinemas, everything was fine apart from a few small northern villages. But things got worse ...
Early last week things started to move and move quickly. On Tuesday 17 March, moneysavingexpert.com explained easily how banks had agreed with the Chancellor that they will offer 'forbearance' (tolerance and help) on mortgages. This means they all should offer those struggling a three-month 'holiday', allowing customers a temporary break from having to make mortgage payments during this time. Something which helped when Mr Warehouse called me from the bus home explaining he was being sent home sick because he coughed when asking about sick-pay during this period of uncertainty. For us, keeping up with bills and putting food on the table was never really a challenge - until my Fiance's salary went from £300 per week to £70.
Realistically it should help and maybe get us out of what could have been a very tight hole in the next few weeks and months. Although after spending four-and-a-half hours on hold to our mortgage company on Thursday and then a further 3-hours on Friday morning I was finally able to speak with someone. Feeling embarrassed I mumbled my way through the phone call with a lovely women who explained that there was nothing to be embarrassed by and that everyone is in the same boat and to not worry or panic. And so, for the next three months, we won't pay anything, then when our mortgage repayments resume, the total we owe would be spread over the following remain years on our term, realistically seeing a very small uplift in future payments.
Several days later, the UK Government announced a continuity of the COVID-19 Coronavirus package to help people affected by the pandemic which including a sweeping pledge to pay 80% of employees' wages if they are not working due to illness. Boris and the Chancellor said that they will make sure there are measures in place to cover 80% of the wages of 'retained' employees (Retained being those who would otherwise have been laid off due to the knock-on effects of the coronavirus pandemic). Obviously, there is a limit to the amount paid will be capped at a maximum of £2,500 per month / per employee, all to be issued through grants which can be paid out to any employer. moneysavingexpert.com confirms that the Chancellor says the scheme will be open “before the end of April”, and wages will be paid backdated to 1 March. Hopefully, this will help many people who would have otherwise lost their jobs.
Although it seems that these measures did not go far enough as soon enough Boris and his Pals in Parliament had announced that as of Friday 20 March, all schools will be closed, though they'll remain open for the children of 'key workers' – for example, NHS staff, police and delivery drivers – as well as the most vulnerable children. Then came the entertainment cull - Tens of thousands of pubs, bars, nightclubs, cinemas, theatres and restaurants across the UK shut their doors for the final time as after Boris Johnson imposed a nationwide lockdown from Friday evening.
What with all the panic and pandemonium I am hardly surprised that the supermarkets and shop shelves were empty. With a huge surge in demand from shoppers, many of them unnecessarily stocking up on essentials and products such as toilet roll, hand gel and paracetamol, it was becoming increasingly hard to get in some places and find just the normal day to day items to feed your family. it quickly became out of hand, to the point of which normally I would be joining Mr and Mrs Jones in buying out 40+ bog rolls and 80 boxes of pasta shells, but I didn't, because I am not a fucking idiot. Sure enough, the stock became less and less to the point of which Mr Warehouse had become aware we had not seen a fresh loaf of bread or toilet tissue in weeks.
Going back to basics, we thought like our grandparents would have and headed to the local markets and butchers in search of fresh fruit, veg and meat. But there was nothing. Arriving at a local butcher, calling earlier that day and being promised that shelves would be stocked, there was nothing. A pack of sodding bacon and sausages, by which point, when we came to leave, were snapped up by another desperate customer. Heading to Lidl up the road I thought we would chance our luck. Mr Warehouse and I were able to pick up a few little bits to see us through, mainly some meat for meals and that all-important pasta and bog roll. It is sad to think that as a result of peoples lack of empathy and greed that Supermarkets and shops have been forced to bring in significant restrictions. Limiting shoppers to buying a certain number of the same item, restricting opening times and in some cases stopping accepting online orders altogether. But with shops and stores like ASDA and Iceland introducing the "silver hour", a priority shopping time (usually the first hour of the day) for the elderly or vulnerable it certainly does something to restore your faith in humanity.
The last week has been strange, to say the least, especially working from home - Now that was odd! But with a live televised statement from Downing Street from Boris Johnson stating a new strict curb on life in the UK to tackle the spread of coronavirus, things certainly look like they are going to change even more. As the UK death toll has reached 335 (as of Monday 23 March 2020) the prime minister has announced that from this evening people must stay at home except for shopping for basic necessities, once-daily exercise (as if I did any exercise anyway), any medical need and travelling to and from essential work. Announcements include that all shops selling non-essential goods such as clothing and electronics are being told to shut and gatherings in public of more than two people who do not live together are to be prohibited. And what if people do not follow the rules? The UK police will have the powers to enforce them, including fines and dispersing gatherings. Scary measures when I am less than six-months off being a Mrs ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Ill. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ill. Show all posts
Monday, 23 March 2020
Monday, 12 February 2018
One Year On ...
Afternoon All,
Hard to see how things have changed since this time last year. A lot has changed, however there are many things that are still the same old same old. Like my love for Cheese and Mr. Warehouse's obsession for recording stuff and not watching it on the iPlayer. But one thing is for sure, and as it approaches Valentines Day our love for each other is just as strong as last year if not moreso. Another thing that has grown stronger is our love for Pooch and given the circumstances surrounding last year I am glad we have made it this far with what was such a sad and desperate time.
