Haha yes people the rumours you have heard are true. I have re-joined the gym. And this time (like every other time before I’m sure) I am determined to get this right and do it properly. Am fixing up a gym schedule at the moment and trying to also work out a food diary so that I can keep track of what I’m eating. Going to be a bit harder this time though because I have Mr Squooshy to cook for, and he doesn’t need to join my health kick. Oh dear….

I have been debating for a few days now whether or not I would write this post, but I have finally decided that for my own sanity I’m going to get all this off my chest.

Since Mr Squooshy and I got together, my friendship with Miss Mum has slowly gone downhill, to the point where we very rarely even speak anymore. Before Mr S and I became a couple, Miss Mum and I would speak to each other every day, sometimes frequently during the day. We were a big part of each other’s lives, and I was closer to her than I was to my sisters and lil Munchkin was also a huge part of my life.

Last week was lil Munchkin’s 3rd birthday. I can’t believe how much time has gone by for him to be turning 3 already, but he did. So I phoned him up to say Happy Birthday, and was speaking to Miss Mum when she invited me to his party on the weekend. I knew he was having a party already (thanks to that wonderful thing called Facebook), and Miss Mum let me know that there were a few extra people coming and if I wanted to come then I could.

Which just led me to wonder. If I hadn’t called lil Munchkin, would I have even gotten an invite? Have we come to that point now, where it’s just not worth it, where it’s all too hard? I know that she has a lot going on in her life at the moment, but then again, so do I. But when did it get to the point that her dislike of Mr Squooshy, got in the way of our friendship and when is it okay to stop trying, and stop worrying about the end of a friendship, as this is what it feels like. The end of a friendship.

I went to lil Munchkin’s party. I felt totally out of place, and went home and had a bit of a cry. I’m sad for the loss of these two people in my life, but I’m even more sad that I can’t bring myself to keep trying to keep them in my life. I’m worn out, and just can’t do it anymore.

So back to the story at hand.

One and a half weeks after I broke my wrist, I decided that it was time to wean myself off the pain killers. As I said, Codeine and I were not friends and I was feeling really sick in the stomach and so groggy all the time. So I stopped taking them, and all of the sudden on came the shakes and the sweating and then the cold shivers. I honestly thought that I was having withdrawls, which is ridiculous when you think about it because no one gets withdrawls after only being on Codeine tablets for one and a half weeks. But I knew something was wrong, and the fact that I couldn’t keep anything down and was constantly throwing up was also a bit of a give away. So I called my sister who is a nurse and told her how I was feeling and the first thing she asked was if my arm, under the cast, was hot. Well duh, it was the middle of summer and it was in plaster, of course it was hot! So I said Yes. She tells me to go straight to the hospital, because if my scar is hot, then there is a chance that there is an infection in the wound. Which apparently is not a good thing. So off I take myself to the hospital (mum to the rescue again) and there starts the most boring 14 hours of my life. To cut this long story short – after cutting off my cast, looking at the wound (which I also did and threw up when I saw it), they concluded it wasn’t infected. So they sent me off for X-Rays, and it turns out that I managed to get myself a nasty dose of pneumonia. Oh yay. The month just gets better and better. The hospital wants to keep me in overnight, and I refuse, and I made sure I got my way, and went home at about 1am in the morning. Again, I love my mum so much, because she hung around the whole time.

And then started the next 6 weeks of going back and forth between doctors, physio, hospitals and STILL NO WORK! I had to go to the doctor about twice a week, and he was doing blood tests and all sorts of crap, and then I get diagnosed with glandular fever, just to top the pneumonia off. And the whole time I’m telling work, I will be back soon, I will be back soon. I honestly thought I would be. Every day I would wake up thinking surely today, today it’s all going to get better. And I did have good days, but mostly they were all bad days in there.

The bright and shining spot of that time was that I was staying at Mr Squooshy’s place, with his mum, stepfather, brother and most importantly, his daughter – Miss Snotface (which I say with a lot of love and is not said in a negative way AT ALL Okay!!!). I was so worried about meeting Miss Snotface, because what if we didn’t get along. A girl only has one father, and a 12 year old pre-teenage girl, can be rather tricky with things like that.

Thankfully, we hit it off. And I got to spend lots of time with Mr Squooshy and Miss Snotface, time which I wouldn’t have got to spend with them both if I had had to go to work. So there was a wee bit of guilt there, but not too much. This time also made me realise how lucky I was to have Mr Squooshy. He was my rock during that time. When my wrist was first broken, he moved into my place and looked after me. He kept me company, he listened to me rant and rave about how unfair life was, he listened to my mindless Codeine fuelled ravings and most importantly, he held me while I cried over the fact that I could barely even brush my teeth. I owe him so much for his patience with me, because I know how much of a sook and whiner I am when I am sick, and this was worse than the worst of what I had been. And he still hung around. And he still does.

But more on that next time…..

Did you ever keep a journal or diary when you were younger? I did. Every year on the 1st of January I would start a new diary, and invariably by the end of the week, I would have already forgotten to write in there. By the end of the month, the diary, that was going to be written in with my innermost secrets every single day was now non-existant (but I always kept them, and I actually still have some of these one month diaries from 25 years ago). I never really thought that my blog would one day go down those lines, but here I sit, nearly 7 months since my last post, thinking, hmm where do I start?

