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
Showing posts with label Poorly. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poorly. Show all posts
Monday, 12 February 2018
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
Monday, 7 November 2016
The Infectious Zombie Disease That Became A Reality!
Hello-Hello,
So I know what you are all thinking. Am I dead? No?! Well Not quite. I certainly was last week though and as Monday's are normally my night to self-consume myself with Blog writing, however last week I was barely in a position to hold a conversation or eat, let alone write something. Now I am proclaiming that it all started I suppose on Saturday night where myself and Mr. Warehouse transformed ourselves from young sweethearts in love to a flesh-eating, disease-ridden Zombie Medical Team. Mr. Warehouse was my lead Consultant Doctor and I was a nurse. Nurse Price - Hmmm?!
It was a Halloween Party and rather unlike myself I had left everything till last minute and subsequently our plans to go as the Mad Hatter, fully complete with real china tea-cup impaled on face, and Mr. Warehouse as the March Hare from Alice in Wonderland (The original, not that crap Tim Burton churned out for his dwindling bank balance). So as the weekend approached faster than I anticipated Mr. Warehouse and I gave up on the hope of a warped Disney fantasy and opted for a fancy-dress shop bought costume. Nevertheless we spent most of the afternoon making fake blood, Halloween inspired cake pops and flinging a red concoction of pantry cupboard ingredient's at each other, making the whole of our little courtyard look like we had actually killed something. Good thing the Dog was still running around. Hanging up our outfits to dry, Mr. Warehouse and I took to the warmth of the inside in order to "glam" up for the party.
The annual bash is something that is hosted by Mr. Warehouse's Cousin and his wife, a lovely couple who enjoy Halloween as much as Jack and Sally, celebrating it bigger than some people do Christmas. They decorate the whole house; Bathroom, Reception Rooms, Hallways, Landings, Kitchens and Back Yard - All in hauntingly beautiful arrays of cobwebs, black and creeped out dec's. I cannot wait for the moment in my life that it is appropriate enough to have my own Halloween Party, although I am almost certain it will take many years, weeks and pennies to achieve the levels Mr. Warehouse's Cousin and his wife have achieved.
A successful few hours later, our costumes more intact than last year (Whereby Mr. Warehouse's overalls were quite literally ripped off his back when we dressed as the Big Bad Wolf and Little 'Dead' Riding Hood) we headed off home, and I was impressed that I had gone out of a night time and enjoyed myself at a Party whilst not drinking a single drop of Alcohol.
But it would appear that the effects of the Zombie Apocalypse did not wear off as fast as I had hoped, for as Monday afternoon approached I started to feel queasy. "Food might help" I thought. So I had my lunch, albeit late. It made the stomach cramps and nausea worse. "A glass of milk might make it better" I continued.
But again, it made everything worse. Dashing to the bathroom in order to vomit I knew I had to go to the doctors. I couldn't believe that yet again had the same symptoms I had a few weeks ago had returned and it would appear I again had a horrendous viral infection. Only this time I needed to be at work. Not just for the fact that it was a new job and I wanted to be there to learn and show I was willing, but also the simple fact they no matter how long you are with the company they do not pay sickness.
Shockingly poorly I went to the doctors and struggled driving home, vomiting not only in the doctors surgery but also outside the local Pharmacy whilst waiting for my prescription. I knew it was Halloween it was scary how sick I was feeling. Getting home I desperately tried to manager some bolognese but that came up as quick as it went down. Water and juice was unable to stay put also and by the time I had even thought about writing last week I was bent over double throwing up or curled up on Mr. Warehouse's lap, shivering under several blankets and layers of clothes. Having enough, my beautifully caring other-half put me to bed and left the bucket now used for such occasions and a glass of water to sip on, wrapping me up in the duvet and promising to check on me every hour, which he did but if only to make sure I hadn't choked on my own stomach acid.
Two days later I returned to work, still not feeling great but with limiting options since I wasn't getting paid for the pleasure of sitting at home in my pyjamas under a duvet with a sick bowl to hand. I am feeling much better today and throughout the last couple of days, I am just hoping it doesn't attack me again with another bout of The Zombie Sickness Bug.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So I know what you are all thinking. Am I dead? No?! Well Not quite. I certainly was last week though and as Monday's are normally my night to self-consume myself with Blog writing, however last week I was barely in a position to hold a conversation or eat, let alone write something. Now I am proclaiming that it all started I suppose on Saturday night where myself and Mr. Warehouse transformed ourselves from young sweethearts in love to a flesh-eating, disease-ridden Zombie Medical Team. Mr. Warehouse was my lead Consultant Doctor and I was a nurse. Nurse Price - Hmmm?!
It was a Halloween Party and rather unlike myself I had left everything till last minute and subsequently our plans to go as the Mad Hatter, fully complete with real china tea-cup impaled on face, and Mr. Warehouse as the March Hare from Alice in Wonderland (The original, not that crap Tim Burton churned out for his dwindling bank balance). So as the weekend approached faster than I anticipated Mr. Warehouse and I gave up on the hope of a warped Disney fantasy and opted for a fancy-dress shop bought costume. Nevertheless we spent most of the afternoon making fake blood, Halloween inspired cake pops and flinging a red concoction of pantry cupboard ingredient's at each other, making the whole of our little courtyard look like we had actually killed something. Good thing the Dog was still running around. Hanging up our outfits to dry, Mr. Warehouse and I took to the warmth of the inside in order to "glam" up for the party.
The annual bash is something that is hosted by Mr. Warehouse's Cousin and his wife, a lovely couple who enjoy Halloween as much as Jack and Sally, celebrating it bigger than some people do Christmas. They decorate the whole house; Bathroom, Reception Rooms, Hallways, Landings, Kitchens and Back Yard - All in hauntingly beautiful arrays of cobwebs, black and creeped out dec's. I cannot wait for the moment in my life that it is appropriate enough to have my own Halloween Party, although I am almost certain it will take many years, weeks and pennies to achieve the levels Mr. Warehouse's Cousin and his wife have achieved.