Mr. Warehouse and I noticed the pooch had a gunky eye first of all. It was closed and sore looking. Pups had not been well for some days, not eating properly, if at all and had a complete loss of interest in anything she used to love and enjoy. Worried if it was something more serious we bundled her into my car and headed to the Vets. Once the Veterinary nurse had taken some swabs of her eyes and quizzed us both on our dog's habits and traits over the last few days. Mr. Warehouse proceeded to explain that pooch had been prescribed some medicine for a water infection a couple of weeks ago and it had seemed to clear it up but she had done a little accident two days earlier, which he put down to just being excited, although I and the Vet disagreed. When I explained that since she was originally owned by the Brother of Mr. Warehouse, she had not been spayed the Vet seemed evermore concerned. Then come a wave of peculiar questions that were all answered with a yes. At this point the Veterinarian seemed very anxious and asked our permission to take bloods to see how her vitals were performing. When I asked the Veterinary nurse about what might be possibly wrong I expected it to be something small and easily treatable, but then cam her explanation.
"She has what is called a Pyometra which is where the womb fills up with pus and as a result is extremely dangerous and life-threatening without treatment. An open-Pyo is where the cervix has opened up just enough to let the pus seep out which is still serious but can wait a few weeks for an appointment, however a closed-Pyo will mean it is essentially a ticking time-bomb, getting bigger and bigger and with no-where to go could burst at any moment, killing her."
Shocked and shaking I asked about what we can do and what as owners our options were. She talked through the various routes we had but ultimately the cost was huge and we had to consider other options than surgery. Numbers and figures whirling around my head all with the thoughts that this was a very simple and easily preventable illness. I couldn't take it. My rage filling up inside that this was what we had to deal with because of someone else's negligence. The Veterinarian took some more swabs from Pooch's undercarriage and said that since there is no leakage that Mr. Warehouse and I had to prepare for the worst. Leaving our sickly pup in the hands of what would have appeared to be a very, very good Pet Doctor we left to grab a coffee and discuss our options.
After Mr. Warehouse's Brother bought the bundle of fluff he handed her over, almost like a toy and into the care of a teenage Mr. Warehouse and his Mom, both of whom worked and were not ready or prepared for an animal. But nevertheless they cared for her as best they could but as a adolescent man, no-one had kept her up to date on her vaccinations as a puppy or as an adult dog. Therefore as a result of this, her pet insurance had been invalidated years ago. Without it we were left in a very desperate situation.
"We have a lot to talk about" I said, hoping that magically we would find the money or a solution would come to us in the darkness, only lit by street lamps on the side of a road, outside what we now know in the daylight as a church. Watching the cars windows steam with little talk and more silent tears, all I could see were dog walkers. We were one of them. We still are one of them. And we needed to find a way to fix her. She is our dog and Mr. Warehouse and I need to be strong for her because for every moment we have had a shitty day or been poorly or unhappy she has been there for us. Now it is our turn. Not just that but we have got so many things left to do together. Run on sandy beaches, Hop on a ferry for a holiday or just for her to share in some of life's biggest moments with Mr. Warehouse and I.
She was still on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication from the Vets but Mr. Warehouse and I decided to carry on with our Peak District Valentines break away with Pup but within twenty-four hours after coming off the meds, returning home our pooch got poorly again, signature eye infection and constantly licking her privates. Taking her to the Vets again they couldn't determine as to what was causing her upset. Asking to consult with colleagues we were left to discuss our financial options which were dwindling with every visit we seemed to make. With the prospects of a £1,500+ bill for the operation alone we were nervous of what the Vet had to say.
After searching constantly for a way to get through this calling over one-hundred local vets and even ones as far as forty miles from where we called home. Mr. Warehouse never knew the sleepless nights or evenings I would spend researching charities or funding pages that may be able to help. I must admit though that I did look into the horrific alternative and the costs that it would incur. Every night I was left alone with the TV I would open up my laptop / tablet, pooch sat beside me, and nearly cry my heart out for the lack of help around.
The next few hours and days were a blur until the weekend when Mr. Warehouse was accepted for a loan at the bank, funnily enough not actually needed for Pooch's Op but to try and better manage his debt and Credit Cards. Timing impeccable, we walked out of that room with a smile on our faces not only meant that we had secured Mr. Warehouse's financial status, but also that we could save our dogs life and in a way ours. A few days later I was nervous as I walked back into the Vets to collect Mr. Warehouse's pooch. What condition was she going to be in? Was she going to recover quickly? Had she peed on the floor in fear after the last time we arrived? But more importantly ... How much is it going to cost our little family financially? It had been a stressful few weeks leading up to that moment but the second the little student nurse brought out our furry baby we knew the decision to operate was the right one. She was so happy, the happiest we had seen her in some time. Her belly wasn't anywhere near as swollen as it once was and in its place was a shaved belly and a six-inch-scar, held together with little stitches. She had a bandage on her paw where she had her IV drip and fluids. Looked like some child had just been playing Doctors and Nurses with her to be honest. But she was defiantly feeling much better it would have seemed. And I suppose you would have felt better too if you saw what was removed.
The infected womb that was removed was full, bulging and resembled haggis showed the photos took by surgeons. The Pyometra had got to the point of bursting and had even developed a small rupture which was found when the Vet's operated. Mr. Warehouse had been ever-so close to loosing our puppy and we were sure to make the most of life once she was back on her paws. And boy have we. All three of us ran along the freezing but sandy beaches of Great Yarmouth in spring last year, had many trips to the lake for swimming and attempted picnics and even managed a weekend away to Bath in a log cabin by a toasty fire which I think Pooch enjoyed very much. All in all we are so lucky to have her still and make her last few years with us the best they can be ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Hard to see how things have changed since this time last year. A lot has changed, however there are many things that are still the same old same old. Like my love for Cheese and Mr. Warehouse's obsession for recording stuff and not watching it on the iPlayer. But one thing is for sure, and as it approaches Valentines Day our love for each other is just as strong as last year if not moreso. Another thing that has grown stronger is our love for Pooch and given the circumstances surrounding last year I am glad we have made it this far with what was such a sad and desperate time.
