Glucose test fun.

Well I clearly have plenty to say these days(!)

I had an appt on the 26th, which involved me waking up at the ungodly hour of 7.30am so I could leave the house at 8am and sit through rush hour to get to the hosp for 9am. Traffics shit through Newcastle at rush hour times - normally it only takes 25 - 30 mins to get there. 20 mins if you push your luck and bolt down the roads. The appt was just a normal check up entwined with the fun that is a glucose test. My Dad sort of told every nurse in sight that I'm not too nice when I'm hungry (in other words, don't piss me off). In truth, I wasn't that bad. After 30mins, the nurse finally got started, stabbed me with a trusty butterfly needle and checked my sugars, which were 5.6. Apparently that's good. I don't follow all these sugary numbers and terms b/c I've been a lucky shite to avoid CFRD so far.

Then I had the joy of that gross glucose drink. I've had worse, but it was hardly something I'd ask for more of. Two minutes later, the nurse came back and said she had to take more blood, b/c she'd accidentally let the first vial clot. Lovely. I didn't care b/c taking bloods doesn't even bother me anymore (when I was a kid, I'd scream merry hell if you even though of going near me with a needle. Obviously Tobra levels were fun times.) I have a slight feeling it could have had something to do with the fact that there's student nurses looking like lost little fawns everywhere. I don't mind the student nurses cus they can be endearing to watch sometimes. Cept, there's never any fit male nurses around. Northumbria, you disappoint me...

So. After the gross sugary drink, and having the nurses alarm untangled in case I do the clever act of having a dodgy turn to the pure sugar I'd just downed, I pretty much just assaulted the four walls of the room I'd been plonked in by spinning up and down the floor on the wheelie desk chair, and whacking into the walls whilst I refined my chair skills. And pushed my luck by going up and down the corridors too, which pissed off at least three nurses and a lung function tech or two. I just got raised eyebrows off the students nurses though (and my Dr when he walked past). I was told by all the nurses, and my dietitian and physio that I was supposed to be 'sitting still'. Eff that, I can't sit still if you paid me. In fairness, I was actually sitting down.

I got a bit cold and shivery for about 5 or so mins after I'd had the glucose crap. No idea if that was related or not. If it was, it was probably just a tiny thing whilst I adjusted to the amount of sugar that was in there, and went back to normal. I have no fucking clue how you CFRDers do it, b/c I'm betting that didn't even scratch the surface, and it unnerved me. I saw the dietitian, who was all pleased with my weight and my ability to eat half the food products that dare to be near me. My weight was actually down .3kg, but I'm betting that'd be the lack of breakfast. Stupid fasting rules for glucose tests.

My LF is actually the best it's been in 14 or 15 months now. My FEV1 is 79% and my FVC is 80%, which is frankly, awesomeness personified, b/c I really wasn't expecting an increase. My Dr kept saying how my LF is really good, especially as I rarely have random increases when I've not recently had IVs. With my cough being a bitch, IVs are on the cards though. I point blank refused any cipro at all, and had a total little rant about how he needs to find something else that works on me, b/c I'll walk out the room and not look back next time Cipro's even mentioned. Plus, the whole fact that I think my normal IVs are being less effective, cus I've had ceftaz for every dose, ever, at least since starting regular IVs 12 years ago, and colistin isn't being as effective as it was even a year ago, which fucking sucks. I'm not really sure what the Dr said about me wanting to find anything else. But I have the pissed off feeling he's not gonna try. Grrr.

Basically, IVs in two weeks time, obviously of ceftaz and colistin. I worked it out and it'll be 9 1/2 weeks since finishing that 3 week course. Erm... yeah. That pisses me off b/c I'm still not back to the old way of IVs every 3 months - this time I'm just over 2 months. Plus, with having my awesome LF, needing IVs sooner rather than later doesn't add up. Until you get to the part where my cough is a bastard that hates me, and I'm getting exhausted easier. So yeah, IVs.