A successful few hours later, our costumes more intact than last year (Whereby Mr. Warehouse's overalls were quite literally ripped off his back when we dressed as the Big Bad Wolf and Little 'Dead' Riding Hood) we headed off home, and I was impressed that I had gone out of a night time and enjoyed myself at a Party whilst not drinking a single drop of Alcohol.
But it would appear that the effects of the Zombie Apocalypse did not wear off as fast as I had hoped, for as Monday afternoon approached I started to feel queasy. "Food might help" I thought. So I had my lunch, albeit late. It made the stomach cramps and nausea worse. "A glass of milk might make it better" I continued.
But again, it made everything worse. Dashing to the bathroom in order to vomit I knew I had to go to the doctors. I couldn't believe that yet again had the same symptoms I had a few weeks ago had returned and it would appear I again had a horrendous viral infection. Only this time I needed to be at work. Not just for the fact that it was a new job and I wanted to be there to learn and show I was willing, but also the simple fact they no matter how long you are with the company they do not pay sickness.
Shockingly poorly I went to the doctors and struggled driving home, vomiting not only in the doctors surgery but also outside the local Pharmacy whilst waiting for my prescription. I knew it was Halloween it was scary how sick I was feeling. Getting home I desperately tried to manager some bolognese but that came up as quick as it went down. Water and juice was unable to stay put also and by the time I had even thought about writing last week I was bent over double throwing up or curled up on Mr. Warehouse's lap, shivering under several blankets and layers of clothes. Having enough, my beautifully caring other-half put me to bed and left the bucket now used for such occasions and a glass of water to sip on, wrapping me up in the duvet and promising to check on me every hour, which he did but if only to make sure I hadn't choked on my own stomach acid.
Two days later I returned to work, still not feeling great but with limiting options since I wasn't getting paid for the pleasure of sitting at home in my pyjamas under a duvet with a sick bowl to hand. I am feeling much better today and throughout the last couple of days, I am just hoping it doesn't attack me again with another bout of The Zombie Sickness Bug.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 15 August 2016
The Do's And Dont's of Dog Ownership
Heyy,
Last week was finally over on Friday and it couldn't have come soon enough for me and my other office colleagues. With our big-big boss away on Holiday, sunning it up in Dubai we were left to finish up month end ourselves, which I think, went better than everyone was expecting.
A relaxing weekend has ensued over in the Bedfordshire Countryside surround Mr. Warehouse's family home of Marston Moretaine. I was expecting to meet up with my father for the first time this weekend but for one reason or another it wasn't convenient so we have rearranged for next Saturday so watch this space, but with it being Mr. Warehouse's birthday on Thursday, this weekend was meant to be all about him not me and my father. Anyway, I am sure I can cram it all in.
A little overcast for a weekend that was due to be hot and sunny we nevertheless enjoyed the time we had together, spending it with Momma Warehouse, the Dog and on Saturday we had the pleasure of meeting Momma Warehouse's new boyfriend. Seemingly lovely and polite he was a pleasure to be in company with, talkative and very nice to be around. However whilst there was little or no disagreements or altercations, I would consider his choice in dog ownership something of a sticking point for me.
Now most people will know, or at least should do - Especially if you have a doggy in your life, that chocolate of any sort is poisonous to our canine friends. Chocolate and products containing Cocoa are very bad for doggies, not only potentially making them fat but also because of the dangerous toxins in them. Theobromine is a chemical found in Chocolate and Cocoa and unlike humans, dogs struggle to digest it making them poorly as toxins build up in their bodies. Milk can also make your pooch sick as some dogs are lactose-intolerant and unable to process dairy in the same way we humans can. Not that you should really give your dog any human food but some of the most harmful treats are not just Chocolate and Cocoa products, but also Grapes, Macadamia Nuts, Corn-on-the-Cob and anything from the Onion and Garlic family food groups.
Nevertheless this did not stop Momma Warehouse from telling us that her new boyfriend feeds his little toy poodle White Chocolate 'MilkyBar' Buttons. Mr Warehouse and I agreed already that even before we met him it was frustrating that he appeared not to care for his dog in the right way. But that was my opinion and in all fairness throughout the whole weekend whilst I noticed the 'MilkyBar' Buttons in the fridge, I did not see them being administered. But as well as the sixteen-year-old (one-hundred-and-twelve dog years) fluff ball being fed 'MilkyBar' Buttons, she was also not fed proper meals and instead was hand-fed treats of dried duck breast and chews, something again Mr. Warehouse and I frowned upon.
I suppose I cannot judge too much as if I am honest both Mr. Warehouse and I both give our dog lots of tit-bits and treats from our dinner plates and in all fairness anything that is left over and not poisonous to dogs, goes in her bowl for the next mornings breakfast anyway. She wont eat much vegetables or fruit but loves bread products and pasta, but always in small portions so as not to get fat. In a way I suppose were all guilty of over-loving our animals, children and partners sometimes, feeding them with love and food that they simply do not need.
On the Saturday afternoon however we needed to pop down the shops for some essentials the next morning and so as normal we went to get Mr. Warehouse's Dog, but as we got her harness ready and strapped her in, we heard a whimper and a yelp. Followed by yet more cries we figured it was coming from the elderly toy poodle. She wanted to come and play with our Pooch! ''Awwh a little play date'' I thought. Looking up at her owner, Momma Warehouse's new boyfriend, I said that if she wanted to come she was more than welcome too. With some brief reassurances I was handed the lead and off we went. I was shocked and surprised to see that this little old doggy lady was as fast and as rambunctious as our eight-year-old-Labrador, able to keep up and run along side us all as we walked the road to the corner shop and back. It fills me with hope when I think back to that Saturday afternoon walk that maybe our poochie-poo's wont die young and could live to be the ripe old age of sixteen and more.
He was however a gentleman through and through and even helped me by driving to Milton Keynes to get my phone fixed and collect a replacement so I suppose he isn't all bad and if his dog has lived to be over one-hundred in dog years then he is obviously doing something right. So nice is he, that I have even invited him to my Birthday Party in a few weeks and look forward to hopefully seeing more of him about. Maybe this one is a keeper - For Momma Warehouse obviously ... Not me?!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Last week was finally over on Friday and it couldn't have come soon enough for me and my other office colleagues. With our big-big boss away on Holiday, sunning it up in Dubai we were left to finish up month end ourselves, which I think, went better than everyone was expecting.
