whoops.

I think I've been overdoing it. Not in any decadent sense, mind you, just in the normal, day-to-day stuff. I've been working slightly longer hours, and working on Saturdays (long story...basically I have a lot of hours at work to make up due to my time off sick and so working an extra hour every day and Saturday mornings seems to be the only viable option at this point, short of chaining me to the desk for the next two months). Been going to the gym for short, half hour sessions two times a week. Been eating reasonably well, although had a couple of pizza lapses, but didn't think they were anything to be worried about.

So I got sick again.

Went down to staff conference at Stanwell Tops on Tuesday, expecting to stay til Thursday. Had to help Stuart launch our new website and explain it all to the staff, and we got through that okay but I rapidly went downhill as soon as it was finished. Was finding myself completely overwhelmed by all the people and the fact that there is absolutely nowhere you can go short of leaving the campsite where you can be on your own (and not freeze to death outside). Found myself getting stressed and exhausted by small things. Tried to see if a nap in the afternoon would help, but found the bed uncomfortable, had difficulty negotiating the top bunk (which has never bothered me before) and was further nauseated by the room smelling a lot like toilet cleaner.

So instead of staying til Thursday, I drove home on Tuesday night with a shocking headache and feeling quite nauseous. I think I realised something was definitely wrong when I spontaneously burst into tears on the way home, then as I drove past St George Hospital thought 'it would be so nice to be back in hospital right now'. That's not a normal thought.

I was planning to do Salt editing stuff today at home, but ended up sleeping for pretty much the whole day. I'm glad I came home. I think that's the problem with recovering from being unwell - you're so excited about feeling better that you just launch back into life without thinking about the fact that you need time, you need patience, your body needs rest.

I go back to Varuna next week! I can't think of a better restorative than that. And it was something like two degrees today...I think I'll be spending a lot of time, rugged up, in front of the open fire, consuming words, and the rest of the time rugged up, absorbing the central heating, producing words. Yay!

charmed, I'm sure

I got a new charm today - a ladybird. What does this signify? Well I'd been thinking I needed one to mark the momentous occasion of my surgery, but I didn't think they made gallbladder shaped charms, so it was always going to be a bit left-field. So there are three reasons I got the ladybird charm:

1. I like ladybirds.
   
   
2. They are supposed to be good luck, and although I don't rely on luck I feel it was a major blessing that I was able to get into hospital and have the surgery so quickly (and no I am not implying that I consider blessings to be the same as good luck - it's a tenuous thematic link with the ladybird thing, ok? Perhaps a kind of mnemonic).
   
   I'm not sure where I picked the luck thing up; as a kid I just knew they were lucky. But when I looked it up (on wikipedia of course) I discovered that it's a worldwide myth:
   

   In parts of Northern Europe, tradition says that one's wish granted if a ladybird lands on oneself. In Italy, it is said by some that if a ladybird flies into one's bedroom, it is considered good luck. In central Europe, a ladybird crawling across a girl's hand is thought to mean she will get married within the year. In Russia, a ladybird is called Божья коровка (God's cow) and a popular children's rhyme exists with a call to fly to the sky and bring back bread. Similarly, in Denmark a ladybird, called a mariehøne (Mary's hen), is asked by children to fly to 'our lord in heaven and ask for fairer weather in the morning'. In Irish, the insect is called "bóín Dé" — or "God's little cow".

   So there you go. I had to quote the above because many elements of it fascinated me. No wonder the Russians had to queue up for food if they were relying on ladybirds to bring bread back for them - how could they fly to the sky and bring back bread, unless they have some incredible weight-strength ratio thing going on (perhaps like an African swallow...)? In what way does this bug look like a cow? Or a hen? But then again, it doesn't really look like a bird or a lady, so maybe I'm clutching at straws.
   
   
3. So to get back to the original topic, the main reason I chose this one is that the charm's design looks exactly like my scars! A little gruesome, perhaps, but I think it's kind of funny - a line down the middle where the cut was, and a series of little dots on either side where the staples were.

Just in case anyone was wondering, I'm healing up quite nicely. Though I went to the gym today for my first personal training session since going to hospital and we had to stop after half an hour because apparently my lips went blue and that was cause for alarm.

Little steps.

how Rebecca got her groove back

Birthdays are fun. Well, they should be fun. I know some people don't enjoy their birthdays, but as you all know, I do. So I like to do my bit to help people enjoy theirs!

Today is Meg's birthday. I made her a cake and also this little creative thingummy, featuring some pics of Bethany, me and Meg, artfully placed paper and a ton of Liquitex gloss medium and varnish. It's been really fun playing around with colour and using a paintbrush - there is something so therapeutic about painting, even if it's only layers of varnish.

I hope she likes it.

Mum was excited, mainly because she could see me doing something creative. "My creative daughter is back!" she said when she came over the other day. It's a big deal mainly because I haven't felt able to do anything much at all since I've been sick, and so to start up a new project and enjoy doing it seems momentous.