Mr. Warehouse and I noticed the pooch had a gunky eye first of all. It was closed and sore looking. Pups had not been well for some days, not eating properly, if at all and had a complete loss of interest in anything she used to love and enjoy. Worried if it was something more serious we bundled her into my car and headed to the Vets. Once the Veterinary nurse had taken some swabs of her eyes and quizzed us both on our dog's habits and traits over the last few days. Mr. Warehouse proceeded to explain that pooch had been prescribed some medicine for a water infection a couple of weeks ago and it had seemed to clear it up but she had done a little accident two days earlier, which he put down to just being excited, although I and the Vet disagreed. When I explained that since she was originally owned by the Brother of Mr. Warehouse, she had not been spayed the Vet seemed evermore concerned. Then come a wave of peculiar questions that were all answered with a yes. At this point the Veterinarian seemed very anxious and asked our permission to take bloods to see how her vitals were performing. When I asked the Veterinary nurse about what might be possibly wrong I expected it to be something small and easily treatable, but then cam her explanation.
"She has what is called a Pyometra which is where the womb fills up with pus and as a result is extremely dangerous and life-threatening without treatment. An open-Pyo is where the cervix has opened up just enough to let the pus seep out which is still serious but can wait a few weeks for an appointment, however a closed-Pyo will mean it is essentially a ticking time-bomb, getting bigger and bigger and with no-where to go could burst at any moment, killing her."
Shocked and shaking I asked about what we can do and what as owners our options were. She talked through the various routes we had but ultimately the cost was huge and we had to consider other options than surgery. Numbers and figures whirling around my head all with the thoughts that this was a very simple and easily preventable illness. I couldn't take it. My rage filling up inside that this was what we had to deal with because of someone else's negligence. The Veterinarian took some more swabs from Pooch's undercarriage and said that since there is no leakage that Mr. Warehouse and I had to prepare for the worst. Leaving our sickly pup in the hands of what would have appeared to be a very, very good Pet Doctor we left to grab a coffee and discuss our options.
After Mr. Warehouse's Brother bought the bundle of fluff he handed her over, almost like a toy and into the care of a teenage Mr. Warehouse and his Mom, both of whom worked and were not ready or prepared for an animal. But nevertheless they cared for her as best they could but as a adolescent man, no-one had kept her up to date on her vaccinations as a puppy or as an adult dog. Therefore as a result of this, her pet insurance had been invalidated years ago. Without it we were left in a very desperate situation.
"We have a lot to talk about" I said, hoping that magically we would find the money or a solution would come to us in the darkness, only lit by street lamps on the side of a road, outside what we now know in the daylight as a church. Watching the cars windows steam with little talk and more silent tears, all I could see were dog walkers. We were one of them. We still are one of them. And we needed to find a way to fix her. She is our dog and Mr. Warehouse and I need to be strong for her because for every moment we have had a shitty day or been poorly or unhappy she has been there for us. Now it is our turn. Not just that but we have got so many things left to do together. Run on sandy beaches, Hop on a ferry for a holiday or just for her to share in some of life's biggest moments with Mr. Warehouse and I.
She was still on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication from the Vets but Mr. Warehouse and I decided to carry on with our Peak District Valentines break away with Pup but within twenty-four hours after coming off the meds, returning home our pooch got poorly again, signature eye infection and constantly licking her privates. Taking her to the Vets again they couldn't determine as to what was causing her upset. Asking to consult with colleagues we were left to discuss our financial options which were dwindling with every visit we seemed to make. With the prospects of a £1,500+ bill for the operation alone we were nervous of what the Vet had to say.
After searching constantly for a way to get through this calling over one-hundred local vets and even ones as far as forty miles from where we called home. Mr. Warehouse never knew the sleepless nights or evenings I would spend researching charities or funding pages that may be able to help. I must admit though that I did look into the horrific alternative and the costs that it would incur. Every night I was left alone with the TV I would open up my laptop / tablet, pooch sat beside me, and nearly cry my heart out for the lack of help around.
The next few hours and days were a blur until the weekend when Mr. Warehouse was accepted for a loan at the bank, funnily enough not actually needed for Pooch's Op but to try and better manage his debt and Credit Cards. Timing impeccable, we walked out of that room with a smile on our faces not only meant that we had secured Mr. Warehouse's financial status, but also that we could save our dogs life and in a way ours. A few days later I was nervous as I walked back into the Vets to collect Mr. Warehouse's pooch. What condition was she going to be in? Was she going to recover quickly? Had she peed on the floor in fear after the last time we arrived? But more importantly ... How much is it going to cost our little family financially? It had been a stressful few weeks leading up to that moment but the second the little student nurse brought out our furry baby we knew the decision to operate was the right one. She was so happy, the happiest we had seen her in some time. Her belly wasn't anywhere near as swollen as it once was and in its place was a shaved belly and a six-inch-scar, held together with little stitches. She had a bandage on her paw where she had her IV drip and fluids. Looked like some child had just been playing Doctors and Nurses with her to be honest. But she was defiantly feeling much better it would have seemed. And I suppose you would have felt better too if you saw what was removed.
