Archives: Family

Today was the wedding celebration for my cousin and his new wife after they got married in a low-key ceremony back in January and decided to wait to celebrate properly in the summer. I love my family to pieces and was so unbelievably happy to be there and celebrating with them, as well as meeting some relatives I’ve never met before and some I haven’t seen for years.

But my biggest problem was that I had people constantly moaning at me that I’ve let my blogging slip since my op. So this one is for everyone at the party who berated my lack of updates. And I would promise to update more often, but we all know it’s not going to hold any water.

Today started, rather incongruously, with a two-hour stint spent at the Rockingham Motor Speedway in Northamptonshire, just North of Corby. Way back at Christmas, bro and I had been bought a day’s introduction to single-seater oval driving, today being the first day we could synchronise our diaries to get it done.

Reading up on the event beforehand, I read this about it, which slightly deflated me. Following a pace car around a track didn’t seem like a whole lot of fun to me and 15 minutes didn’t seem like a huge amount of track time.

We got there plenty early and grabbed a cup of coffee to caffeine us up for the morning’s work, before being taken to the in-field paddock area and briefed about the cars, which were sat tantalisingly in front of the garage in the pit lane. We were a small group of just 4 drivers and 2 spectators, including video- and photographer, K. After our briefing we headed out to get kitted up and then wandered out into the pits to be assigned our cars.

Jumping into Number 13 was petrifying – not because of the number itself (I don’t hold any truck in superstitions), but simply cocooning yourself in something so small. It was quite claustrophobic to begin with, but luckily I had a few minutes to get myself settled after they’d explained the controls before we headed out.

We were split into two groups of two and I was directly behind the first pace car. Coming out of the pits and accelerating to modest-to-high speeds I may or may not have crunched the gearbox a little. It’s easy to do, what with the clutch being so heavy that I pushed myself further back into my seat every time I pressed it. Luckily, the beauty of an oval is that gear changes are non-existent save for when you’re coming in and out of the pits.

Following a professional driver, we lapped at a steady-but-fun pace until the orange lights started flashing around the track to signal an incident and we came back into the pits to collect the other two cars from the second group. It turns out that the front wing had flown off the second pace-car coming through the final turn, only just missing my bro in the process. I was quite glad it was him and not me.

On our next run, the pace gradually got quicker and quicker as the pace car brought us up to somewhere approaching race speeds. Had I not been following him, I’d have sworn it wasn’t possible to go that fast round the 4 turns of the oval, but being in prime position behind him, I got a perfect view of the lines he was taking and realised quickly that if his car did it, then my identical car would, too.

In fact, I was rather chuffed to see that the others couldn’t keep pace with us, dropping back so much that the pace car had to slow down to collect them again.

20 minutes in the car later, I was beginning to feel to exertion take its toll on my shoulders and arms from the forces involved in holding a steering wheel in a turn at over 100mph. Although the speedos were disabled in the car (to keep you focused on where you were going), we were told that the average speed of the runs would be approximately 120mph. It was unbelievably awesome and I love every minute of it. Far from my initial fears, I soon realised that I actually went faster behind the pace car than I would have gone on my own. And I certainly wouldn’t have driven that close to the wall.

Adrenaline rush done with, we jumped in the slightly-less powerful Mazda 6 we’d driven there and headed South to Shoeburyness, where we arrived at A&A’s place for the celebrations. My Mum’s brother were there as well as a cousin of hers, introducing me to my second cousin, whom I’ve never met, and her gorgeous pair of daughters.

My cousin’s brood (not A&A – that one’s still in-coming) all took a shine to K quickly and to me, too, after a while, although we have met them before – but when you’re 8 and 5 it’s hard to remember people, especially when you’re also trying to cope with the overloading of the senses brought about by an influx of people you’re never seen before. Their youngest, however, wasn’t so keen on us and would start crying as soon as she was handed over to anyone other than Mum, Grandma or Granddad. I did managed to have her for about 30 seconds at one point, before she realised that Mum had used the food-distraction method to fob her off on Uncle Oli and she cried foul.

It was such a great afternoon and evening. My family are all wonderfully close, even if we don’t see each other for long periods, we pick up where we left off. It’s always a joy to spend time with them all and catching up with those I hadn’t seen for years made me so happy. It’s wonderful to be able to properly share those family moments again.

