Oh no… this isn’t great but maybe it is.

​Oh no people! I had other things I wanted to talk about today but this entry has been trumped by recent events.

My sister called my mom over to her place and asked my mom to drive her to the ER of the local psych hospital. This is good, this is also sad. 

Sad for so so many reason. (PS. Please skip this entry if it’s too triggering) I apologise now for going off tangent. 

Over a decade ago in the UK I had a male friend who was not doing well at all. He was in a UK psych ward. When the staff were looking he managed to take his own life. 

As per the hospital where my sister is at. We once had a family friend whose adult son was not doing well. He was going to the psych hospital daily for treatment but really needed to be an inpatient. They didn’t have the space to keep him in. Sadly one evening at home, he took his life. 

I have strong feelings about the Hospital where my sister is at. Where to start….

My first job at 16 was at McDonalds. I worked a lot despite being in full time education also known as high school. The ‘mental hospital’ was a bus ride away or less than an hours walk. It was close. I would see the patients daily. They really liked McDonalds coffee and these were the days when you could smoke indoors still (this became illegal in 2006). I can still remember the yellow gnarly fingers and teeth of ‘these people’. Keep in mind that I was 16. I found ‘them’ scary and I’m not sure how compassionate I was then or now. I hope I’m a better person. I’ll always be professional but I’m also a scared little girl. Even when they would talk to me, I would respond but I was scared. These people were deemed safe enough to be out. They never hurt me, often all they would do is talk to themselves or repeat things. The brain is sooo complex and it needs care and nurturing. It’s why I’m so god damn passionate about a child’s mental health and brain development. 

The next memory is rough. I honestly can’t be bothered to scroll though very old enteries of this blog, to see if I’ve ever spoken of this. I don’t think I have. There is a whole massive story to this that I won’t go into. All you need to know is that I believe in God, the universe and divine timing. Had the evening “gone to plan” we would have got home much later to find my mom dead. Instead she was still conscious and an ambulance was called. First they brought her to an ER (I think) and the next day when I saw her, it was at the “mental hospital”. That was a very bizarre day for me. One reason is that I recognised sooo many people. Some how, all my McDonalds customers were there. Like all of them! Maybe they lived there and were allowed out in the day. Who knows, it was just ALOT. ALOT was soon trumped by my dad standing at the foot of the hospital crying about what had happened to his ex wife. This was the day that I understood that my dad loves my mom. They have never been in love, I think my father would struggle to describe what love even is. Despite that, who are any of us to describe love. All I know, is that I watched a man crying for someone he loved. What’s wild is my mom doesn’t remember several of these days. It’s black hole 🕳️ that has been wiped from her memory. Maybe that God too. We don’t talk about this day often, though I remember her shock decades later when telling her about my dad’s reaction. 

Now back to my sister. I must TRUST that she is in the best place and that they can help her. She’s so multiple medications as it stands and I believe that in itself is the issue. I don’t think any pharmaceutical company is testing all the side effects of combined medication. Think about it honestly. There are hundreds and thousands of drugs these days. Does anyone know what really happens to the brain when you take X,Y and Z together. I often come across articles of long term damage of people who smoke cannabis regularly. Think about it, it’s that’s a natural leaf that can cause permanent damage. What do pharmaceuticals do. I’m a big believer in talk therapy and I think she needs that, as much as an overhaul of what she’s on. 

That’s about it on that. How do I know where she is you ask? Well… prior to the holiday it was agreed that the 5 family members would share their live location with one another. This was mostly for airports and if we lost my dad when the ship docked in a different country. 

This evening I was having a nosey peak at where people are and noticed her location. I then called my mom to see if she knew about this and she explained how she just dropped my sister off at her request.

Final recap of the day that feels especially poignant. The vast majority of my UK friends have never even seen a photo of my family, so for the close friends, I recently sent a load from the photography package that my mom bought. (Mentioned in previous posts). When catching up today with one of these such friends, he said that it was interesting to see them. He said that I had really painted a dark picture of people with trauma. 

Fortunately or unfortunately I’ll never share these pictures on the internet but we scrub up good and look like a delightful happy, joyous family. I’m not even saying that we’re not this. All I’m trying to say is that you never really know what’s going on in someone’s life.

Until we meet again 

Moi

PS. For background blogging pleasure, I’m watching Casio Royale for the millionth time. James Bond licking Ave Greens fingers in the shower after the shootout! Has to be one of my favourite scenes. Love that he enters the shower fully clothed in his Tux to comfort her.

Fun and games, with an A&E visit

Well, hi there, 

Welcome to another edition of the adventures of moi.

For dramatic flair, this entry is being written from the A&E. Sunday night 19:47

It’s been a month! Way more feelings and emotions than this girl is used to. 

A little over 2 weeks ago, I got some new from a friend re the lack of an invitation. This should not and is not a big deal, I was shocked and saddened. I cried for 2 days and internally reevaluated every friendship and interaction I have had. This is very overboard I know. 

Thank god I have a coach. She is a godsend and it’s a privilege that I get to unpick things with her. Pretty much, folks, everything is linked to childhood wounds. Until they are resolved, they show up in many ways. I’ll leave this story here, but all you need to know is I cried A LOT and was VERY sad.