The infected womb that was removed was full, bulging and resembled haggis showed the photos took by surgeons. The Pyometra had got to the point of bursting and had even developed a small rupture which was found when the Vet's operated. Mr. Warehouse had been ever-so close to loosing our puppy and we were sure to make the most of life once she was back on her paws. And boy have we. All three of us ran along the freezing but sandy beaches of Great Yarmouth in spring last year, had many trips to the lake for swimming and attempted picnics and even managed a weekend away to Bath in a log cabin by a toasty fire which I think Pooch enjoyed very much. All in all we are so lucky to have her still and make her last few years with us the best they can be ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 8 January 2018
Welcome to Slim-uary!
Hello,
So as the chill sets in and everyone appears to be battening down the hatches in preparation for bad weather and a lack of social interaction due to the fact that nobody has any money for at least another fortnight or so. And here I am feeling like I have money to burn. The struggle is real and I am starting to wonder why I ever chose to not book a holiday early this year. You see after all my work colleagues had booked last minute holidays, all of them snatching up all the great bargains and good deals, leaving Mr Warehouse and I in a bit of a tizz as to why we have spent nearly seven-hundred quid on such a holiday that was barely worth half that.
With this in mind, 2018 will probably be our last big holiday until we own a home. This is why I am looking to go on an all expenses extra kind of holiday. Where to you ask but the thing is nobody knows. Well that is until about six to eight weeks before we fly that is. I would like to go somewhere warm and ideally long haul. Maybe America, Mexico, Caribbean or Hawaii? Who knows I may end up in Thailand eating noodles from some back end bar and having to pull Mr. Warehouse away from the Lady-boys! I am sure that where ever and when ever we book it will be magical and something to treasure whilst we save like squirrels for our house.
With the weather in England as unpredictable as my my hair colour (Blue, pink, orange, red - You name it we've been there) it is far too early to start thinking about summer yet. Now I am sure that you are just as eager as I am, ready and waiting to strip off, ready to hit the beach in a new bikini and have everyone turn to look at you. However the only reason that I think anybody would be looking my way on holiday is to see what a state I was or to clear the road to the buffet cart.
OK so I may jest a little about my weight and in no uncertain terms and I taking the piss out of people that heavier or larger. You are beautiful each and everyone of you. Your bodies do fantastic things like keep you alive and bore you children. You should appreciate them and all that they do for you. So why am I hear bashing myself about my own weight you may say. Well, that is because I'm not happy with myself in the dress size I am. For what seems like year after year has now started to turn into decade after decade and despite being only in my mid-twenties, I feel like I dress like somebody ten-years older than me. I want to feel beautiful and for people to compliment me for once and actually mean it.
Rightly or wrongly I know that people, sadly mostly my family, make passing comments about my weight and have done for many years. My family has always been big especially on my father's side and with the recent deterioration of my grandfather and his health, I can only assume that his lifestyle choices will probably be the end of him. And sadly I have no sympathy for him. Don't get me wrong I fully empathise with his situation and following retirement from what was a very active lifestyle jumping in and out of lorries all day he is now fully bed-bound and in need of round the clock care. It is sad and upsetting to see him in this way especially when he has had such a huge influence on my life. We are not very close by any means but that does not mean that I do not care for him very much and it worries me to think that this time next year he may not be with us.
Maybe this is why I have joined a local gym and started a better and more healthier eating plan. I have signed up to you and been attending personal training sessions for the last few weeks with some astonishing figures that even I did not expect. In the last 6 weeks I have lost over ten-centimetres off my waist along with over seven-centimetres off my hips and sadly one-centimetres off my bust! Sad Face! And I don't want to be down to a size stupid, pottering around with a head bigger than my daily intake of calories and a waist the same circumference as a tangerine (Which by the way I would not able to eat since it was not vegan friendly, gluten free or multivitamin infused). I would however like to enjoy my summer prancing around in the sunshine, wearing a kitsch tea dress and looking as curvy and cute as I did back in college all whilst cramming down a hot-dog or two.
I want to enjoy my food as well as my figure and wardrobe. I don't really think that I should have to compromise on either in order to have a good time or indeed enjoy life. I would like to say that by the time the annual family fun day at work is in full swing and Mr Warehouse and I are preparing for another year celebrating a pool and darts tournament in aid of his grandfather I would like to be at least one dress size smaller than I am now. Hopefully I can get there however it will probably be quite a lot of hard work, determination and willpower. Now where did I put my kale and avocado smoothie ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So as the chill sets in and everyone appears to be battening down the hatches in preparation for bad weather and a lack of social interaction due to the fact that nobody has any money for at least another fortnight or so. And here I am feeling like I have money to burn. The struggle is real and I am starting to wonder why I ever chose to not book a holiday early this year. You see after all my work colleagues had booked last minute holidays, all of them snatching up all the great bargains and good deals, leaving Mr Warehouse and I in a bit of a tizz as to why we have spent nearly seven-hundred quid on such a holiday that was barely worth half that.
With this in mind, 2018 will probably be our last big holiday until we own a home. This is why I am looking to go on an all expenses extra kind of holiday. Where to you ask but the thing is nobody knows. Well that is until about six to eight weeks before we fly that is. I would like to go somewhere warm and ideally long haul. Maybe America, Mexico, Caribbean or Hawaii? Who knows I may end up in Thailand eating noodles from some back end bar and having to pull Mr. Warehouse away from the Lady-boys! I am sure that where ever and when ever we book it will be magical and something to treasure whilst we save like squirrels for our house.