Today was one of those days which, when you’re getting used to the idea of having new lungs and a new life, really remind you how special and wonderful a gift it really is. I wouldn’t have dreamed of doing the racing I’ve done today this time last year and the family day would have worn me out completely. Driving home from Southend tonight gave me pause to think about how little I’d have been able to do after nearly 6 hours at someone else’s house, playing and chatting and eating and drinking (nothing alcoholic, I must add, in case you were worried). I’ve never have managed it and a drive home, too, and certainly not when I’d been driving fast cars in the morning.

The gift of life is the greatest gift anyone can give or receive. It is the only gift that bears out the cliché of the gift that keeps on giving. I am blessed in so many ways and so grateful that I have so many opportunities to remember it.

I hadn’t actually realised it’s been nearly a week since my last post.  In fact, I was just sitting at my desk doing work-y things when it occurred to me that I hadn’t done anything for a bit and wondering when it was that I did.  Anyway, if you haven’t read the Duck Race entry, do it now then go and sponsor a duck then come back here.  I promise I’ll still be here.

I’ve had one of those weird weeks where I can’t remember what on earth I’ve been doing other than the fact that I seem to remember being quite busy.

My main occupation over the last two days (that’s Monday and Tuesday) has been attending Business Link’s free courses on how to start your own business.  They come in 3 flavours, as well as a general introduction session that I did late last month.  So on Monday afternoon I did a three-hour session on planning a business, writing a business plan and doing market research to be able to justify the idea in the first place, swiftly followed by a three hour evening session on Marketing and Sales, which was unbelievably helpful and taught me a huge amount of stuff I didn’t know before and has really helped me with some techniques and strategies to follow should I decide to go down this route.

Then after a day of rest and brain-recovery, I did another three hours on Tuesday night on Managing Money – all the financial aspects of running a business including book-keeping, tax and national insurance and other important financy-things.

What surprised me the most about the whole thing was that I actually really enjoyed being in a learning environment again – being taught things, learning things, using my brain to try to grasp things I’d not fully understood before.  It really was great fun and really, really helpful.

As a side note, any of you who think you’d like to start a business or similar, I can thoroughly recommend Business Link and their services and courses.  Everything they do is 100% free and you can do the open workshops like I did as well as talking to a Business Link Adviser, who are all bona-fide business people who really know what they’re doing.  I’ve been really impressed by them and would definitely use them again.

Beyond my courses the only other thing of note I think I’ve done is attend a show produced by my old MKT boss at the Grove Theatre in Dunstable.

I’m not one for hyperbole – ok, I am, but I’m not one for giving undue praise, so it should be noted that the Grove’s Wizard of Oz is without doubt the best Youth Theatre production I’ve ever seen.  It was utterly remarkable and even more so for the fact that it was put together as part of a two-week summer school.  That’s just 2 weeks spent working with a professional director that got the kids involved up to a standard superior to some professional productions I’ve seen (no names mentioned, Yellow Wallpaper).

I was thrilled that TJ invited me to come and see it and gobsmacked at the standard of performance from the entire cast, but particularly by the four leads, who blew me away with their voices and their physicality.  I really can’t congratulate the cast or the guys at the Grove for such a spectacular show.

I’ve got a busy weekend of fun coming up this weekend and I promise to blog in full detail about the whole thing on Monday, provided I don’t forget again…

Today’s been an awesome day, celebrating K turning 25 – quarter of a century old and heading off to Uni to do the thing she’s most wanted to do all her life.  People seem to see me as somehow admirable, but as far as I can see it, I just survived – K is doing something altogether bravery and more worthy of admiration than anything I’ve done (with the possible exception of the time I went on that Pirate Ship ride even though I was terrified because my Godson wanted to…).

One of the (many) things I love about K is how amazingly special she makes special days for all those around her.  She works tirelessly to make sure that her friends and family have a great time on their days – be it birthdays, anniversaries or celebrations.  Because of her unending dedication to others’ enjoyment, I wanted to make sure that this time, just for once, she had an amazing day of her own to lodge in her memory bank.

I didn’t tell her anything about what we were doing all day – perfectly aware that she doesn’t like surprises (they scare her slightly) but knowing that 1) it would be good for her and 2) it would make the day that much more special (or so I hoped).

So I started with a lie in for her and an early morning for me.  As it happens, I didn’t actually sleep all night anyway, so the early morning part wasn’t too hard.  I got up and sorted out her big bag of presents, laying them all out nicely on the coffee table in front of the sofa with all of her cards.  That done, I headed down to Tesco to pick up some fresh pain au chocolat for breakfast, one of K’s faves.  Then I watched the Olympics until she got up.