A relaxing weekend has ensued over in the Bedfordshire Countryside surround Mr. Warehouse's family home of Marston Moretaine. I was expecting to meet up with my father for the first time this weekend but for one reason or another it wasn't convenient so we have rearranged for next Saturday so watch this space, but with it being Mr. Warehouse's birthday on Thursday, this weekend was meant to be all about him not me and my father. Anyway, I am sure I can cram it all in.
A little overcast for a weekend that was due to be hot and sunny we nevertheless enjoyed the time we had together, spending it with Momma Warehouse, the Dog and on Saturday we had the pleasure of meeting Momma Warehouse's new boyfriend. Seemingly lovely and polite he was a pleasure to be in company with, talkative and very nice to be around. However whilst there was little or no disagreements or altercations, I would consider his choice in dog ownership something of a sticking point for me.
Now most people will know, or at least should do - Especially if you have a doggy in your life, that chocolate of any sort is poisonous to our canine friends. Chocolate and products containing Cocoa are very bad for doggies, not only potentially making them fat but also because of the dangerous toxins in them. Theobromine is a chemical found in Chocolate and Cocoa and unlike humans, dogs struggle to digest it making them poorly as toxins build up in their bodies. Milk can also make your pooch sick as some dogs are lactose-intolerant and unable to process dairy in the same way we humans can. Not that you should really give your dog any human food but some of the most harmful treats are not just Chocolate and Cocoa products, but also Grapes, Macadamia Nuts, Corn-on-the-Cob and anything from the Onion and Garlic family food groups.
Nevertheless this did not stop Momma Warehouse from telling us that her new boyfriend feeds his little toy poodle White Chocolate 'MilkyBar' Buttons. Mr Warehouse and I agreed already that even before we met him it was frustrating that he appeared not to care for his dog in the right way. But that was my opinion and in all fairness throughout the whole weekend whilst I noticed the 'MilkyBar' Buttons in the fridge, I did not see them being administered. But as well as the sixteen-year-old (one-hundred-and-twelve dog years) fluff ball being fed 'MilkyBar' Buttons, she was also not fed proper meals and instead was hand-fed treats of dried duck breast and chews, something again Mr. Warehouse and I frowned upon.
I suppose I cannot judge too much as if I am honest both Mr. Warehouse and I both give our dog lots of tit-bits and treats from our dinner plates and in all fairness anything that is left over and not poisonous to dogs, goes in her bowl for the next mornings breakfast anyway. She wont eat much vegetables or fruit but loves bread products and pasta, but always in small portions so as not to get fat. In a way I suppose were all guilty of over-loving our animals, children and partners sometimes, feeding them with love and food that they simply do not need.
On the Saturday afternoon however we needed to pop down the shops for some essentials the next morning and so as normal we went to get Mr. Warehouse's Dog, but as we got her harness ready and strapped her in, we heard a whimper and a yelp. Followed by yet more cries we figured it was coming from the elderly toy poodle. She wanted to come and play with our Pooch! ''Awwh a little play date'' I thought. Looking up at her owner, Momma Warehouse's new boyfriend, I said that if she wanted to come she was more than welcome too. With some brief reassurances I was handed the lead and off we went. I was shocked and surprised to see that this little old doggy lady was as fast and as rambunctious as our eight-year-old-Labrador, able to keep up and run along side us all as we walked the road to the corner shop and back. It fills me with hope when I think back to that Saturday afternoon walk that maybe our poochie-poo's wont die young and could live to be the ripe old age of sixteen and more.
He was however a gentleman through and through and even helped me by driving to Milton Keynes to get my phone fixed and collect a replacement so I suppose he isn't all bad and if his dog has lived to be over one-hundred in dog years then he is obviously doing something right. So nice is he, that I have even invited him to my Birthday Party in a few weeks and look forward to hopefully seeing more of him about. Maybe this one is a keeper - For Momma Warehouse obviously ... Not me?!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 20 July 2015
Everybody Has A Time ...
Evening All,
Someone once told me when I was much younger that the phone seldom brings good news when past nine at night. And oh how right they are.
After a long week at work I was ready to settle down with Mr. Warehouse, chill out with a drink or two over dinner and discuss our busy weekend to come. What with my Daddies big 5-0 party on Saturday evening I was looking forward to getting glammed up and seeing some familiar faces again. Getting my nails done and having a hair-cut I was excited to spend my weekend with loved ones. But as I snuggled into my boyfriends chest, man-boob and all, I could hear my phone vibrating on the side. Flicking on the light, my ringtone kicked in for another repetition I raced to the kitchen to pick it up. It was my Dad. I answered thinking it was something about the party. It wasn't. As I walked back to my bedroom of my small, dark flat I perched myself on the edge of the bed. Feeling hot all of a sudden and with prickles beginning in my eyes I listened carefully to what I was being told.
My grandfather has not been well for a long time. Ever since I was small I can remember him bribing me or my Brother to get him tit-bits from the kitchen or fetch him something from around the bungalow he shared with my Grandmother. I never remember him being the active type to walk around the garden let alone run after his grandchildren. But as I got older he seemed to take more of a back burner in my life-story, forever there but always playing the part of a extra rather than a starring role. I still loved him, but I suppose a older child, and being the only girl in the family, I don't think he really knew what to do with me. Becoming a teenager I was always rebelling and whilst he was there to stick his ore in a few times I knew that the majority of the time he probably knew best. After retiring and not keeping as active as he was working as a refuse collector for the local council back home he grew larger than he ever had. A mixture of nothing to do and a constantly well stocked cupboard made his weight balloon and over the next few years his weight would fluctuate between looking like a Christmas Turkey and looking like a Turkey whom had got a lucky escape from the December oven. Always being clinically termed "morbidly obese" it never seemed to bother him and I suppose as his family it never really bothered us. Until that was he reached a point of no return.