With the weather in England as unpredictable as my my hair colour (Blue, pink, orange, red - You name it we've been there) it is far too early to start thinking about summer yet. Now I am sure that you are just as eager as I am, ready and waiting to strip off, ready to hit the beach in a new bikini and have everyone turn to look at you. However the only reason that I think anybody would be looking my way on holiday is to see what a state I was or to clear the road to the buffet cart.
OK so I may jest a little about my weight and in no uncertain terms and I taking the piss out of people that heavier or larger. You are beautiful each and everyone of you. Your bodies do fantastic things like keep you alive and bore you children. You should appreciate them and all that they do for you. So why am I hear bashing myself about my own weight you may say. Well, that is because I'm not happy with myself in the dress size I am. For what seems like year after year has now started to turn into decade after decade and despite being only in my mid-twenties, I feel like I dress like somebody ten-years older than me. I want to feel beautiful and for people to compliment me for once and actually mean it.
Rightly or wrongly I know that people, sadly mostly my family, make passing comments about my weight and have done for many years. My family has always been big especially on my father's side and with the recent deterioration of my grandfather and his health, I can only assume that his lifestyle choices will probably be the end of him. And sadly I have no sympathy for him. Don't get me wrong I fully empathise with his situation and following retirement from what was a very active lifestyle jumping in and out of lorries all day he is now fully bed-bound and in need of round the clock care. It is sad and upsetting to see him in this way especially when he has had such a huge influence on my life. We are not very close by any means but that does not mean that I do not care for him very much and it worries me to think that this time next year he may not be with us.
Maybe this is why I have joined a local gym and started a better and more healthier eating plan. I have signed up to you and been attending personal training sessions for the last few weeks with some astonishing figures that even I did not expect. In the last 6 weeks I have lost over ten-centimetres off my waist along with over seven-centimetres off my hips and sadly one-centimetres off my bust! Sad Face! And I don't want to be down to a size stupid, pottering around with a head bigger than my daily intake of calories and a waist the same circumference as a tangerine (Which by the way I would not able to eat since it was not vegan friendly, gluten free or multivitamin infused). I would however like to enjoy my summer prancing around in the sunshine, wearing a kitsch tea dress and looking as curvy and cute as I did back in college all whilst cramming down a hot-dog or two.
I want to enjoy my food as well as my figure and wardrobe. I don't really think that I should have to compromise on either in order to have a good time or indeed enjoy life. I would like to say that by the time the annual family fun day at work is in full swing and Mr Warehouse and I are preparing for another year celebrating a pool and darts tournament in aid of his grandfather I would like to be at least one dress size smaller than I am now. Hopefully I can get there however it will probably be quite a lot of hard work, determination and willpower. Now where did I put my kale and avocado smoothie ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 20 February 2017
A Regular Pupdate ...
Hiya,
I was nervous as I walked back into the Vets to collect Mr. Warehouse's pooch. What condition was she going to be in? Was she going to recover quickly? Had she peed on the floor in fear after the last time we arrived? But more importantly ... How much is it going to cost our little family financially?
Several weeks ago as I am sure you regulars to my blog will know, the pup got poorly and after seeing several vets at several different surgeries, Mr. Warehouse and I were faced with the decision no pet owner wants to consider. Our little one had been sick for some time now, constantly licking her downstairs and numerous eye infections we decided that we should get a professional opinion as to what was making her ill. We were told by the Veterinarian that o dog could have what was called a Pyometra which is where the womb fills up with pus and as a result is extremely dangerous and life-threatening without treatment. An open-Pyo is where the cervix has opened up just enough to let the pus seep out which is still serious but can wait for an appointment, however a closed-Pyo will mean it is essentially a ticking time-bomb, getting bigger and bigger and with no-where to go could burst at any moment, killing her. After a few weeks on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication resulting in her being off her food almost permanently asides a few handfuls of plain cooked pasta, she had made very little improvement.
Within twenty-four hours after coming off the meds, returning from the Peak District just hours earlier our fluffy got poorly again, signature eye infection and constantly licking her privates. Taking her to the Vets they again couldn't determine as to what was causing her upset. Asking to consult with colleagues we were left to discuss our financial options which were dwindling with every visit we seemed to make to the rubber-floored rooms. With the prospects of a £1,500.00 bill for the operation alone we were nervous of what the Veterinary surgery had to say. Although leaving that night, no closer to an answer we were determined not to give up on her.
We would find a way, surely there must be a way to get through this and out the other side relevantly unscathed. Every lunch break I called over one-hundred local vets, even as far as Cambridge and St. Albans, forty miles from where we called home. Mr. Warehouse never knew the sleepless nights or evenings I would spend researching charities or funding pages that may be able to help. I must admit though that I did look into the horrific alternative and the costs that it would incur. Every night I was left alone with the TV I would open up my laptop / tablet, pooch sat beside me, and nearly cry my heart out for the lack of help around.
It had been a stressful few weeks leading up to that moment but the second the little student nurse brought out our furry baby we knew the decision to operate was the right one. She was so happy, the happiest we had seen her in some time. Her belly wasn't anywhere near as swollen as it once was and in its place was a shaved belly and a six-inch-scar, held together with little stitches. She had a bandage on her paw where she had her IV drip and fluids. Looked like some child had just been playing Doctors and Nurses with her to be honest. But she was defiantly feeling much better it would have seemed. And I suppose you would have felt better too if you saw what was removed.