As soon as she was up and about, I made tea (always a requirement) and she got stuck in to opening her small mountain of gifts.  She received some really wonderful things – very pretty, very individual and very K – and then we broke off for a bit of breakkie after she’d spoken to her sister on the phone.

After breakfast she got back to the unwrapping and got to her Wii.  She’s been lusting after the Nintendo Wii almost ever since it came out, but certainly since last year when the two of us played on her brother’s.  Now she’s got one of her very own (which she’s actually playing on right this very second) and loves it to pieces – a good choice, it appears.

Once we’d unpacked it all and set it up, in between showering and me doing the washing up, we played a few rounds of various Wii sports before heading to the flicks.  This was the only part of the day in which she had any say – 27 Dresses was showing for one showing today, which is one that she missed when it was first out and I know she was keen to see it, so I gave her the option of catching it while it was on the big-screen today.

Post-flick, we headed over to Deanshanger to stop in on our sis and niece and nephew, who’d managed to fall over hard yesterday and give everyone a fright that he may have broken his leg.  Seeing him today, it looks like the hospital were right when they said it was just badly bruised/sprained, but he certainly wasn’t himself – he’s normally running around like something that runs around really a lot, but today he was much more subdued and only wandered about the house to find one of us and plead, “More horrid.”  (That’s his way of asking for another episode of Horrid Henry from the Sky+, not a request for us to treat him badly, just in case any child protection officers happen to be reading…).

After checking in on them (and picking up the birthday card from K’s ‘rents that we’d (sorry, I) left there on Saturday, we headed up the road to stop in on K’s ‘rents, the most important part of said visit being, of course, the birthday cake.  With a fairy on it and everything.

After munching cake, drinking fizzy pink stuff and waking her dad up from his nap, K opened up her various presents that had been dropped at her ‘rents, including the one which had originated from there – a mini (and I mean mini) dictation machine that she has wanted to get for Uni, as it’s apparently a great way to revise the day’s lectures, by listening back to them and typing them up as an aide memoire.  It’s a great little thingy, which records very clearly from quite a distance and then downloads directly to a computer.  Fab.

Once we’d had a cuppa and some fizz and opened all the extra pressies, we popped round to another family friend to say hello and thank her for the present she’d left for K.  After a quick stop, we carried on out and went back into town for dinner at Brasserie Blanc (or brassiere blank as we’ve heard it called recently).  K’s wanted to go there since it opened, so it seemed like the perfect treat.

As you may guess from the name (unless you think it means White Cafe), it’s a part of the Raymond Blanc empire, recently arrived in the newer, upmarket area of MK known as The Hub.  Rubbish name, yes, lovely place, though – full of really nice eateries with a wonderful European open-plaza style to it and much more of a communal atmosphere than many places in the UK today.  Brasserie Blanc is on the outer side of the square (away from the main hustle and bustle) and it has to be said it is absolutely exquisite.

It’s expensive there, but it’s one of the few restaurants where I really don’t begrudge the prices they charge.  The food was absolutely beautiful.  It was hands down one of the best meals I have ever eaten in my life and certainly in the running for the best meal I’ve ever had in a restaurant.  I had a rack of lamb so succulent and juicy that chewing was optional.  K had a fillet steak, which was similarly top-quality and we finished it with two heavenly desserts which I couldn’t finish (although K polished hers off).

It’s not just the food in there that makes it worth it (although I’d have eaten off the floor in a flea-pit for food that good), it’s the whole experience.  The setting is lovely – clearly catering for an up-market crowd, but without the stuffiness or coldness of many places along similar lines.  It’s warm, friendly and very comfortable.  The whole evening is topped off by, I think, the best service I’ve ever had in a restaurant.  A waitress who isn’t just there to take an order and shove it at the chef, but rather to help enhance the whole experience for the diners – chatty, polite, helpful and informative.  As I signed the cheque, I made sure to check which was the best way to pay the tip to make sure it went to her and wasn’t shared out.

(As a side note, tipping is very important to me.  I object massively to the accepted wisdom of a straight 10% tip for any waitress.  If I get good service, I’ll tip well, if I get average service, I’ll tip averagely and if I get poor service, I won’t tip.  But beyond that, I don’t agree with pooling tips and splitting them.  If someone gives me exceptional service, as was the case tonight, I want to reward them for it – not to find myself giving a tip to the not-so-good waitress who happens to be sharing the shift with my one.  If they’re good enough, they’ll earn their own tips, if not, they’ll learn they need to work harder.  The point is, if you want to make sure you’re tipping the right person, you need to check.  For instance, had I placed the gratuity on the card I was paying with, by typing it into the machine, then it would have been split.  Leave it in cash on the table, however, and it all goes to the waitress.  This is usually the case, but it’s always worth checking – and making sure you ask the right questions.  Asking where the gratuity goes if it’s put on the card, the waitress is obliged to explain the sharing policy.  She is forbidden, however, to inform you of the cash policy.  Only if you specifically ask can you find out where the tips go.)