With the lack of exercise my Grandfather's legs started to become sore. in time they became infected and had to be dressed and redressed several times a day. At one point us as a family were left wondering that if the infection got any worse that it may lead to amputation. Whilst on crutches the Doctors still encouraged my Granddad to walk, even if it was to the kitchen or to the top of my grandparents highly maintained garden. But he failed to listen. On the odd occasion he could be found in the kitchen standing up or sitting on a stool peeling vegetables for dinner or preparing something yummy for lunch, but more often than not he would be in front of the Telly or on the computer. After progressively getting worse over the next few years he was in and out of hospital with heart problems and even referred to the UK's leading heart hospital in Harefield, just outside of London. Worried we all might loose him I made sure I put in the effort to see him and the family when I could. After a triple heart bypass surgery to fix the dodgy ticker I thought that this would be it and he would not only be back to his old self but be more conscience about what he puts in his mouth and how much more moving he should be doing. But alas, as yet again this fell on deaf ears.
Last year Granddad had a fall as he was getting in and out the shower. Breaking his leg clean, his Femur was too broken to stand on and so more crutches and a brace was used. Taking its toll on Grandpop's heart he was rushed into hospital again after being allowed home, but after dying on the operating table and having lost more than six-pints of blood, we were lucky as a family to still have him alive. You could say he was a fighter, but if you could fight off death, you could fight off the fat attacking your organs. But even after all of that there was no change in his spirit and after much consideration he was put into a local care home so that the adequate care could be given. And there he has stayed for the past few months.
I try to visit as much as I can and do when I have time but with life as busy as it usually is you could sometimes go weeks forgetting to even call or text. With the lack of "get-up-and-go" Granddad became sneaky, asking family members to smuggle in sweet treats like nuts, seeds, berries and crisps. When he approached me I stood my ground and whilst it was one of the hardest things to do I knew I was doing him good. But ever since that moment My Granddad whom I love and care for dearly has been stand off-ish and is quite frankly rude in some circumstance, leading me several times to put him firmly in his place. The family agreed that for too long we have been soft and that now, more than ever, we needed to take a tough love approach to Granddad and his behaviour. That was until he was rushed into hospital on Friday evening suffering from too much fluid in his lungs and with his heart not strong enough to pump it out I listened intently to what my father told me next.
"Your Grandfather is going to die. It could be weeks, it could be months, it may even be years - But he is dying" My Dad said out loud. My heart nearly stopped. As I croaked out past the growing frog in my throat I took in and accepted fully what I had already known for months, if not years. "He is dying" I thought. "He is actually, really dying and there is nothing I can do to stop this?!" Hanging up the phone I sat bewildered for a moment. Somehow I had always known this would be the result of over eating and under moving but to finally hear it from the source of a Doctor, passed through the ears of a family to the granddaughter was hard to take in. I am only twenty-three, soon to be twenty-four and never have I ever experienced a death this close. Rising from the bed I went to make a cup of tea, sweet with lots of sugar, a proper little, china tea-cup and all. Coming back to bed I climbed in next to Mr. Warehouse and thought about what was next. With the words solidifying in my head I was left with more questions than answers. "Do we just wait? Wait until another nightly call comes along to inform us that we are no longer with Granddad?" I wondered.
"Is this really the next chapter in my life? The next thing to go wrong?" mixed round my head with questions about why Mr. Warehouse was here - Was he next in what was seeming to be a long list of boyfriends that only turned up to help me through a difficult point in my life. Mr. Ginge was there when my parents divorced and when I was chucked out by my hateful mother. Mr. Workaholic was there throughout the years of torment form my mother and the separation from my baby brother. Mr. Coffee, Mr. Sick and Mr. Woof were their to fill the gaping hole that Mr. Workaholic had left when we separated. Mr. Cheese was their when I moved into my first ever flat and when I changed careers from stressful credit control to where I am today. Is this the tale of Mr. Warehouse? I hope not! I was starting to really like this one?! The good egg I thought. Maybe "The One"? I don't want to loose him, but at the same time I have some slight issues with relying on people to be there for me. What with my Grandfather being in hospital all I wanted to do was be enveloped by my boyfriends and his protecting arms, telling me that fairy-tales of how it would be all OK. Equally though I wanted to push him as far away as the moon favouring myself and my own company in comparison to leaning emotionally on yet another boy who would break my heart.
"Why do people have to get old?!" I sobbed into my cooling tea-cup, feeling very much like a child whom had just found their goldfish belly up. "Why does this have to happen now?" I sniffled for now I am in the knowledge that my Grandpop's will never see me get married. He will never hold his great grandchildren in his arms. He will never come round and throw himself into my sofa in a house I have just bought. No, he will never see those things. Not only am I feeling angry and bitter that he has let this happen to himself, selfishly not only letting our family down but more disappointingly, letting himself down. We have always been a big family and with weight being a constant issue for us all, I think it is safe to say that this has given us a gentle nudge to do something about it before it gets to the stage whereby we are all too old and frail to stop it from killing us.
After speaking to Mr. Warehouse and Miss Tweedle-Dumb well into the small hours of Saturday morning I soon feel asleep holding my tea-cup, now empty. Upon waking everything seemed normal, until Mr. Warehouse mentioned the night before and suddenly it all came flooding horrendously back to me. Gathering myself together, Mr. Warehouse and I packed for our weekend away back home in Luton and with plans to see my Granddad on Sunday I was hoping for some fun to brighten my mood. And Saturday night certainly did not disappoint! Squaddies dressed in offencive camp outfits, high-heeled tumbles and even the odd boogie on the dance-floor it was a definite winner in terms of pick-me-up's. With all the old faces from my childhood I found myself getting wasted with the best of them, and even had a cheeky "Special Cigarette" with my Dad's best friend from Somerset.
But as I write to you now, eyes heavy with the call of my bed, I am only thinking of one person. Whether it be in two weeks or in two months, I can almost guarantee that by the time Christmas arrives, there will be one less Santa in my world.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Someone once told me when I was much younger that the phone seldom brings good news when past nine at night. And oh how right they are.