The infected womb that was removed was full, bulging and resembled haggis. The Pyometra had got to the point of bursting and had even developed a small rupture which was found when the Vet's operated. Mr. Warehouse had been ever-so close to loosing our pup and we were sure to make the most of life once she was back on her paws. Already booked we had an adventure to the seaside for the first Spring Bank Holiday in the May, all three amigo's heading off to Great Yarmouth to allow Pooch a run along the shore, sand in between her paws and lots of new sights and smells to explore. But Shhh ... Its a secret - Although I am sure you won't tell her!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
I was nervous as I walked back into the Vets to collect Mr. Warehouse's pooch. What condition was she going to be in? Was she going to recover quickly? Had she peed on the floor in fear after the last time we arrived? But more importantly ... How much is it going to cost our little family financially?
Several weeks ago as I am sure you regulars to my blog will know, the pup got poorly and after seeing several vets at several different surgeries, Mr. Warehouse and I were faced with the decision no pet owner wants to consider. Our little one had been sick for some time now, constantly licking her downstairs and numerous eye infections we decided that we should get a professional opinion as to what was making her ill. We were told by the Veterinarian that o dog could have what was called a Pyometra which is where the womb fills up with pus and as a result is extremely dangerous and life-threatening without treatment. An open-Pyo is where the cervix has opened up just enough to let the pus seep out which is still serious but can wait for an appointment, however a closed-Pyo will mean it is essentially a ticking time-bomb, getting bigger and bigger and with no-where to go could burst at any moment, killing her. After a few weeks on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication resulting in her being off her food almost permanently asides a few handfuls of plain cooked pasta, she had made very little improvement.
Within twenty-four hours after coming off the meds, returning from the Peak District just hours earlier our fluffy got poorly again, signature eye infection and constantly licking her privates. Taking her to the Vets they again couldn't determine as to what was causing her upset. Asking to consult with colleagues we were left to discuss our financial options which were dwindling with every visit we seemed to make to the rubber-floored rooms. With the prospects of a £1,500.00 bill for the operation alone we were nervous of what the Veterinary surgery had to say. Although leaving that night, no closer to an answer we were determined not to give up on her.
We would find a way, surely there must be a way to get through this and out the other side relevantly unscathed. Every lunch break I called over one-hundred local vets, even as far as Cambridge and St. Albans, forty miles from where we called home. Mr. Warehouse never knew the sleepless nights or evenings I would spend researching charities or funding pages that may be able to help. I must admit though that I did look into the horrific alternative and the costs that it would incur. Every night I was left alone with the TV I would open up my laptop / tablet, pooch sat beside me, and nearly cry my heart out for the lack of help around.
It had been a stressful few weeks leading up to that moment but the second the little student nurse brought out our furry baby we knew the decision to operate was the right one. She was so happy, the happiest we had seen her in some time. Her belly wasn't anywhere near as swollen as it once was and in its place was a shaved belly and a six-inch-scar, held together with little stitches. She had a bandage on her paw where she had her IV drip and fluids. Looked like some child had just been playing Doctors and Nurses with her to be honest. But she was defiantly feeling much better it would have seemed. And I suppose you would have felt better too if you saw what was removed.
The infected womb that was removed was full, bulging and resembled haggis. The Pyometra had got to the point of bursting and had even developed a small rupture which was found when the Vet's operated. Mr. Warehouse had been ever-so close to loosing our pup and we were sure to make the most of life once she was back on her paws. Already booked we had an adventure to the seaside for the first Spring Bank Holiday in the May, all three amigo's heading off to Great Yarmouth to allow Pooch a run along the shore, sand in between her paws and lots of new sights and smells to explore. But Shhh ... Its a secret - Although I am sure you won't tell her!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 13 February 2017
Hitting Peak!
Hello,
After what seemed like an eternity we had finally arrived. Right in the heart of the Peak District, miles from anyone or anything. The thought there was idealistic, although the reality of booking somewhere far away from Wifi, strong enough signal to Google-Map and just general civilisation was far from what I expected. But with the flakes of snow beginning to fall from the dusky sky, landscape littered with peaks and rolling hills of country park ready to explore with pooch we were excited for our mini weekend in the Peak District.
As for Pup, she was still not back to herself but I really think that she enjoyed her surprise of snowy landscapes and hundreds of fields to run about in. She even made some friends with the neighbouring flock of sheep. Pooch was still not eating properly and despite bringing dog food and trying in-vain to get her to eat that, it was small handfuls of pasta that seemed to work. I suppose as a parent would we went back to what we know and both Mr. Warehouse and I knew she would struggle to resist the pull of some Penne. Saying that though we did try her this morning and she seemed to enjoy eating her normal dog food, albeit just the canned wet stuff.
Settling into our little stone-brick home for the next few nights Mr. Warehouse and I were perplexed with the smell and list of odd house rules. One of the reasons we booked was for the use of the log burning fire / stove and when the house rules said that it was forbidden I was gutted to say the least, especially since our trip to York just before Christmas. Nevertheless we would make it our own, but with very limited signal and no Wifi we were a bit put out with the bare-basic accommodation. Relaxing into the comfy leather loungers in the front room I was more than ready for bed.. So after a trip to the nearest town to collect a Takeout (a forty-minute hilly and country-dirt-track drive I might add) and a little bit of telly Mr. Warehouse and I hit the sack.
The following day we decided to head out to Bakewell, a small village known worldwide for their tarts. But rumour would have it that the humble Bakewell tart is not the original of his tasty ancestors, oh no! It would appear to all intense and purposes that the creation of the Bakewell Pudding as it was traditionally called was a simple misunderstanding between a Mistress and her Kitchen Assistant who, in her inexperience in such a role made a puff pastry rather than a shortcrust and ergo you now have the pastry-that's-not-a-pastry delight - Bakewell Pudding. After my Frangipane fling it will certainly be a recipe I will have to attempt and maybe even tweek at home. One thing I would say is that most places in the Peak District, including Bakewell are very receptive to dogs and are more than happy to have them in their shops, restaurants and pubs, a point which we unfortunately discovered alone, whilst our pooch was back at the holiday cottage.