I could possibly start with a recap of the last few months, or I could start with the very obvious lack of archives. After much soul searching, I have decided to scrap the old blog and start again. I feel as if I am in a new chapter of my life now, and having just read back over so many of my posts over the last few days, I started to get all depressed and realise how self suffering I sounded and how self destructive I was being to myself and I quite frankly do not wish to be reminded of that time anymore. So therefore, THIS is a new beginning. (With a couple of posts left over from the previous Tina, because they set the scene from where I will be coming from now on).

So the next question… To make this a short post, or a long post, detailing the last few months? Well I will see just how much I can type before my wrist dies on me. Which really brings me back to 8 months ago, and to what I now refer to as the wrist incident. Quite possibly this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me, not even quite possibly, but definitely the worst thing. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that there are people out there who are a LOT worse off than I am, people who hurt themselves, 1000% times more than I have, but to put it into perspective for myself, well this was the worst thing I had ever done, and the most pain I had ever been in. All because I tripped over a piece of loose concrete outside my unit, while heading off to my 5th day of work at my new job. I may have mentioned in one of the earlier posts just how excited I was about this job, how it was the most perfect job I had ever had, how I loved everything about it. Well I didn’t get to see that job for another 2 months. 4 days on the job, then 2 months off, and unbelievably they kept the job open for me, and were only ever good to me.

The thing I still struggle to come to terms with, is just how much impact this whole thing had on my life. At first, when I broke my wrist, I was thinking, okay, not good, bad way to start off my second week at a new job, but I will get it put in plaster, and go back to work tomorrow. I remember, in my drugged up haze, coming out of the surgery to have the plate put in my wrist, on the wrist incident day, looking at my surgeon, after he explained what they had done, none of it registering in my head, but blurting out, “okay but can I go back to work tomorrow”? He just looked at me, and he had this smirk on his face when he said, “sure thing. IF you feel up to it”. No problems I was thinking, one day off isn’t so bad. I will be fine. Well. That didn’t go to plan did it? Nope. I got wheeled out of recovery, into my very own room (and can I just say, that was the only good thing about hospital, being in a private room), went to sleep and then got woken every four hours, pumped up with more drugs, until I didn’t know if I was Arthur or Martha.

My mum, bless her, was my rock that day. I can say that day made me appreciate her so much more. I don’t think I will ever be able to live without her. As much as I wanted Mr Squooshy there with me, more importantly I wanted my mum, and kept badgering the nurses when I first came in if they had called her yet, and where was she. I am not too proud to admit, that I was a big sook and I cried. I cried a lot. And not even for the loss of anything yet, I was just crying from the pain at that time.

The next morning, the surgeon came in, looked at my wrist and asked if I was going to work today, with that same smirk he had on his face the day before. Okay okay, so he knows more about breaks than I did. Not my fault, I’d never broken my wrist before. It was all a new game for me, damnit. He did say that I could go back as soon as I felt able to, but that I was not to rush it. Trust me, by that point, I’d realised that there would be no rushing. All the painkillers were wearing off by then, and the pain was setting back in. Then I was released. Just like that. Okay, you’re good to go home. Come back in 2 weeks and we will take a look at you then. Umm can I have some more painkillers is what I was thinking, and they were thinking, get her out and herd in the next victim.

Mr Squooshy – bless him – came and picked me up from the hospital, and took me to the doctor to get painkillers and that is pretty much the last I remember of that time. The next week or so is a big blur. I didn’t get back to work, I lived on Codeine tablets, and believe me, they will NEVER again be entering my system. Codeine and I are not the best of friends. Apparently I was a bit of a zombie, and Mr Squooshy kindly informs me that I rambled a lot at that time, and repeated everything I said, again and again and again. However, my couch and I did became best of friends, and now I know THE most comfortable spots to sleep in on that thing.

Okay wrist giving out. Part 2 to come later.

It seems if your life is going well, then perhaps you should just keep quiet about it and not say anything about it. Cos if you do, you apparently jinx yourself. Let me just say that this has been the worst month of my life.

10 days after my last post, and only 4 days after starting my new job, I left home in the early morning to catch my bus to work, when I tripped over some loose concrete at home and broke my wrist. And it wasn’t just a nice straight forward little fracture, but a break in 3 places, pressing on the nerves break, which required surgery to correct. So I now have a plate stuck in my wrist with lotsa little pins holding it all in place. Which meant a good couple of weeks off work.

As if that wasn’t enough, just when I was starting to get over the pain of my wrist, I ended up back in hospital with pneumonia, which has really knocked me about. So I haven’t actually been to work since the end of November and I’m missing it terribly. I’m hoping to get back in the early new year though.

I don’t have a cast on my wrist, it was taken off two weeks after I broke it, but I have a horrible horrible scar on my wrist that will last me forever now, which makes me look like a failed suicide victim. And I have limited movement in my wrist. Hopefully that’s going to get better, when I start therapy on it in the new year.

And bringing that into focus, I hope everyone had a fantastic Christmas and that you have a fantastic New Year. I reckon mine is gonna be great – can’t be any worse than the last month.

Shall post another update and tell you the good news soon.