Coming away well satisfied after a fine meal, we headed back home where we were met again by friends to help us Christen the Wii.  Two hours of constant game-play between the four of us later and we turfed the guys out to take ourselves off to bed and our much-needed beauty sleep for the return to the grind tomorrow.

I’m generally not one to get excited about birthdays – mine or anyone elses – but for the first time with K’s birthday today, I was genuinely excited about it and I’ve had an absolutely brilliant time.  I’m still buzzing from it and from the look of pure happiness on her face that hasn’t moved for the entirety of the day.  It just goes to prove, it truly is better to give than to receive.

Today has been a pretty impressively brilliant day.

It was another Harefield appointment, my first in six weeks after MC told me that it was a bit pointless coming back until they had clear data on whether my CMV had retreated for good or not.  So he had sent me away with instructions to send in bloods every 2 weeks to keep a check on things and that if I hit the 3 month mark with no adverse effects or without showing anything above a zero on my CMV then he’d take me off the Valganciclovir I’ve been on since May and see if my body will cope without it without submitting to CMV again.

Seeing him today with a month-and-a-half of clear results, he was suitable pleased and happy for me to drop my Valgan and continue with everything else, albeit being very much more aware and careful about the first signs of CMV infection, necessitated by the fact that CMV can very rapidly kick-start rejection of the not-very-good kind, which could do my serious damage.

That said, though, he came out with something I wasn’t expecting to hear at all.  Although I may feel like I’ve had a fair number of blips, he thinks I’m doing incredibly well and – going by his experience of CF patients post-transplant – thinks I now stand a better-than-average chance of 5-year survival.

At the time of my transplant, I was quoted statistics saying that 73% of people make it through the first year, and within that 27% that don’t are included people who may die on the table or suffer serious post-operative complications.  Once you stretch the survival period to 5-years, the odds stand at 50/50, but MC now believes that for me the benchmark can be shifted from 50/50 at 5 years to 50/50 to make 10 years.

Another decade of life is better than I think many of us dared to hope.  I said before my transplant if I’m given just six months of a new life I’d be happy.  Time enough to play with my Godsons, experience the things I’d not been able to do for breathlessness and lack of energy, learn to do things on a whim again.  Having slipped past that stage back in May, albeit in the middle of a CMV/EBV attack, I’ve felt contented with my lot, whatever is thrown at me next.  To know now that there’s a very real possibility of a future worth planning for is too incomparable for words.

I’m aware every day that someone, somewhere has lost someone they loved very dearly.  I just hope I can make enough use of the extra time I’ve been given to show them what a truly wonderful gift they have given not just me, but my family, too.

What an awesome day today has been – one of the best since my transplant.

Today I achieved something I’d never have thought I could achieve and done something I never thought I’d see myself doing even before my transplant.

We had my Godson up for the day with his mum and dad at my ‘rents and another family of really close friends with two kids as well and we all traipsed across Willen lake to the high-rope course on the far side of the sports lake.

This thing is pretty epic – a collection of fairly challenging obstacles suspended around 20 feet above the ground on the first level, with an upper level twice that height.  All harnessed and hard-hatted up, we set off around the first level.

The interesting thing about the course is that it’s not really possible to get down once you’ve started, so by way of a tester they put the most intimidating obstacles first, so if you really, really don’t like it, you can turn back.  I must confess, halfway through traversing the 10′ wide section of climbing wall with the world’s tiniest footholds, I seriously considered it.

I’m glad I didn’t though, as the rest of the course was pure joy.  I only struggled at one point, which was a section which required excellent balance (not something I’m renowned for) and good upper-body strength (something which has yet to grace my new body).  With that out of the way, the rest of the course was *relatively* easy.

I was disappointed that the lower level required so much physical exertion that I didn’t have anything left in the tank to attempt the higher, more challenging level this time around, but it gives me a great incentive to build my strength and stamina back up and conquer it next time.