After that moment of joy, the two hours of the glucose test were up and I needed to be assaulted with a needle again. The results were still normal I think. I wasn't listening when the nurse said what my sugars were the second time. My trusty vein in my right arm got stabbed a total of three times that day, and co-operated each time, so yay. I think I saved my veins from fucking up by getting a port at 11, and the fact that they used my wrist veins for lines too instead of always using my arms, for the 6 years until the port thing came about. Speaking of my port, I had that flushed, and it was all fine and dandy. Which I was particularly happy about considering the whole nightmare of fun I had last time with that lovely(!) nurse. She wasn't on duty on weds (that I'm aware of) but apparently she 'feels terrible about it'. Not to sound like a bitch, but good. Cus whatever she did fucking hurt.

I got a hold of my notes for 5 mins whilst they were left on my door, randomly opened them and ended up on a page of notes from when they put this port in. If I read it right, I'm pretty sure they've always had trouble taking blood from it (I read something along the lines of 're-inserted catheter, and tried again, with no blood return') so that's completely confused me beyond words why it bled back that one time when it was last flushed. It didn't this time, as usual. I don't care b/c I'd rather they use my arms for blood takes rather than the port. No idea why, I just hate having blood taken from it.

Ok, I think that's the whole thing. Nothing else much has happened. There's college stuff but that's verging on really getting personal so that's strictly off the blog. Sorry, ha. I'm no gossip about my own shiz.

Feeling lost.

Hmm.

Over the past couple of weeks, people have said that I'm sort of shattering their opinion of me. Amongst other stuff they didn't expect of me, the tattoo is a big thing in this - I've had it said a bunch of times that I 'don't look like the type to go out and get a tattoo' (and even more so to do it without telling the parental units). My philosophy in life has basically become 'Fuck it'; Take risks, live life, and deal with the consequences later.

B/c life's just too fucking short to behave all the time.
Ramble over.

Melty.

Basically the only way of describing the weather the past couple of days.

Seriously. Hot.

Reminds me of when I went to London last year (YAY make-a-wish) as it was way too hot for those three days. Typically, the second we got back to Newcastle, it was raining, and probably still imitating Hawaii-style heat 300 miles south.

It's too hot outside, it's too hot (and boring) inside... can't really win. And I don't even tan, which sucks. I think the bright side here is that I'm not on any abx with retarded rules like 'stay out of the sun'. With my luck, b/c my cough is being a bastard at the moment, when I go to clinic on Weds, my Dr will suggest Cipro again. He can go to hell if he suggests it, b/c it did nothing last time except make me feel worse. I swear, if he does suggest it, I'm asking for a second opinion. I've said in the past that I want him to try and find something else that works against my pseudo, or APBA, or whatever crap is frolicking about in les lungs. I'm sick of just having cipro when things are heading to hell, and then IVs of colo and ceftaz when things are further down the drain.

Although even if I did get a new med for IVs, I'd be cautious as hell b/c I don't get admitted for the first few days/doses or even sent home with an Epi Pen.

Dropping the ball, anyone?

Anyway, so, melty weather. (FFS, I'm talking about the weather... things are clearly dire) Typical that I get my tattoo just as the weather decides to fry itself. I'm British, I'm not used to it being 25*C and over all day. I'm not complaining about it though - I do like it. I went on a walk (read 'went to assault my camera with too many photos once again') with my cousin last night, it was about 9pm and still 20 ish *C, which was awesome. I was trying to get photos of her dog jumping about in the river, but I could never seem to get a fast enough shutter speed which would freeze the action in the photo without blurring it like hell, whilst it was actually bright enough in the photo to see what was actually in the photos.

In the end I gave up, let my cousin run free with it whilst it was set on Auto.

I WILL figure out manual settings, properly, dammit.

Clinic on weds has the fun addition of a glucose test. I think the only plus to it being at 9am (which isn't usually a time I even register) is that I'll probably be too asleep to notice the fact that I'm hungry as I've got to skip breakfast. Seeing as I'm gonna be stuck in the clinic room for a couple hours, and being in there for 10 minutes is taxing enough, I'm considering either taking my camera and pissing the nurses off with it, or taking the laptop and watching a DVD. Actually, I'll probably be bringing the laptop anyway - someone told me to take a photo of the bruise over my port after a certain nurse basically abused the poor thing, and I can use the photo as proof to why she's never getting her hands on a port needle near me again.

