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Part 3... Chapter 22... He's Alive and I Wanna Drive

29/1/2018

HI thoughts, I see you have found your friend pen. It hasn’t seen you for a while, what do you want to say? The thing is thoughts, it’s a bit like this…

I gave up conjecturing if a certain person could walk back into my life as a friend, but the surmise has flipped and to my shock, horror and stupefaction I received a text asking if I was up for a visitor. It was ‘Him’.

I was hesitant with my finger hovering over the mobiles keypad. My heart was racing, emotional nerves under attack. Too many thoughts charging full force. All the feelings I’ve already fought. I couldn’t respond back to him straight away. I needed to think and get a grip on my shaking fingers.

Fuk this shite! Pointless calling for the gods to step in and advise. Pointless swirling around the Tower of Babel to join the muse seeking all answers again to the same questions. No, it’s time to call in Jah, the only one that ever makes sense and gives the right answer always. It’s called stoned immaculate!

I sat, as I do, in my chair drawing in full lung capacity of green free-thinking glory. Slowly exhaling smoke into rings upwards to the ceiling which in turn bounced back a thought. Smoke rings were and probably still are used with tribe’s still in existence. Communicating like the news channel, enabling tribes to see over long distances and know what the fuk was going on.

In the depths of my mind I sat there watching and thinking, ‘What are these smoke rings saying to me?’ It's just me in the bloody kitchen watching them disappear to nothing, thinking utter shite lol.

I stopped smoke lip syncing and just exhaled. I’ll find out soon enough what my smoke signals were meaning when I meet up with Him. My mouth can’t turn of its motor once started so the message will be loud and clear, good or bad, happy or sad.

I messaged Him back eventually, and we have arranged a day for Him to come over to chat. I’ve told my daughter with not much of a response back apart from the face pulled meaning of, 'We’ll see?'...
Yeah, we’ll see I thought to myself…

On a lighter note, last week on November the 5th my daughter drove us to Rookwood Hospital. It was the funniest day out we'd had together for too much of a long time, and with a well gratified reason for going. Although at one point it didn’t look as though we were going to make it. My daughter has her licence but wasn’t 100% confident about driving on the motorway.

Once we had joined the masses in the fast lane, I looked across at her and giggled. There she was with both her tiny little hands gripping the steering wheel in deep concentration. A cushion under her bum for height, another behind her back to push her to some extent frontward. Allowing her neck to extend like an alien so her head permitted her eyes to almost touch the wind screen. Bloody hilarious.

The absorption on my little girl’s face was priceless. Especially when it was time to come off the lanes of death and join another called a roundabout.
Eventually we joined the forever spinning circumference of traffic and carried on driving around and around the dam roundabout as we kept missing our turning off point. My eyes at this point are streaming with tears of laughter, joy combined with the release of serotonin. My body felt no pain for those few minutes, it was amazing.
Finally, she deviated us from the roundabout onto the right road to Rookwood.

This place will never take away my first memories as a wheelchair user. It taught me and thousands before and after my stay how to take on and embrace a new life. (Yeah Right) ;-)

This return visit was more of a ‘Teach me how to drive a car day. With no working fuking legs’ lol…

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Part 3… Chapter 21… My messed-up life

18/1/2018

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All I’ve been doing is looking around for some sort of certainty as to who I am, and whats left in my life worth living for. It’s so hard right now in this mental state of self doubt. As a mother, the number one reason for wanting to stay on this earth should be for my daughter. But it’s not enough. A selfish thought but a real one.

I’m not thinking of, or going to take my own life to turn it into ashes, and I won’t lie to myself as I sit here and write this. The inner self knows who and where we are, and it never lets us forget either. There was a time when I was 11 yrs old, when I crawled into the pits of a dark hole and wanted nothing else but to leave this world. Life at that point had began to open its concept into my conscious reality, pushing my mind to the understandings of my young past and present environment.