The final step of the course is a 50’ rope drop from a tower in the centre of the courses.  Hooked onto a decelerating wire, you step off a platform for a few moments of free-fall before the rope goes taught and the drum begins to slow you down, depositing you on your feet/butt at the bottom a couple of seconds later at a manageable speed.

Before my op, healthy or not, I wouldn’t not have dreamed of doing something like that in a million years.  To be honest, I’m still not entirely sure what possessed me to to it today, but I did.  I stood at the top, harnessed up and clipped on and wondered out loud what I was doing there before serenely stepping off the platform and dropping to the floor in a matter of seconds.  On the way down it was the most horrible thing I’ve ever done, but as soon as I hit the floor I wanted to go again.

Doing a course like that really rammed home once again the astonishing difference these new lungs have made to my life.  Even after completing it, I still had enough energy to go back to Mum and Dad’s and play in the garden with everyone, as we got through games of Butthead, Scatch and footie.  It’s an amazing feeling to finally be able to run around and play in the garden with people again.

I always said before my op that Transplant is a bit of a gamble – there’s no way of knowing how long it’s going to last for and what your quality of life is going to be like, but I said I’d be happy if all I got was an extra six months and the opportunity to play football with my Godsons again.  This weekend, as I ran and missed yet another perfectly weighted cross just wide of the far post, it occurred to me that I’ve now hit both of those milestones.  Everything I wanted before my transplant, I’ve got – I couldn’t be more blessed and feel more happy and content with my life than I do right now.

Transplant is amazing. Full stop.

It’s taken me a while to get around to writing about my admission for two weeks almost a month ago, but that’s because I’ve still not really managed to wrap my head around the whole deal.

The two weeks I spent on the ward in Harefield in the middle of May were the hardest two weeks of “inmate” time I’ve spent for a long time and I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps it was something to do with being on an open ward, something I’ve only experienced once or twice in my life, despite numerous, often lengthy, hospital admissions. Perhaps it was because I was missing out on the holiday with a big group of friends that K and I had been planning for close on 3 months.

Above everything, though, I think I struggled more than I have for a while because something in my brain told me I was passed all this. My new lungs have had an amazing start. A minor hiccup after 2 weeks not withstanding, they’ve gone from strength to strength and my lung function has been steadily rising, my exercise tolerance going with it. I even completed the famed last mile of Tresco with my brother and started entertaining thoughts of doing the whole thing next year.

So I suppose I had kind of taken my eyes off the post-transplant complications ball and started to enjoy life without a second thought for whatever else was going on, assuming everything was tickety-boo. Which is, I suppose, a lesson in itself. While new lungs mean great new things, you can never take their health for granted and even though I’d been booming for the last three months, it doesn’t take much to send the body reeling.

The chest pains I’d been worried about were initially diagnosed as Gastritis, but when I saw the team at Harefield I had managed to spike a good-looking temperature to go with the pain and nausea, leaving them little choice but to admit me. For the first 24-48 hours the cause of my ailments seemed a mystery to the docs, until they got my CMV count back, at which point they were more contented, knowing that they knew how to deal with it now that it had been properly identified.

There’s something disconcerting about being given drugs intravenously which are so toxic the nurses have to wear gloves and the pregnant women aren’t even allowed to touch the packaging. Knowing they can’t go near while you watch it being pumped into your veins is pretty bizarre and something I’ve never got used to, despite a history of high-caliber potions in my time.

When I was moved to the open ward, which happened to coincide with K’s departure on the holiday with our friends (at my insistence, I must add, and under considerable duress) and I dropped into a pretty deep funk. It’s the lowest I’ve been since the darkest days of the early post-transplant period and there didn’t seem to be a whole lot going for me at the time.

I’m slightly ashamed of myself now for letting it all get on top of me so much, since at the end of the day I was still a good deal healthier than I had been not 6 months ago, but for some reason (or, I suppose, a myriad of reasons) I couldn’t raise my spirits at all.

Luckily, at Dad’s suggestion, I managed to secure a weekend release while the guys were all away. The ‘rents agreed to drive me in for my doses of anti-biotics twice a day, but I was free to go home for food, rest and over-night sleep, something I’d been getting very little of on the ward, what with the world’s loudest talker on one side and the telly addict on the other.

Eventually, thank goodness, my consultant, the amazing Doc C returned from his paternity leave in the middle of the next week and on his first round of the day told me I was free to head home as they expected my viral load to be low enough to no longer necessitate the use of the IV drugs, enabling a switch to the more home-friendly orals.