After a long week at work I was ready to settle down with Mr. Warehouse, chill out with a drink or two over dinner and discuss our busy weekend to come. What with my Daddies big 5-0 party on Saturday evening I was looking forward to getting glammed up and seeing some familiar faces again. Getting my nails done and having a hair-cut I was excited to spend my weekend with loved ones. But as I snuggled into my boyfriends chest, man-boob and all, I could hear my phone vibrating on the side. Flicking on the light, my ringtone kicked in for another repetition I raced to the kitchen to pick it up. It was my Dad. I answered thinking it was something about the party. It wasn't. As I walked back to my bedroom of my small, dark flat I perched myself on the edge of the bed. Feeling hot all of a sudden and with prickles beginning in my eyes I listened carefully to what I was being told.
My grandfather has not been well for a long time. Ever since I was small I can remember him bribing me or my Brother to get him tit-bits from the kitchen or fetch him something from around the bungalow he shared with my Grandmother. I never remember him being the active type to walk around the garden let alone run after his grandchildren. But as I got older he seemed to take more of a back burner in my life-story, forever there but always playing the part of a extra rather than a starring role. I still loved him, but I suppose a older child, and being the only girl in the family, I don't think he really knew what to do with me. Becoming a teenager I was always rebelling and whilst he was there to stick his ore in a few times I knew that the majority of the time he probably knew best. After retiring and not keeping as active as he was working as a refuse collector for the local council back home he grew larger than he ever had. A mixture of nothing to do and a constantly well stocked cupboard made his weight balloon and over the next few years his weight would fluctuate between looking like a Christmas Turkey and looking like a Turkey whom had got a lucky escape from the December oven. Always being clinically termed "morbidly obese" it never seemed to bother him and I suppose as his family it never really bothered us. Until that was he reached a point of no return.
With the lack of exercise my Grandfather's legs started to become sore. in time they became infected and had to be dressed and redressed several times a day. At one point us as a family were left wondering that if the infection got any worse that it may lead to amputation. Whilst on crutches the Doctors still encouraged my Granddad to walk, even if it was to the kitchen or to the top of my grandparents highly maintained garden. But he failed to listen. On the odd occasion he could be found in the kitchen standing up or sitting on a stool peeling vegetables for dinner or preparing something yummy for lunch, but more often than not he would be in front of the Telly or on the computer. After progressively getting worse over the next few years he was in and out of hospital with heart problems and even referred to the UK's leading heart hospital in Harefield, just outside of London. Worried we all might loose him I made sure I put in the effort to see him and the family when I could. After a triple heart bypass surgery to fix the dodgy ticker I thought that this would be it and he would not only be back to his old self but be more conscience about what he puts in his mouth and how much more moving he should be doing. But alas, as yet again this fell on deaf ears.
Last year Granddad had a fall as he was getting in and out the shower. Breaking his leg clean, his Femur was too broken to stand on and so more crutches and a brace was used. Taking its toll on Grandpop's heart he was rushed into hospital again after being allowed home, but after dying on the operating table and having lost more than six-pints of blood, we were lucky as a family to still have him alive. You could say he was a fighter, but if you could fight off death, you could fight off the fat attacking your organs. But even after all of that there was no change in his spirit and after much consideration he was put into a local care home so that the adequate care could be given. And there he has stayed for the past few months.
I try to visit as much as I can and do when I have time but with life as busy as it usually is you could sometimes go weeks forgetting to even call or text. With the lack of "get-up-and-go" Granddad became sneaky, asking family members to smuggle in sweet treats like nuts, seeds, berries and crisps. When he approached me I stood my ground and whilst it was one of the hardest things to do I knew I was doing him good. But ever since that moment My Granddad whom I love and care for dearly has been stand off-ish and is quite frankly rude in some circumstance, leading me several times to put him firmly in his place. The family agreed that for too long we have been soft and that now, more than ever, we needed to take a tough love approach to Granddad and his behaviour. That was until he was rushed into hospital on Friday evening suffering from too much fluid in his lungs and with his heart not strong enough to pump it out I listened intently to what my father told me next.
"Your Grandfather is going to die. It could be weeks, it could be months, it may even be years - But he is dying" My Dad said out loud. My heart nearly stopped. As I croaked out past the growing frog in my throat I took in and accepted fully what I had already known for months, if not years. "He is dying" I thought. "He is actually, really dying and there is nothing I can do to stop this?!" Hanging up the phone I sat bewildered for a moment. Somehow I had always known this would be the result of over eating and under moving but to finally hear it from the source of a Doctor, passed through the ears of a family to the granddaughter was hard to take in. I am only twenty-three, soon to be twenty-four and never have I ever experienced a death this close. Rising from the bed I went to make a cup of tea, sweet with lots of sugar, a proper little, china tea-cup and all. Coming back to bed I climbed in next to Mr. Warehouse and thought about what was next. With the words solidifying in my head I was left with more questions than answers. "Do we just wait? Wait until another nightly call comes along to inform us that we are no longer with Granddad?" I wondered.
"Is this really the next chapter in my life? The next thing to go wrong?" mixed round my head with questions about why Mr. Warehouse was here - Was he next in what was seeming to be a long list of boyfriends that only turned up to help me through a difficult point in my life. Mr. Ginge was there when my parents divorced and when I was chucked out by my hateful mother. Mr. Workaholic was there throughout the years of torment form my mother and the separation from my baby brother. Mr. Coffee, Mr. Sick and Mr. Woof were their to fill the gaping hole that Mr. Workaholic had left when we separated. Mr. Cheese was their when I moved into my first ever flat and when I changed careers from stressful credit control to where I am today. Is this the tale of Mr. Warehouse? I hope not! I was starting to really like this one?! The good egg I thought. Maybe "The One"? I don't want to loose him, but at the same time I have some slight issues with relying on people to be there for me. What with my Grandfather being in hospital all I wanted to do was be enveloped by my boyfriends and his protecting arms, telling me that fairy-tales of how it would be all OK. Equally though I wanted to push him as far away as the moon favouring myself and my own company in comparison to leaning emotionally on yet another boy who would break my heart.