We agree that it bodes well for Varuna - I return there in two weeks! I can't wait. I haven't been able to do that much writing since I left in March, but hopefully I will be able to use this week in Katoomba to great effect, and I will soon have a novel that I'll be forcing you all to read.

shopgirl

My big achievement today was leaving the house! I went and got the car washed (and then a bird promptly defouled it as I was en route to my next destination), then went and wandered around Westfield Bondi Junction for an hour. I realised as I was wandering I had probably bitten off more than I could chew by going to a mall - they already have a disorienting effect and it is amplified many times at Bondi Junction and then even more when you're not quite with it. But I managed to buy some food from Coles and things from the chemist and get home in one piece so I think it was successful.


Then I curled up on the couch and watched the film Shopgirl, starring Steve Martin, Claire Danes and Jason Schwartzman. I had no idea what to expect from this movie, but it knocked me sideways a bit. It's quite muted and slow in style and pace, but beautifully acted, shot and written. It just shows states of loneliness and melancholy so well. At first I was a little annoyed at the casual attitude it seemed to have towards sex, but it didn't take long to realise that the point it was making was that people desperately need to create real connections with one another, and that sex and the trappings of success are not enough to sustain anyone. There is a spot on review of the film here (apologies - you'll have to ignore the unfortunate banner ads). I would echo the reviewer when he likens it to Lost in Translation - each film is great in its own right, but common to both is an actor (Bill Murray / Steve Martin) who was previously known for his total childish buffoonery remaking himself into a thoughtful, complex and melancholy adult; it deepens the pathos somewhat. And of course there is the relationship (consummated or not) between a young woman and a much older man.

It left me crying because there were lots of echoes in my own life in this film, especially in that relationship between Danes' and Martin's characters. I had a similar relationship in my late teens/early twenties and a decade later I can see it for what it was, but I still mourn at times for the loss...the loss of time, the loss of innocence, if that isn't too cheesy. I know it was just one of many steps that led me to where I am now, but it did leave some pretty deep scars.

On reflection, and after seeing this film, it also makes me realise that how you treat people in every way matters, that communication is just so important, and that it's important to go into relationships with your eyes open and not to be deceived by superficial things, or even just what your heart longs to be the truth. It can be so easy to intentionally overlook problems and pitfalls just because you really want something to work out, even when you know it's not good for you.

i could be allergic to medical shows

I'm still housebound. Getting a little bored, which is a good sign, but am still sore and woozy. I have to be careful not to go overboard on eating now that I can eat anything, because I'm not getting any exercise and could well undo all the good work I've been doing at the gym in recent months. But oh it was nice to eat beef and red wine stew for dinner tonight!

The thing I'm finding quite disconcerting is that I've been getting really anxious whenever a medical show comes on TV. And I'm not talking about those real-life operation type shows, but things like All Saints. I don't normally watch it anyway, but I was sewing in front of the TV tonight, and it came on with a scene set in triage/the emergency ward. The movement, the set and the dialogue ("are you allergic to anything?") was just so much like last week that I started to feel...strange and had to turn it off. And that doesn't just apply to straight-up drama - Kieran loaned me season one of Grey's Anatomy and Scrubs is one of my favourite shows and right now I can't watch either of them.

Despite the ward I was in, it's not like I actually had open heart surgery or anything. I think my experience was actually quite positive - all the staff were really lovely, the patients around me were no trouble, the operation went smoothly, the recovery is going well. But I have to keep remembering I was cut up and part of me taken out and that takes time to heal, both physically and emotionally.

It's kind of surreal, really.

Oh boy, sleep! That's where I'm a viking!

I love Ralph Wiggum.

That aside, I am once again praising the virtues of my laptop, specifically because it allows me to play a certain online game when I am otherwise incapacitated. I may not be able to sit up and concentrate on a movie, or a conversation, or read a book, or write anything, but I can run around in another world, killing nasties and generally having a good time as though I am hale and hearty. Also I can just stop whenever I need to. It makes me feel like anything's copeable-with. Including mangled sentences like that one.

Escapism at its best.

Today my big achievement was getting to church. I enjoyed it actually; it was Christian's first sermon (he's our student minister) and he preached on 1 Peter 1. My dad was also there, and it was a great sermon for us all to hear. People were very excited to see me, and they gave thanks in prayer time that I had the surgery and am recovering.

We were then supposed to go out for lunch with my brother and his girlfriend, but church was pretty much all the social interaction I could handle for one day. I've found it's not so much the Being Out that's problematic, it's having to interact with other people. It actually takes a lot of energy and concentration to be a reasonably civilised member of society!

So I came back home and lay down for a while, mum and dad have gone to lunch, and I am glad of some peace and quiet for the afternoon. It's a beautiful sunny day outside, but I know I'll be able to enjoy them soon enough.

In the meantime, I can be (almost) invincible in Azeroth...

a fascinating update

Nothing much has been happening. I've been lying in bed, sitting in front of the TV, lying back in bed. Thank goodness for the laptop though - keeps me sane.

I seem to be healing nicely, although I'm coming up in attractive yellow bruises around the keyholes (I have the keyholes, but where are the keys?). Mum was a bit worried about me yesterday as I was feeling really rotten, and she was anxious that they had let me out of hospital too soon. So as we couldn't get onto my specialist we rang Nella, who is becoming the font of all knowledge concerning emergency gallbladder ops (she had one too) and she said that she definitely took a couple of weeks before she started to feel better. I am not worried, I expected to feel this way more or less. But the good news is that the pain and nausea I was feeling before the op seem to be non-existent! Hurrah!

buh.