I hadn’t been happier than that afternoon when I got back to the flat just after K returned from the holiday and we could just chill out on the sofa and enjoy each other’s company again after nearly a week apart – pretty much the longest we’ve spent away from each other since we got together.

Getting used to the ups and downs of transplant is clearly taking me longer than I thought it would. My mind appears convinced that things can only go well, so any minor hiccup is a bigger deal than it ought to be because it carries with it something of a heavy shock value. I need to keep reminding myself that it was only 6 months ago that I had new lungs fitted and that I still have a way to go to fully recover, however good I may feel right now.

So I’m trying to take things a little more slowly, although how long that will last we’ll have to wait and see. The main thing for me at the moment is doing what I can to avoid what Doc C affectionately calls the “Superman complex”, whereby people (mostly men) post-transplant start to see themselves as indestructible and slacken off their meds and treatments. It’s hardly the way to say thank you for the greatest gift of all, so I’m determined to stay away from it and keep myself at my best.

Sorry for the delay in postage, but I’ve been rather enjoying my timely escape from the inner sanctum of Harefield for a fab 3-day birthday.

Saturday was spent mostly with K’s parents, who took us out for the day around a couple of nice local spots, including a great little farm shop near where they live, which has all kinds of great home-made farm-type stuff, plus a load of great, fresh produce of the sort I’m not allowed to eat any more, which made me very jealous of all the people picking up fresh black pudding and some tasty looking soft/blue cheeses.  That said, I did have a very tasty bowl of soup with crusty French bread for lunch, which went down well.

A light lunch was all important as the evening was spent with my parents, my brother and my bro’s best mate and his girlfriend (who I’ve not seen for ages) at The Birch, a really nice restaurant just outside of MK.  It does the most amazing selection of fresh, seasonal vegetables and prime cuts of meat, alongside a full menu of great seasonal dishes.  I’m not a big fish eater, but I had the most delicious fillet of sea bass, one of my faves, which was cooked to perfection.

Sunday, my actual birthday, started slowly after the late night the night before, but I was soon up and about, opening the myriad cards K had laid out for me all nicely, then chilling out a little with S&S who came over to say hey and show off their engagement ring, which had been presented whilst they were away on holiday in the lakes (the less said about which the better, seeing as everyone had a great time while I was locked away).  It’s very cool for both of them, though, as they are clearly deliriously happy, despite having come to the dawning realisation that weddings actually cost money.

Around lunchtime we headed over to the ‘rents again to grab a BBQ with my Aunt and a selection of her troupe – some of whom had better things to do and others of whom tried using the excuse of being in Africa at the time, which I felt a little lame.  Of course, being post-op, BBQ is now off the menu for me, but I still had the same grub in the same delicious flavours, only it meant a little more work for Mum, having to bake mine instead of passing them off to Dad for the barbie, as is the usual Lewington bat-plan for weekends.

You truly find out who your friends are when you’re forced out into the rain to cook people a nice barbie (and my dad is an awesome BBQ chef).  Not a pleasant thought for Dad, who spent the entire time outside on his lonesome cooking up a storm, which everyone else seemed only too happy to eat.

Still, he didn’t seem to object too much and we had a great get-together.  For me, celebrations like these are all about the family – getting together, catching up, laughing, enjoying each others’ company.  I’m very blessed in having such a close-knit family who actually enjoy spending time with each other.  All too often I hear people moaning or complaining about having to spend time with people in their family “because they ought to”, but in our family we spend time together because we want to.

It’s also great to know that the other family I’m being assimilated into feel the same way – their just as close as us, even if the age-range is slightly more strung-out, but they enjoy seeing each other and spending time together.

I love the fact that my family relationships are more like friendships, things you actively keep going and people you want to keep in touch with, rather than a familial devotion to keeping abreast of what’s going on and meeting up only for the enforced holidays of Christmas and such.  It’s nice to be part of something where we get so much joy from each other in such simple things.

Sunday night, K and I got back home and just chilled on the sofa with a movie, before Dazz turned up completely unannounced from Leeds to surprise me.  It’s an unbelievably awesome gesture for someone to travel this far to see me just for my b’day when petrol costs what it does and he’s still to find a job up there (well, still to look for a job up their…).  It was great to see him and, although it rather spoiled my plans for an early night, we had a great evening sitting chatting and playing Buzz.

In the morning, after rolling out of bed a little later than planned, K and I hit Borders to find a way of spending the vouchers I’d been given.  I picked up an awesome Indiana Jones book, but struck out on DVDs as all the ones I usually want to pick up when I’ve got some cash weren’t around and all the cheap ones in the sale were either already in my collection or just plain rubbish (or both).