"Why do people have to get old?!" I sobbed into my cooling tea-cup, feeling very much like a child whom had just found their goldfish belly up. "Why does this have to happen now?" I sniffled for now I am in the knowledge that my Grandpop's will never see me get married. He will never hold his great grandchildren in his arms. He will never come round and throw himself into my sofa in a house I have just bought. No, he will never see those things. Not only am I feeling angry and bitter that he has let this happen to himself, selfishly not only letting our family down but more disappointingly, letting himself down. We have always been a big family and with weight being a constant issue for us all, I think it is safe to say that this has given us a gentle nudge to do something about it before it gets to the stage whereby we are all too old and frail to stop it from killing us.
After speaking to Mr. Warehouse and Miss Tweedle-Dumb well into the small hours of Saturday morning I soon feel asleep holding my tea-cup, now empty. Upon waking everything seemed normal, until Mr. Warehouse mentioned the night before and suddenly it all came flooding horrendously back to me. Gathering myself together, Mr. Warehouse and I packed for our weekend away back home in Luton and with plans to see my Granddad on Sunday I was hoping for some fun to brighten my mood. And Saturday night certainly did not disappoint! Squaddies dressed in offencive camp outfits, high-heeled tumbles and even the odd boogie on the dance-floor it was a definite winner in terms of pick-me-up's. With all the old faces from my childhood I found myself getting wasted with the best of them, and even had a cheeky "Special Cigarette" with my Dad's best friend from Somerset.
But as I write to you now, eyes heavy with the call of my bed, I am only thinking of one person. Whether it be in two weeks or in two months, I can almost guarantee that by the time Christmas arrives, there will be one less Santa in my world.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 12 May 2014
Those Three Little Words ...
Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx
Afternoon One and All,
So this weekend was an inciting one with much to do and see. Also something unexpected and so out-of-the-blue even I didn't see it coming. But maybe that is how it was planned. Unplanned! Well whatever planning or un-planning went into the act it certainly gave me a skip in my step this morning and made my commute back home to my job in Bedford all the more better and as I write to you from the train hurtling through the English countryside I am smiling, conscience that this may not be anything of huge magnitude, but to me it is. Early morning Starbucks did help though!
Friday night I had my favourite people round, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee and amongst idle chit-chat we discussed the more important things in life like having banana's for hands and indeed spelling the word banana, which at nearly quarter-to-midnight I was failing to do without the help of my academic side-kicks! After ordering pizza delivery from Domino's we decided to escape for a cheeky cigarette. Whilst we awaited the man with our order we took to talks of weddings and other such girlie stuff. Using the pavement as a aisle we joked about what we would do and how hilarious it would all be. As Miss Bride's wedding approaches in the coming weeks, I look forward to a time whereby my friends and I shall also join the club of marriage and leave behind Singlesville with all its meals-for-one and empty beds. Yes, instead we shall swap lives so that we can bicker about directions and only have sex once a week. Oh Joy! The part of my evening with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee that I enjoyed the most was the prospective speeches that were to be projected at my celebration as a Missus. Stories of years gone by including the time I got so sun-burnt I threw up every time I looked at myself, the time I decided to go blonde and ended up looking like 'Big Bird' from Sesame Street and that time where I threw a tantrum in a Spanish shopping mall because no one would come and look at the bag I wanted to buy. Incidentally in that case Miss Tweedle-Dee did come and look at the handbag with me but resulting in no purchase - I was too pissed off. And so I look forward to the day whereby I don't only become someones wife and forever, but I also am blessed with friend's like these whom share in my every moment, no matter how awkward or embarrassing. Thanks Guys!
After a potter round town on Saturday afternoon I hopped on the train to meet Mr. Cheese from his volunteer placement at The Brixton Windmill. As it started to rain heavy I went in search of the preoccupied boyfriend wandering around Brixton Market aimlessly to kill time whilst I arrived. After a soggy hug I was described as 'Wet, Cute and Sexy' by that wonderful man, although I'm not sure how I can do all three at the same time. Go me I suppose! After dinner we boarded the Tube home with the promise of looking at hotels and things to do for our up and coming first Mini-Break to Bristol together. Our trip is planned for a few weeks time, just after Miss Bride's wedding and just before the World Cup 2014 in which like any women with a football mad other half I shall mourn their loss to the great game until July sometime. I however would class myself as a conventional girlfriend where by I am happy to sit in a pub be fed cider and pork scratchings whilst watching moderately attractive men run around in little more than hot pants, occasionally groping each other. Yes, a great game indeed! Although not as good as Rugby! I digress though, and a proper holiday, albeit the Christmas Getaway last year with the family will be much deserved and much fun for us both. Although it was not to be as an unlikely haze took hold of Mr. Cheese and struck him with an arrow of lust and unspent energy.
Starting off unconventionally on the Tube home from dinner at Honest Burger in Brixton, I shared with my boyfriend a kiss that would make anyone knees give way. Good thing I was sitting down. Passionately kissing me as we begged for the Tube to be empty of the only other occupant in the carriage to leave I embraced his passion and added to it myself, entwining ourselves in each other in a haze of young lust. Walking home from the station we could hardly contain ourselves, knowing that a flat free from house-mates and a neighbour with a heightened sense of sound to piss off I felt more excited than I had done in months. 'This was what I was missing' I thought. With promises of looking into a break to Bristol in June, we unlocked the door to the three-bed West London pad with a new agenda that didn't include taking off our pants. That failed and before I knew it I was lying on the Greek flag, being Falafel-ed! I think Mr. Cheese put it right when he said to me drifting off into a cuddly slumber that nothing would have got done that night anyway.
As my boyfriend kissed me on the lips Sunday morning I smiled although conscience of my apparently putrid morning breath. Hiding it as usual I snuggle back into his chest like a woodland animal not wanting to rise from the bed until wholly necessary. Unfortunately this was to come too soon as Boyfriend and I had the company of a good friend Mr. Cheese knew from school and university for the afternoon. Slipping on some heels and making myself look presentable I hoped I would be somewhat a talking point of lad-banter when I tottered to the bathroom or the bar to refresh our table with snacks and drinks. Although following the afternoon of football, cups and goals I decided to go back home with my boyfriend and snuggle for a bit before heading home. Secretly I didn't want to go home and wanted to try my luck at the bedroom-game but with the ill look on his face setting in I knew what my Mr. Cheese needed was for me to wrap him up and tuck him in bed with a nice cup of hot, loose-leafed tea and cuddles. This was not the case yet again.