I really don't like that nurse. I don't like the way she spoke to me like I was really thick. I don't like the fact she made my port bleed back for the firs time in forever, and kept on saying 'it's fine, it's normal'. I said to her 'I KNOW that. I'm just not used to mine bleeding back, when it never has, especially adding that to the fact that it really hurt when you put the needle in'. Obviously douche-nurse kept on with her 'It's fine' mantra.

Kinda hoping she's not on duty on Weds if I'm perfectly honest.

Inked.

(Blatant plagiarism of Lauren's tattoo blog title there...)

I did it =)

I finally got the tattoo I've been banging on about for months. I decided on Friday (I think) that I'd get it done on Monday, and sorted this out. Obviously my sister had to go with me b/c I'm a wimp, and probably would have messed things up hearing wise. We went into Durham (first choice, second choice would have been places in Newcastle) to see if the tattoo place had an opening for today. They did, for 3pm. It was about 11 at that point, so for 4 hours, me and my sister pretty much just walked through Durham, I was taking photos to distract myself of the plain fact that, yes, I was damn right scared.

We got there and I had to show my ID again.... they thought I was about 14. Wonderful. My sister sat next to me taking photos whilst I winced and txted Gem to distract myself. Definitely worked. The part that hurt the most was the R as that's over a muscle in my wrist. The rest was pretty much just a sharp scratch, which I adjusted to fast and in the end I'm pretty sure my wrist went numb b/c I couldn't feel it at all. Took 10 mins in total. I'd freaked myself out a fair bit about it, and calmed down a few seconds after the needle hit me b/c I realised that it wasn't that bad.

Kinda stings now, obviously. And typing is a bitch b/c I usually rest my wrist on the edge of my laptop and I probably shouldn't do that right now! Aaaaaaaanyway. Here's some photos:

'From one Meghann to another Megan'

I can't believe you're gone.

No, that can't be right.

RSV or rejection, whichever it was, well, both of them, they're a bitch.

You emailed me a year ago after reading my blog. It was called 'From one Meghann to another Megan' and you started of saying 'First off, love the name'. We talked on msn and facebook, but not a lot. I remember talking loads the night that Bree got her tx b/c we were so pleased for her, and you'd not long had your own tx.

The last time we talked, it must have been a few weeks ago, before you declined and ended up in ICU on a vent. We were just talking about random stuff. General life, and of course pred making us both ravenously hungry. It made me laugh so damn much when you said that my msn display picture made me look like a model. And then the conversation died down, you got occupied doing other stuff and I was falling asleep b/c it was about 2am and I was exhausted.

We never said goodbye.

Does that make it better or worse? I've heard people say they're grateful that last conversations never had a real ending to it b/c it leaves the line open, ready to be picked up again someday. Goodbye seems so... final.

RIP doesn't seem suitable either - you never seemed like a quiet person!

Gone but not forgotten. Too damn impossible to forget you. Xxx

Confessions: I'm a wimp.

I actually went swimming again. Slightly regretted it after the first length, but carried on till 10 lengths. And then most likely crawled out of the pool. My competitive side is a moron - I tried to overtake someone who was already half a length ahead of me at one point. I actually got to the other side at the same time she did. And then every muscle in my body really hated me for that.

Whoops.

Oh well. At least my physio will be happy I'm actually getting up and doing stuff. I know I said I was going to just be uber lazy all week after knackering myself on Saturday, well I didn't really follow that. In truth, I can't remember Monday or Tuesday at all for some reason (yes, thanks crap memory) but I know I was out on Weds, and obviously today. I won't bother going anywhere tomorrow so I can actually lounge about for once.

I've finally got my tattoo designed, and I really, really want to get the stones to get it next week, or the week after. Apart from the fact that I'm a total wuss. I really am. My sister has to go with me, probably b/c they'll think I'm a 14 year old, and I won't hear a word they're saying. And the fact that even though this is my tattoo, which was entirely my idea, and my choice... I'm gonna find it really hard to stay the fuck still whilst a needle messes about with my wrist.