Why do you always do stupid things when you're sick? Like having a bowl of red jelly next to your bed, adjusting your pillows and watching as the pillow flips, almost in slow-motion, to crash onto your bedside table and tip the bowl of jelly (and everything else) onto the floor? It seems so much harder to clean stuff up when you're feeling gross. I guess I never learned that fundamental lesson from Bert and Ernie in Sesame Street, that you should never eat in bed (I like eating in bed...so sue me, Bert).

So I cleaned the jelly up, took some more drugs and decided that instead of focusing on my klutziness, I would post these pics of the amazing arrangement that Russell and his family sent me from my favourite florist (Janina in Randwick, in case anyone's taking notes...). They're quite a jungly sort of arrangement, with interesting shapes, lotus pods, and lots of glossy green. A big contrast to the roses that Lynne and Howard brought, which are still looking and smelling amazing.

You can't go wrong with flowers and me, honestly. I mean, there are some I prefer over others, but just generally they are so pleasing and positive and, well, flowers just make everything seem that much better.

the amazing hospital adventures of bec

Well. What an exciting few days I've had!

It all began on Friday, when I was starting to feel sick again. I sadly had to cancel a night of DVDing with the Baddeleys, but they came over anyway and did my vacuuming which I have to say is one of the nicest gifts I've ever been given! Saturday was the Equip conference, and while I had been really looking forward to it, I was starting to wonder whether I'd be able to make it.

I skipped the yum cha lunch with the ladies from church as I wouldn't have been able to eat anything anyway, and got on the bus to town feeling decidedly ill. I just focused on the music coming from my ipod and tried not to breathe in all the smells of people around me that were making me nauseous. I stumbled through the city to Darling Harbour in a bit of a daze, but managed to meet up with everyone for Tara Thornley's excellent talk on 'Stress relief'. Carmelina Read introduced her and did the Bible reading and as she read Luke 12:22-34 I just started to cry:

Then Jesus said to his disciples: "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?"

All the things I've been worrying about - health, money, work, what I was going to eat with my stupid gallbladder problem - what's the point of worrying? God loves me and is looking after me! It was immensely reassuring.

After the elective it was clear I was too sick to be there so Jen kindly drove me home. I think I was a bit delirious. By around 9.30 I was starting to wonder whether I should go to the hospital, and so I rang mum to ask what she thought and she said she knew when I started crying it was definitely time to go!

So we went to emergency at Prince of Wales - a perfect mother's day present, huh, sitting up with your kid in emergency till all hours of the morning? But of course mum said she wouldn't be anywhere else and I was grateful I didn't have to sit there on my own. There were a handful of ODs, a bunch of people who didn't seem to have anything wrong with them but were just hanging out at the back of the waiting area making noise (like popular kids at the back of the bus), and a trio of drunk teenagers, one of whom looked much worse for wear having drunk 1.5 litres of Jim Beam (ewww!). All these were silenced, however, when a Coptic priest dressed all in black, carrying a huge staff and followed by a little entourage, stalked through to visit someone. It looked like something out of Monty Python.

Eventually they saw me, and after a few hours I was admitted. The ward they put me in was the open heart surgery ward, which was a little odd and disorienting for people coming to visit, but the staff were all really lovely (with the exception of one of the night nurses who seemed to stab me when she gave me injections). My blood tests showed I had an infection, so they whacked me on a whole bunch of antibiotics. After a day of waiting I eventually saw my surgeon, who reassuringly stroked my arm and told me he was going to do his best to get the gallbladder out right then and there, because if I left the hospital I'd have to go back onto the normal waiting list and it needed to come out now.

When it finally happened it was all very quick. I was visited by a number of surgeons and nurses and anaesthetists who all seemed to ask me the same questions about allergies and such, and eventually I was wheeled down to theatre. They put a very attractive red cap on me to show that I had allergies (they were quite amused about the kiwi fruit and pineapple allergies and said it was unlikely there would be any in the surgery). I wriggled onto the narrow operating table, under these huge round lights, the anaesthetist injected something into the cannula in my hand, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in recovery. Waking up after anaesthetic is really not very pleasant, I must say, but I was amazed at how quick it all was.

Mum was there when I was wheeled back into the ward, looking much more relieved than she had been. Dad arrived from Malaysia the next morning. And I had lots of lovely visitors, some of whom brought some beautiful flowers. I was expecting to stay in hospital for a few days, but after monitoring my eating and giving me some more antibiotics, the very next day they said I could go home, so mum and dad brought me home and we had Chinese food for dinner and it was delicious!

I have four little holes in me, held together by staples - I look a little like Frankenstein's monster when the dressings are off. Still feeling quite out of it and a bit queasy, but it's all looking up from here!

I was just amazed that the words I heard on Saturday were so prophetic - that it was like God saying to me "Just trust me. I've got it all under control, see?" He is good indeed.