Saturday we headed to Buxton, home of the water in the UK and the countries leading Spa town. Not that we had a lot of that going on. It was snowing for yet again the third day in a row and whilst it was entertaining in the morning on our walks and rambles with doggy, it was becoming tiresome having to manage peaks, hills, mountains and narrow country lanes as well as the poor weather conditions. It made everything worse. Mr. Warehouse and I couldn't go for a walk or mooch about the shops or even have a potter without having to be dressed up to the nines in coats, hats, scarf's and gloves. After a few hours we headed home to the wilderness and watched a film or two.
The last day is always the worst, packing up and heading home back to real life again. Truth be told I was looking forward to some Internet and being able to just pop to the shops for something, not having a long-winded trip to get there and I certainly wont be sorry for those roads. Although I must say that since being back, if even for less than twenty-four hours I am starting to miss the gear changes and whizzing round the country-side. Having been there as a child I thought a nice place to go would be The Heights of Abraham, just outside Matlock Bath. On even a dull and overcast day it would have been passable, but when the weather was beating down on us like a parent on an errant child, snowing, raining and windy it was far from the best choice. Cable car up, a quick walk around and hot cocoa later we were back down and heading to the car, bound for home. Real home. Gutted I wasn't able to experience and share my childhood in part with my boyfriend and his pooch I felt deflated and upset, but as I drove the two and a bit hours home, I realised that we have shared in some classic memories that we will all remember and cherish forever.
Back home we have just arrived back from the Vets and they have not said as yet either way what sort of operation she will need next. As last week it will either be a full blown Pyometra operation to remove her pus-filled and inflamed womb, or just a simple spaying. The difference in price will be drastic but even the cheaper Op. of the two will be pricey. Here's hoping that tomorrow's phone call with the Vet will bring about good news and that her results will show something that wont break the bank.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 6 February 2017
Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole
Good Evening,
So I start this tale back last week, Thursday evening to be precise and as it would so happen I had just bumbled in from work when I noticed the pooch had a gunky eye, closed and sore looking. She had not been well for some days, not eating properly, if at all that was and a complete loss of interest in us as owners and the other things she used to love and enjoy. Mr. Warehouse and I wondered if it was something more serious. And so bundling her into my Ford Fiesta we raced her round to the Vets.
Looking over her the lovely Russian lady took swabs of her eyes and also quizzed us both on our dog's habits and traits over the last few days and weeks. Mr. Warehouse proceeded to tell her that she had been prescribed some medicine for a water infection a couple of weeks ago and it had seemed to clear it up but she had done a little accident two days earlier, which he put down to just being excited, although I and the Vet disagreed.
Holding our pup down to get more swaps and examinations from ears, mouth and bottom we started to get worried when we explained she had not eaten for some time. I explained that since she was originally owned by the Brother of Mr. Warehouse, she had not been spayed. This information seemed to turn the Vet white with anxiety. Then come a wave of odd questions that were all answered pretty much with a yes from both myself and Mr. Warehouse. The Veterinarian seemed very concerned and asked our permission to take bloods to see her vitals and how good she was doing internally. I asked the question about what could be wrong with our darling pooch and how if anything can make it better.
"She has what is called a Pyometra which is where the womb fills up with pus and as a result is extremely dangerous and life-threatening without treatment. An open-Pyo is where the cervix has opened up just enough to let the pus seep out which is still serious but can wait a few weeks for an appointment, however a closed-Pyo will mean it is essentially a ticking time-bomb, getting bigger and bigger and with no-where to go could burst at any moment, killing her." Said the Vet.
Shaking I asked about what we can do and what as owners our options were. She talked through the various routes we had out of this mess but ultimately the cost was not in the ten's anymore, nor even the hundreds but at least a thousand pounds or more to treat an otherwise very simply prevented illness. I couldn't take it. My rage filling up inside that this was what we had to deal with because of someone else's negligence. It became too much and I started to tremble. The Veterinarian took some more swabs from doggies undercarriage and said that since there is not leakage that Mr. Warehouse and I had to prepare for the worst.
Going away to talk we left our sickly pup in the hands of what would have appeared to be a very, very good Pet Doctor. And no-one had kept her up to date on her vaccinations as a puppy and as an adult dog, her insurance had been invalidated years ago. Without it we were left in a very desperate situation. Pulling out of the Surgery I trundled down the road, slow and steady with tears filling my eyes. As I stopped in a lay-by on a residential street I switched off the engine as Mr. Warehouse croaked, asking why we had stopped here.
"We have a lot to talk about" I said, hoping that magically we would find the money or a solution would come to us in the darkness, only lit by street lamps. Watching the cars windows steam with little talk and more silent tears, all I could see were dog walkers. We were one of them. We still are one of them. And we need to find a way to fix her. She is our dog and Mr. Warehouse and I need to be strong for her because for every moment we have had a shitty day or been poorly or unhappy she has been there for us. Not just that but we have got so many things left to do together. We still have yet to run on the sandy beaches of Newquay, Hop on a ferry for a holiday in Jersey where we can bask in the sunshine, just meters from french soil and even for her to maybe host in some of life's biggest moments Mr. Warehouse and I will share.