I duno why I'm so pathetic about all things like that. I mean, I swear you could say I'm the most wimpy CFer you could find. I don't mind blood takes and ops (providing I get general) and having my port accessed, but at the same time, I can't watch them take blood, and if they ever try and give me local rather than general, I'll bolt. The idea of ever having a bronch or a port done under just local.... *shivers*. No. Not happening. You can tell me till you're blue in the face, that when you had an op/bronc/whatever under local, it was fine and you can't even remember it, but I don't think you can convince me to ever go through these things myself.

For god sakes, I'm scared of a small tattoo. I know people with WAY bigger tattoos. Who were a lot less scared than I was!

I'll admit I'm scared of a lot of stuff; for the first two seconds when they access my port b/c I always worry when number 3 is going to give up the ghost. I'm scared of the future. I'm scared of this foundation degree. I'm scared of meeting new people and them finding out CF and the like b/c you never know how they'll react. I put a lot of this stuff to the back of my mind and try not to think about it. But I guess it's never going to go away till you just think 'fuck it' and confront your fears.

Even if it's never that straight forward.

Lazy FTW.

I went out on Saturday. Really good seeing people, especially after not seeing some of them for months.
I managed to cripple myself back at my sisters. I was walking up the stairs and never switched the light on, and it was pitch black. I walked right into a chair that was on the landing (don't ask me why it was there, b/c I don't even know) and all my sister and her fiance heard was a loud *thump* then me going 'OW!! Fuck!'. I injure myself so much that people just find it hilarious now. Like when I sat on the end of the bed and fell right off. Cue my sister laughing for ages. It wasn't that bloody funny, but for some reason, it's twice as funny when it happens to me.

I really couldn't be bothered with doing my nebs on Sunday night. I did though. It just took me forever to get up off my arse and go to the kitchen. I was shattered b/c I'd effectively went through 8am -3am on Saturday on 6 hours sleep. And didn't get that much sleep at my sisters b/c it's just not my bed, I guess. Don't get me wrong, I can easily function (in a grumpy way) on 6 hours sleep if I had to. But I'm not usually at college all day then at the pub all night. Dunno where I managed to find the energy to stay upright to be perfectly honest!

I might actually just become a sloth for the next few days. Plenty of tv, refusing to get my arse off facebook or msn, and probably drinking copious amounts of tea b/c that's what I do best.

I love being lazy.

I confess...

I'm addicted. To these: (french fancies)


God. You don't know how painfully slow my net connection is being today. I'm used to it being slower when I'm in my room b/c that's just how it works, but I'm about 5 foot from the router right now and it's pissing me off!

Anyway. So I'm really addicted to these things. Dunno what it is about them but I randomly bought some to eat in the car when we went to Scotland for the day on bank holiday Monday, and I sort of ate 4 of them (half the packet) within two minutes. At the time, I was in the car with my two sisters and my Mum and Dad. They found it both sort of hilarious but disgusting at the same time. Can't really blame them. I'm sure they're just jealous I can eat twice as much as them and not really show it. Which is sort of a blessing and a curse.

Pretty sure this addiction is helping me keep up the weight thing though. I love not having to get a lecture off the dietitian every clinic appt. I used to try and avoid her. I was stuck bopping between 41 and 44kg for the past two years, so now being at 46kg and not being badgered to make sure I keep eating is obviously taking away the stress and probably making me eat more. Oh, and having a load of random food in my room is helping. B/c some people have the 'lovely' habit of mentioning food around me all the time. And it makes me hungry as hell. Me being me, I'm usually so lazy, that if I'm in my room I can't be bothered with getting food from the kitchen, as walking up and down stairs is copious amounts of effort. I figured I may as well cut out the middle man and keep a load of junk in my room. It's apparently working well!

I'll leave you with some random photos from the past week:

Ding dong...