Days later, my mom was in a bad way with her health and in the hospital. She had a few days in the A&E, then home for a day before going in for a procedure and back home. Then she rushed back to the A&E after things got dramatic. This then led to a couple of days in the intensive care unit (ICU). If you’re in the ICU, things aren’t great but I’m mindful of respecting her privacy. She was then discharged to recover and may need an organ removed in the future. 

8 days ago, I received a frantic call from her saying that she wanted to tell me that she loves me and she has this fear of dying. She thought she would die. As an observer, clearly the recent experience she had was very traumatic and triggered. So many people have genuine trauma from hospital experiences. 

Now back to me. Before the call, I was going about my merry business. I saw a fantastic film (which I do want to blog about), The Voice of Hind Rajab, followed by a rare wagyu steak at Flat Iron. 

After the phone call, I ran to the loo. I’ll save the details, just knowing that I ran should explain. A few days later, more issues etc. I eventually had to call in sick at work. We are now on day 8. When it comes to my health, the majority of the time, rest is best. And rest genuinely has worked a a treat. I’m good at resting, I’ve almost mastered it. While resting, I’m hoping my body is healing etc, however, I have had really, really bad cramping throughout. 

This experience so far has been a kick up the backside when it comes to my diet. I need to make big changes to get healthy and to loose this weight. For the last few days, I’ve made healthy wise decisions. I was hoping that my body would be happy with that, and all will be well. 

Unfortunately, again I was back in the painful situation and enough is enough. I know when “the rest” is not working. It’s a Sunday, and not a great day to be unwell but what can you do. At 4pm I knew it was time to seek medical attention; the rest, clean eating wasn’t doing the trick. Instead of fucking getting up and making tracks, I called 111.

I called 111 because I’m pretty sure that I need antibiotics. I was hoping they could prescribe me something maybe. 

There is a part of the brain that thinks I’m not worthy and I don’t want to waste the resources of the National Health Service. I then compare my situation to more severe cases. 

The 111 call lasted 21 minutes, during which they sent me to a pharmacy where I had to go through all the details again, only to be told that they can’t give me antibiotics and I need to go to the A&E. 

So here I am. Now let’s talk about the more important matter/leaning/understanding that came up in my recent coaching session. 

It’s all about parenting the inner child and listening to and attending to those needs. I need to listen to myself more and stop seeking advice and approval from others. I’m still shit at this.

I fucking faffed around for ages with guilt and seeking approval from others. The 2 people I spoke to thought I should go to sleep and wait a few hours for Monday morning to roll around, when I can see my GP. They aren’t wrong, however, by be being here, I’m choosing myself! I’m taking care of me, I’m parenting me.

I’m also grateful as fuck that I live in a country that provides this service to me free of charge. This is where some of my tax-paying money goes. 

Part 2 - written the next day. 

At 23:00, I was seen by a wonderful Emergency Department doctor. She diagnosed me with gastroenteritis. My test results also showed something was up. 

Things take time in a hospital, and I only left 1:30am. During that time, man was I reflecting and counting my blessings. There were many people in pain, distress and fear. I was in a separate room with 6 chairs and an open door. This is where I had an IV drip 💧 of Sodium Lactate. I was also watered and fed. I felt like such a numpty when the beautiful Filipino nurse asked me what I would like to drink. I replied with, what do you have?. She looked at me and said, one 2 things. Tea or coffee. I said tea please and she asked how I would like it. I cheated and had a tiny bit of sugar. She also brought me a chicken sandwich and said they had ham but she thought that I don’t eat ham. (I tell you people, these unconscious bias that we hold runs deep. Just because of my colour, it doesn’t mean I’m Muslim. Do you even know how much I missed bacon 🥓 during my 13 years of veganism). Anyhow, I’m too cool to hold this unconscious bias against this lady who is trying to feed me, help me, heal me. I just replied with, I eat ham too but chicken is good. 👍 I’ll stick to this. 

It was quite a yummy sandwich 🥪 in all honesty. Shame about the ingredients. I’ll post this here but I would love to talk more on that also. 

The drip was taking ages, so eventually, she adjusted the stream, and before you know it, I was done. After that, I attempted to produce a sample but it wasn’t to be. Plan B was to bring it to my local GP once I had the goods. 

My doctor liked me. I know, I can tell, and this does happen to me a lot. The key folks is to be respectful and carry yourself with gratitude and compassion. 

A few hours earlier, I had asked her for a printout of my blood test results. She explained that they weren’t allowed to, but she would. Once more, she said they shouldn’t. Other than saying thank you, I totally left that there. While I had my drip in, she hand-delivered it to me. 

Upon discharge, a nurse or even a healthcare assistant would have removed my IV cannula, but not for me. She came back and removed it herself in the room that I was in. As she was showing me out, we passed the nursing desk, and another nurse asked her if she could remove my cannula. Love how they are checking for the well-being of the patient. Teamwork makes the dream work. 

As I’m typing 💬 these words, I’m thinking 🤔…: man I should be writing to PALS. In my 6000 roles and careers, I actually worked for this NHS trust in the PALS team. PALS stands for patient advice and liaison service. Really, it’s the department that gets the letters of things that have gone very, very wrong. Lawsuits and the rest. 

How freaking nice would it be for the team to get a thumbs 👍 up message? My letter would cover the 6 people I interacted with.

Tuesday update: I'm feeling better