After we’d mooched about for a while in the heavenly B, we headed off to the pub we affectionately know as Old Spoons and settled in for a drink or two, being joined at stages by S&S, Cliff, Dazz and his fam.  It passed a couple of pleasant hours before we had to excuse ourselves to the awesomely exciting task of hitting Tesco, which we did at speed, before returning to the flat, collapsing on the sofa, grabbing some dinner and catching a movie.

Three day birthdays rock so much more than regular, plain old boring single days.  It’s the advantage of being born at the end of May when you nearly always wind up celebrating on a Bank Holiday weekend. Hooray for May birthdays.

I’ll be back later in the week with a summary of my incarceration and let you know how I’m getting on.

It’s Oli, back again after my enforced 2 week absence.

This is only going to be a quick one, though, to shout out loud to everyone that I FINALLY ESCAPED.  I don’t know why, but the last two weeks have been two of the hardest I’ve experienced in quite a while.  I know the immediate post-op period was harder, but other than that, this has been the toughest hospital stay I’ve had in a long while.

I’ll try to write a fuller update and coverage of the last couple of weeks sometime tomorrow, but for now I just wanted to thank you all for your lovely comments, emails and text messages and to let you know that I’m very thankfully out in time to enjoy this weekend properly, feeling much better if a little tired from the lack of sleep in the Big House.

Hope everyone’s well, more updates soon.  And thanks to K for her updates again!

This weekend has been manic and really, really tiring, but wonderful at the same time.

I woke up Saturday with the pains in my chest not abating in the slightest.  I’ve still got a stock of Tramadol which I often take for pain in my scar overnight but haven’t used during the daytime for a good few months now.  I’ve been forced back onto them by the pains in my chest again, which is a real drag as it means I can’t drive when I’m on them.

Still, I downed a couple of Tramadol in the morning when we woke up and then stayed in bed for most of the morning while K did kiddie-prep for the arrival of our two nieces in the afternoon.  A while ago we agreed to have them over for the night, Liv being 3, JJ 11, as their ‘rents had plans.  The plans fell through but we figured we’d have them over anyway as we love spending time with them and Liv especially was so excited about it.

I honestly thought we’d have to cancel when I woke in the morning, such was the pain in my chest I knew I wouldn’t be able to do much to occupy them, but K was adamant she could do it herself if the worst came to the worst.

So they rocked up with their mum and little bro around 3pm, then stayed solo later when they headed off home.  The first thing we did was make some little wooden spoon people, which was great fun, although I didn’t actually get a spoon of my own, since there were only 3.  I was relegated to being Liv’s glue-operator, at her beck and call for blobbing when she needed it.

After dinner, we (well, K and the kids) made some cakes, which they threw in the oven to cook while we got the littl’un ready for bed and read her a story.  Once K had rescued the ever-so-slightly over-cooked cakes from the oven, we sat down and played a board game with JJ, before discovering Liv sitting up in bed unable to sleep.

Eventually, after another story and a bit of a grizzle/cry for her mum, we managed to get her off to sleep and we settled into a game of Scrabble with big sis, which was great fun, even though I lost to the always competitive K by 2 points.

It’s funny when I play board games because I’m really not a competitive person – I’m happy enough to play the game, not really bothered if I win or lose.  But if someone else who’s playing is competitive, it somehow turns me into a competitive monster.  I’m happy enough when everyone is chilled and happy playing a game, but if someone is really competitive, I just really, really want to beat them.  I’ve no idea why or where it comes from, but there you go.

Once we were done with Scrabble, JJ headed off to bed only to find little sis had managed to roll herself into a position with her head on one pillow and her feet on the other side of the bed on her sister’s pillow.  Having gently moved her back to her side, the light of her sister coming to bed woke Liv up and we proceeded into a round of very, very tearful calls for mummy.

Eventually, after a call home and a promise that mummy would come get her if she got some sleep (I hate lying to children, but it was a parentally-sanctioned lie, so I felt slightly better about it), Liv settled down and no sooner had she stopped crying than she passed out into slumber again.  Bushed from the day, K and I weren’t long behind, although my night’s sleep was pretty poor since my brain was tuned in to picking up even the slightest peep coming from the bedroom in case the littl’un woke up again.

As it was, we didn’t hear another peep out of either of them until they came into our room at 7.30 the next morning, pretty respectable as mornings go.  We all settled on the sofa bed in our PJs and watched the Incredibles while K, JJ and I slowly brought ourselves to consciousness and Liv ran around jumping all over us like a mini-loony.