The bitch that is UCAS and student finance is dead, done and dusted with! Wooo, let's all dance, jump and throw small children in the air at the fact that you'll no longer have to listen to me bitch about either of those things again.

Until next year.

Yeah, sorry. The thing is, UCAS is done with, completely now. I got an interview for my course which I went to last Thurs (and didn't write about it b/c I was scared of jinxing it. Yeah, I believe in that shit, deal with it) and I went to that with my Dad. He said that the woman who I saw seemed to like my work, she did look pretty pleased when she asked if I knew how to work with black and white film, and I said that I had two projects based on film that she could see. I also had two digital projects and a portfolio which she looked through. She actually remembered me from last year, when she told me to go on the course I'm on now b/c I just didn't really know enough to be on the foundation degree without dragging behind. And, this is always a bonus, she said I looked healthier than last year.

Anyways. I checked UCAS today as I'd been told to wait a few days until I get my response. And I got one! I got a conditional offer, which means that 'you are agreeing that you will attend the course at that university or college if you meet the conditions of the offer'. I didn't get the guts to check UCAS for several minutes after I got the email saying that my status on Track had changed, as it was the exact same email I got last year.

After I freaked out at UCAS and checked, and then accepted the offer, I decided to finish battling with a 32 page bastard of a form from student finance. And I had to go to college and up to student support to double check this form. I had to wait 30 minutes until I could see the right person so we just sat around and dossed for a bit. My Dad said something, I heard him wrong and gave him the wrong answer. And got a weird look b/c it really didn't make any sense at all. Then I realised what he'd said and how my answer didn't make any sense. This started off a 10 minute uncontrollable laughing attack, my drink flying everywhere and then coughing for ages after.

We finally saw someone who went through the form and the loan bit and bla bla bla. The only thing left is the part where my Mum and Dad have to deal with their P60s. I stopped listening at this point b/c I can't do anything about it. And just drew on a piece of paper instead.

[Time well spent, clearly]

At least UCAS done with. Student finance has to be re-applied for each year. Joy(!)

After this, I left and went through town on my own. Bit of a dodgy choice to be perfectly honest. I'm usually fine on my own, but this time I went a bit out of my depth, across several streets I'd never been down before and got lost. And walked in a circle at least twice. A circle which involved killer stairs (which I determinedly avoided the second time round).

I'm knackered now. Got a fair few photos, mainly of graffiti stuff; the reason why I kept on walking down these streets was b/c they were full of old buildings which I love taking pictures of. Plus, taking pictures and having my ipod blaring sort of meant I forgot to pay much attention to exactly where I was heading.

Blah.

I dunno.

What am I supposed to write about? I can't think of a thing. Even cf, at least for me, is being fairly un-dramatic. I won't complain about that though b/c that's just begging everything to tank so damn fast.

I was being a stressy little cow at college on Saturday. I annoyed myself probably more than I annoyed other people. I was just getting pissed off at my work, being confused about what I had to do, the fact that Blackboard is being an utter twat and the systems been knackered all week, and the slight fact that I deleted (permanently) some photos which I thought I didn't need. Turns out I do and I was supposed to print out a contact sheet with these photos on. The problem is, it's not as simple as just going back to where I was and re-taking the photos. B/c the photos I deleted are the ones I used in making a panorama. Which means I should have kept the originals - it'd be blaringly obvious if I used different photos and tried to pass them off as originals.

Especially as it'll be hard to remember the camera settings I used and the exact place I was standing at the Quayside.

*shrugs* college is confusing.

Oh and when, WHEN are people going to learn that telling me to calm down when I'm being all *gahhhhh* is not the way to go. You tell me to calm down when I'm stressed, and I'll snap. B/c I'm classy like that, when someone at college told me to calm down I said 'It's really not a good idea to tell me that' and two minutes later, still impressively pissed off, I walked out and sat in the hallway for a good 10 mins.

And I also opted to listen to music rather than attempt to listen to the tutor. It's not like I hear her well anyway. And then my ipod got all cocky and started playing songs that were basically typical of the mood I was in and stuff I was thinking.

*strangles ipod*