I have never personally owned a dog before and I would like to say that being a part of her life has and will continue to be a pleasure. She has taught me things about life and myself I never knew before and I keep learning, through my little lab, that there are the little things in life that should be noticed and appreciated and cherished within and with others. Yes, we may not be the best dog owners as both Mr. Warehouse and I go out to work five days a week, but that is reality and I will be honest, I think she enjoys having her own time to herself, not being told off for being on the wrong side of the sofa or for licking her biscuit (AKA Fanny). We treat her very well indeed and give her all the love and attention a pooch could ask for.
The next few hours and days were a blur until Saturday when Mr. Warehouse and I were accepted for a loan at the bank. Walking out of that room with a smile on our faces not only meant that we had secured Mr. Warehouse's debt and credit cards, but also that we could save our dogs life and in a way ours. She is still on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication, but hopefully she will be on the mend soon enough. Her eye is now fully restored and whilst she is still not eating proper dog food, her appetite I think is very slowly, slowly creeping back in to view. I certainly think that the most recent activities in our little household will almost certainly make for a more romantic and loving break away to the Peak District and a time to reflect on what we have and how long for ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So I start this tale back last week, Thursday evening to be precise and as it would so happen I had just bumbled in from work when I noticed the pooch had a gunky eye, closed and sore looking. She had not been well for some days, not eating properly, if at all that was and a complete loss of interest in us as owners and the other things she used to love and enjoy. Mr. Warehouse and I wondered if it was something more serious. And so bundling her into my Ford Fiesta we raced her round to the Vets.
Looking over her the lovely Russian lady took swabs of her eyes and also quizzed us both on our dog's habits and traits over the last few days and weeks. Mr. Warehouse proceeded to tell her that she had been prescribed some medicine for a water infection a couple of weeks ago and it had seemed to clear it up but she had done a little accident two days earlier, which he put down to just being excited, although I and the Vet disagreed.
Holding our pup down to get more swaps and examinations from ears, mouth and bottom we started to get worried when we explained she had not eaten for some time. I explained that since she was originally owned by the Brother of Mr. Warehouse, she had not been spayed. This information seemed to turn the Vet white with anxiety. Then come a wave of odd questions that were all answered pretty much with a yes from both myself and Mr. Warehouse. The Veterinarian seemed very concerned and asked our permission to take bloods to see her vitals and how good she was doing internally. I asked the question about what could be wrong with our darling pooch and how if anything can make it better.
"She has what is called a Pyometra which is where the womb fills up with pus and as a result is extremely dangerous and life-threatening without treatment. An open-Pyo is where the cervix has opened up just enough to let the pus seep out which is still serious but can wait a few weeks for an appointment, however a closed-Pyo will mean it is essentially a ticking time-bomb, getting bigger and bigger and with no-where to go could burst at any moment, killing her." Said the Vet.
Shaking I asked about what we can do and what as owners our options were. She talked through the various routes we had out of this mess but ultimately the cost was not in the ten's anymore, nor even the hundreds but at least a thousand pounds or more to treat an otherwise very simply prevented illness. I couldn't take it. My rage filling up inside that this was what we had to deal with because of someone else's negligence. It became too much and I started to tremble. The Veterinarian took some more swabs from doggies undercarriage and said that since there is not leakage that Mr. Warehouse and I had to prepare for the worst.
Going away to talk we left our sickly pup in the hands of what would have appeared to be a very, very good Pet Doctor. And no-one had kept her up to date on her vaccinations as a puppy and as an adult dog, her insurance had been invalidated years ago. Without it we were left in a very desperate situation. Pulling out of the Surgery I trundled down the road, slow and steady with tears filling my eyes. As I stopped in a lay-by on a residential street I switched off the engine as Mr. Warehouse croaked, asking why we had stopped here.
"We have a lot to talk about" I said, hoping that magically we would find the money or a solution would come to us in the darkness, only lit by street lamps. Watching the cars windows steam with little talk and more silent tears, all I could see were dog walkers. We were one of them. We still are one of them. And we need to find a way to fix her. She is our dog and Mr. Warehouse and I need to be strong for her because for every moment we have had a shitty day or been poorly or unhappy she has been there for us. Not just that but we have got so many things left to do together. We still have yet to run on the sandy beaches of Newquay, Hop on a ferry for a holiday in Jersey where we can bask in the sunshine, just meters from french soil and even for her to maybe host in some of life's biggest moments Mr. Warehouse and I will share.
I have never personally owned a dog before and I would like to say that being a part of her life has and will continue to be a pleasure. She has taught me things about life and myself I never knew before and I keep learning, through my little lab, that there are the little things in life that should be noticed and appreciated and cherished within and with others. Yes, we may not be the best dog owners as both Mr. Warehouse and I go out to work five days a week, but that is reality and I will be honest, I think she enjoys having her own time to herself, not being told off for being on the wrong side of the sofa or for licking her biscuit (AKA Fanny). We treat her very well indeed and give her all the love and attention a pooch could ask for.
The next few hours and days were a blur until Saturday when Mr. Warehouse and I were accepted for a loan at the bank. Walking out of that room with a smile on our faces not only meant that we had secured Mr. Warehouse's debt and credit cards, but also that we could save our dogs life and in a way ours. She is still on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication, but hopefully she will be on the mend soon enough. Her eye is now fully restored and whilst she is still not eating proper dog food, her appetite I think is very slowly, slowly creeping back in to view. I certainly think that the most recent activities in our little household will almost certainly make for a more romantic and loving break away to the Peak District and a time to reflect on what we have and how long for ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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