Eyes squinting, I peeked out from behind the fluffy animal-print throw. Light blistered my peepers making me not want to get out of the cosiness I had found myself. I was naked and not alone. Yes, the person that stared back at me was my sleepy boyfriend. Sickness prevailed and I could tell he was unwell. Snuggling under the sheets he pulled me in close as I realised I was naked again and the implications this may have for the near future of my nether-regions. Poor Mr. Cheese. He was sick, so I probably shouldn't have come on to him, but nevertheless I did. A back massage later and craving something more than just rubbing, I straddled him, soon discovering I would not be getting what I wanted. I suppose I shouldn't be greedy as the following evening had been spent (quite literally) in a whirlwind of pleasure. I am hesitant to use the word ecstasy as that word is commonly used to describe orgasm, to which I still have yet to find at twenty-two but that is neither here nor there. As we spooned in the harsh glow of the bedroom light I recalled in fondness the way Mr. Cheese pandered to my every desire the previous evening. My arched back. The shivers down my spine. The eruption of pleased squeals from my lungs as I cried out his name in the moment. Ahh yes, the satisfying evening prior!
Napping until just gone nine at night though after a passionate encounter was the norm with us. And I enjoyed it. It made me feel young and throw-away and reckless, not caring for the hours knowing that I had so many left ahead of me. Realising that the massage had done the opposite affect that I wanted I decided to turn my head to cake instead (as one does when one is not ravaged on the spot). The lemon tart Miss Tweedle-Dee had bought me Friday night had made the long journey from Bedford to Chiswick and was about to be sampled! Serving up a warmed slice accompanied with tea and coffee I entered the lounge and joined Mr. Cheese on the couch to watch some traditional wildlife TV before bedtime properly. Again Bristol Mini-Break didn't get a look in but the thought was there. As we positioned ourselves facing one another again, noses barely touching, I suppressed the compulsion to say the 'L' word, unaware that it was only hanging off the other persons tongue.
Waking naturally I wondered to the time. Looking at my phone I noted that I still had a few moments I could steal away between the sheets before I had to dash back to my job in Bedford. Due to the ill-health of the Boyfriend I decided to stay last night in Chiswick to care for him and make sure he was OK. He seemed worse when I woke this morning, clammy and tired. I worried for him and really tried hard to think of ways I could stay, knowing that I couldn't, not when I was only a few weeks into my new role. And so as I prised myself from Mr. Cheese's weak grip I asked if he wanted tea or breakfast. The reply was a short and sweet declination. I offered him anything else he wanted and he reached out for a cuddle. How could I deny him that. Of all the simple pleasures in life this was one of them. Getting dressed I tried not to rouse the sickly Boyfriend too much although he did say how wonderful it felt to be feeling so terrible but able to wake in the night and just reach out to someone just across the pillows. And as if that didn't touch me enough I was bowled over by what was to come next.
Pulling on my coat and borrowed scarf from Mr. Cheese I knew that the 6am London air would be chilly and unpleasant compared to the warmth of the flat. Nevertheless I knew I had to go and that if I didn't go soon I would be making a convincing phone-call to my boss explaining why I wasn't coming in. Asking once more if there was anything I could do for him I bent down to kiss him goodbye. Flashes of role-reversal invaded my mind as I saw myself being kissed by Mr. Workaholic before he left for work, leaving me too in bed. Casting those thoughts aside I rose to my feet, only to be tugged back down for another smooch. This time it was for real - I had to leave. And maybe it was the conscience illness talking or maybe it was straight from the heart I had listened to beat only a matter of hours ago snuggled up on his chest, but one thing is for certain and that is that this morning, I heard clear as day; Mr. Cheese said 'I Love You'!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Afternoon One and All,
So this weekend was an inciting one with much to do and see. Also something unexpected and so out-of-the-blue even I didn't see it coming. But maybe that is how it was planned. Unplanned! Well whatever planning or un-planning went into the act it certainly gave me a skip in my step this morning and made my commute back home to my job in Bedford all the more better and as I write to you from the train hurtling through the English countryside I am smiling, conscience that this may not be anything of huge magnitude, but to me it is. Early morning Starbucks did help though!
Friday night I had my favourite people round, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee and amongst idle chit-chat we discussed the more important things in life like having banana's for hands and indeed spelling the word banana, which at nearly quarter-to-midnight I was failing to do without the help of my academic side-kicks! After ordering pizza delivery from Domino's we decided to escape for a cheeky cigarette. Whilst we awaited the man with our order we took to talks of weddings and other such girlie stuff. Using the pavement as a aisle we joked about what we would do and how hilarious it would all be. As Miss Bride's wedding approaches in the coming weeks, I look forward to a time whereby my friends and I shall also join the club of marriage and leave behind Singlesville with all its meals-for-one and empty beds. Yes, instead we shall swap lives so that we can bicker about directions and only have sex once a week. Oh Joy! The part of my evening with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee that I enjoyed the most was the prospective speeches that were to be projected at my celebration as a Missus. Stories of years gone by including the time I got so sun-burnt I threw up every time I looked at myself, the time I decided to go blonde and ended up looking like 'Big Bird' from Sesame Street and that time where I threw a tantrum in a Spanish shopping mall because no one would come and look at the bag I wanted to buy. Incidentally in that case Miss Tweedle-Dee did come and look at the handbag with me but resulting in no purchase - I was too pissed off. And so I look forward to the day whereby I don't only become someones wife and forever, but I also am blessed with friend's like these whom share in my every moment, no matter how awkward or embarrassing. Thanks Guys!