Once we’d breakfasted and got dressed, we iced the cakes for their little bro’s birthday party then played a couple of rounds of Tiddlywinks (what an awesome game!) and made a birthday card, at which point it was about time to head home with them.  We took them back and were greeted by an incredibly happy, smiley little brother, who was delighted to have his sisters home to celebrate his 2nd birthday.  I’m not sure he entirely grasped the concept of a birthday, but he was enjoying it all the same.

We hung around for a couple of hours, playing with some of the new toys, reading some books and saying hey to the other family and friends who turned up throughout the start of the afternoon.  Unfortunately we couldn’t stay day because Nana has a bit of a chest infection, which I obviously need to steer clear of, so we had to split the afternoon in half for us to visit early on and Nana to come along after.

Instead, we headed over to my ‘rents to have a great Sunday roast with my mum’s two brothers, one of whom was over from Luxembourg with his wife, and my cousins.  My mum and her siblings are absolutely priceless entertainment value when they all get together and today was no exception.  It was one of the nicest, most raucous, most fun family lunches I’ve had in a really long time.

By the time we got home around 7 in the evening, K and I were shattered.  We have no idea how parents cope with kids 24/7 since we were completely run into the ground after just 24 hours.  We have a new found respect for our brothers and sisters now, since we clearly showed how weak and rubbish we are.  I’m just glad that, unlike K, I don’t have to go to work tomorrow so I can chill out and not worry about anything.

Last night I sat at my computer, whiling away the time until K had finished in the bathroom before heading to bed and I started reading back through my old blogs. I had to moderate a spam message which had attached itself to a posting in mid-December, which lead me right back into the heart of the post-transplant ups-and-downs and I felt a sudden urge to go back to the start and read all through the Transplant from the day of the call.

I’ve read bits and pieces of K’s postings from while I was on the ward and, of course, all of the messages that were left for me while I was going through it. It’s still weird, though, reading back through such thorough descriptions of all the various events which went on, particularly in the first couple of weeks, which are still pretty much a blur to me, although reading the blogs I realise I actually haven’t forgotten as much as I thought I had.

That first month seems a world away from where I sit here, but Sunday marked the 5 month point since I had my op – it’s amazing how quickly the world moves.

Today has been K’s day – she finally finished her college course, which I rather unhelpfully got in the way of before Christmas – handing in her dissertation and doing a presentation to her main tutor. He has told her that she’s already passed with the highest grade possible (Level 3) without even having handed her dissertation in and that her presentation was the best and most professional he’s ever received for a student.

Now, we all know that K is wonderful, amazing, intelligent and a whole load of other incredibly positive adjectives as well, but it often passes her by completely. Having someone who actually matters (as opposed to… you know… me) tell it to her, and to have a piece of paper telling her it’s true, seems to have made the world of difference as for at least a few hours today, she actually believed it herself.

After picking her up from her presentation, all bouncing, bubbly and beautiful, we headed to the flicks to catch Flashbacks of a Fool, the new Daniel Craig film. No one can say that since being passed the mantel of Bond that Craig’s left himself open to type-casting. He’s working incredibly hard to make sure that all the time he’s contracted as Bond, he’s not letting his career slide, turning in some great performances in smaller, more independent fair like this. And he is excellent in it, let me assure you. There’s a scene towards the end of the film where he confronts/approaches/meets Claire Forlani’s character (something of a blast from his past) in a graveyard and his eyes are simply mesmerizing.

The film itself is a cleverly-structured deconstruction of the life of a Hollywood mega-star for whom bad news forces him to remember a time he’s spent a lifetime trying to escape from. What could be scene as a somewhat hokey narrative device become an interesting and plausible plot device by being plastered across the film’s title. Knowing you’re going to be dealing with flashbacks restrains you from dismissing them as is so common in modern movie-making. What’s more, they’re actually accomplished in a much more deft and sensible manner than many films who aren’t so up-front about their usage.

The cast is uniformly excellent, with a couple of exceptions who don’t really need mentioning as the don’t really spoil the film. The flashback sequence is perhaps a little on the slow side, perhaps a touch too long, but it’s impact is undeniable and the Daniel Craig bookends so riveting and absorbing you forgive the sluggishness of the middle portion.

It’s undoubtedly one to check out, although it’s not the most happy, uplifting film in the world. Precise and carefully, considerately put together, but heart-warming it is not. Check it out, if you don’t mind taking a tissue or two.