After a potter round town on Saturday afternoon I hopped on the train to meet Mr. Cheese from his volunteer placement at The Brixton Windmill. As it started to rain heavy I went in search of the preoccupied boyfriend wandering around Brixton Market aimlessly to kill time whilst I arrived. After a soggy hug I was described as 'Wet, Cute and Sexy' by that wonderful man, although I'm not sure how I can do all three at the same time. Go me I suppose! After dinner we boarded the Tube home with the promise of looking at hotels and things to do for our up and coming first Mini-Break to Bristol together. Our trip is planned for a few weeks time, just after Miss Bride's wedding and just before the World Cup 2014 in which like any women with a football mad other half I shall mourn their loss to the great game until July sometime. I however would class myself as a conventional girlfriend where by I am happy to sit in a pub be fed cider and pork scratchings whilst watching moderately attractive men run around in little more than hot pants, occasionally groping each other. Yes, a great game indeed! Although not as good as Rugby! I digress though, and a proper holiday, albeit the Christmas Getaway last year with the family will be much deserved and much fun for us both. Although it was not to be as an unlikely haze took hold of Mr. Cheese and struck him with an arrow of lust and unspent energy.
Starting off unconventionally on the Tube home from dinner at Honest Burger in Brixton, I shared with my boyfriend a kiss that would make anyone knees give way. Good thing I was sitting down. Passionately kissing me as we begged for the Tube to be empty of the only other occupant in the carriage to leave I embraced his passion and added to it myself, entwining ourselves in each other in a haze of young lust. Walking home from the station we could hardly contain ourselves, knowing that a flat free from house-mates and a neighbour with a heightened sense of sound to piss off I felt more excited than I had done in months. 'This was what I was missing' I thought. With promises of looking into a break to Bristol in June, we unlocked the door to the three-bed West London pad with a new agenda that didn't include taking off our pants. That failed and before I knew it I was lying on the Greek flag, being Falafel-ed! I think Mr. Cheese put it right when he said to me drifting off into a cuddly slumber that nothing would have got done that night anyway.
As my boyfriend kissed me on the lips Sunday morning I smiled although conscience of my apparently putrid morning breath. Hiding it as usual I snuggle back into his chest like a woodland animal not wanting to rise from the bed until wholly necessary. Unfortunately this was to come too soon as Boyfriend and I had the company of a good friend Mr. Cheese knew from school and university for the afternoon. Slipping on some heels and making myself look presentable I hoped I would be somewhat a talking point of lad-banter when I tottered to the bathroom or the bar to refresh our table with snacks and drinks. Although following the afternoon of football, cups and goals I decided to go back home with my boyfriend and snuggle for a bit before heading home. Secretly I didn't want to go home and wanted to try my luck at the bedroom-game but with the ill look on his face setting in I knew what my Mr. Cheese needed was for me to wrap him up and tuck him in bed with a nice cup of hot, loose-leafed tea and cuddles. This was not the case yet again.
Eyes squinting, I peeked out from behind the fluffy animal-print throw. Light blistered my peepers making me not want to get out of the cosiness I had found myself. I was naked and not alone. Yes, the person that stared back at me was my sleepy boyfriend. Sickness prevailed and I could tell he was unwell. Snuggling under the sheets he pulled me in close as I realised I was naked again and the implications this may have for the near future of my nether-regions. Poor Mr. Cheese. He was sick, so I probably shouldn't have come on to him, but nevertheless I did. A back massage later and craving something more than just rubbing, I straddled him, soon discovering I would not be getting what I wanted. I suppose I shouldn't be greedy as the following evening had been spent (quite literally) in a whirlwind of pleasure. I am hesitant to use the word ecstasy as that word is commonly used to describe orgasm, to which I still have yet to find at twenty-two but that is neither here nor there. As we spooned in the harsh glow of the bedroom light I recalled in fondness the way Mr. Cheese pandered to my every desire the previous evening. My arched back. The shivers down my spine. The eruption of pleased squeals from my lungs as I cried out his name in the moment. Ahh yes, the satisfying evening prior!
Napping until just gone nine at night though after a passionate encounter was the norm with us. And I enjoyed it. It made me feel young and throw-away and reckless, not caring for the hours knowing that I had so many left ahead of me. Realising that the massage had done the opposite affect that I wanted I decided to turn my head to cake instead (as one does when one is not ravaged on the spot). The lemon tart Miss Tweedle-Dee had bought me Friday night had made the long journey from Bedford to Chiswick and was about to be sampled! Serving up a warmed slice accompanied with tea and coffee I entered the lounge and joined Mr. Cheese on the couch to watch some traditional wildlife TV before bedtime properly. Again Bristol Mini-Break didn't get a look in but the thought was there. As we positioned ourselves facing one another again, noses barely touching, I suppressed the compulsion to say the 'L' word, unaware that it was only hanging off the other persons tongue.
Waking naturally I wondered to the time. Looking at my phone I noted that I still had a few moments I could steal away between the sheets before I had to dash back to my job in Bedford. Due to the ill-health of the Boyfriend I decided to stay last night in Chiswick to care for him and make sure he was OK. He seemed worse when I woke this morning, clammy and tired. I worried for him and really tried hard to think of ways I could stay, knowing that I couldn't, not when I was only a few weeks into my new role. And so as I prised myself from Mr. Cheese's weak grip I asked if he wanted tea or breakfast. The reply was a short and sweet declination. I offered him anything else he wanted and he reached out for a cuddle. How could I deny him that. Of all the simple pleasures in life this was one of them. Getting dressed I tried not to rouse the sickly Boyfriend too much although he did say how wonderful it felt to be feeling so terrible but able to wake in the night and just reach out to someone just across the pillows. And as if that didn't touch me enough I was bowled over by what was to come next.
Pulling on my coat and borrowed scarf from Mr. Cheese I knew that the 6am London air would be chilly and unpleasant compared to the warmth of the flat. Nevertheless I knew I had to go and that if I didn't go soon I would be making a convincing phone-call to my boss explaining why I wasn't coming in. Asking once more if there was anything I could do for him I bent down to kiss him goodbye. Flashes of role-reversal invaded my mind as I saw myself being kissed by Mr. Workaholic before he left for work, leaving me too in bed. Casting those thoughts aside I rose to my feet, only to be tugged back down for another smooch. This time it was for real - I had to leave. And maybe it was the conscience illness talking or maybe it was straight from the heart I had listened to beat only a matter of hours ago snuggled up on his chest, but one thing is for certain and that is that this morning, I heard clear as day; Mr. Cheese said 'I Love You'!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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