At that time hormones kick started faster than a rocket blasting to the moon. I was becoming a woman with no mother around to tell me what the fuk was happening. I had a step father out shagging someone most nights, leaving me to look after the siblings when it struck me. Nature took over and the red sea had arrived. I grew up, fully understanding
what had happened to me as a junior, a shattering of confusion for an eleven-year-old.

Self-harm introduced its faceless force upon me. It took my hand and lead the way into the shadows of emptiness. I showed no one. I told no one. It was my secret place and I felt no pain as I watched the blood run down my arms, dripping onto the dirty ground beneath my feet of the gully behind our house. Waiting for that pit to suck me in so I was here no-more. But a voice of strength, a voice I hadn’t heard in my own head before bounced in loud, telling me to wake up.

It was my inner voice that came from the light, took control of my mind and plucked me out from the clutches of death. Scars formed over the gashes and locked in the pain. The event itself, and the cause leading up to such an act will always stay on the top shelf of my memory bank.

Now older and wiser that memory makes me stronger. More times stronger than the number of stars in the sky. Only this time I’m lost in the mass of the universe. I’m finding it so hard to figure out what it’s all about for me now.

Nearly 39 years of age, I am paralysed from my chest to my toes, on going health issues, wheelchair bound for life, with a partner who has left on mutual reasons but doesn’t have the balls to stay in contact. I have no memory of this life changing event that took place on the 16th July 2007. No justification in my memory to put it on the top shelf.

That’s why I’m lost. My messed-up life I feel isn’t going to settle down for a long while yet. I have no dreams to remember but plenty of memories I want to forget...

On the 7th June this year I was admitted to Llandough Hospital in Cardiff to have the removal of all the titanium USS screws and rods from my spine on the Monday. Big op. Since having them put in they had done nothing but restrict my DIS-A-BIL-I-TY even further.
It was so fuking painful they had to come out.

I couldn’t even bend over to pick something up from the floor and with transfers I was so up straight I felt more unbalanced. So I asked for them to be taken out now that my vertebrae have fused together.

The operation was done on the Monday, I was up and in my chair on the Tuesday and home on the Wednesday. It was great to see Shrimp again, my little wheelchair builder buddy. I hadn’t seen her since 2007 and it felt like it was yesturday.

It was an even better hospital trip than the last time I was there because as I requested, the stitcher after surgery had stitched my tattoo back together better than the last time. So now my meditating woman has her boobs a bit more even, lol...

Last year (2008) but mainly this year (2009) I have had a few trips to the hospital theatre for surgery. Surgery that needs a general anaesthetic for you to be fuk knows where in ‘Mind’ and I’ve been there enough times.
I’ve been having a procedure called, Litholopaxy. The crushing up and sucking out of bladder stones using a telescopic instruments or laser to remove the stone fragments using a suction gadget.

Followed finally by injections of botulinum toxin-A (Botox) into my bladder.

Meaning... A small telescope into my bladder through my urethra and injecting between 15 and 20 injections of Botox into the bladder wall from the inside. Botox is a muscle relaxant and will work (hopefully) by reducing the uncontrollable spasms of my bladder muscle, so I can stop pissing everytime I move.

It’s one thing not having the ‘I need a pee brain message’ but to constantly have pelvis and legs spasms as the sign, it ain’t nice. To know your pissing your pants and there is fuk all you can do about it, its just a ‘Sit in ya piss until someone comes to help moment’. That in my case happens more than often.

After my Surgeon, who I shall name here as Mr Relaxed, told me about the procedure the first time I asked him if it would be possible for me to have the surgery with no anaesthetic? He was quite taken aback with my request. I explain that as I’m paralysed from T4 and complete with no response from below that area I would prefer to be awake and didn’t see the point of being under with general anaesthetic poisoning my blood.

His face was a picture postcard lol.

If I can feel pain to know something is wrong, how do we know if I won’t feel the pain when both procedures are being done never mind the injections. That’s the question.
After a long discussion we agreed that I would be allowed to be poison free only if I permitted a needle to be inserted into my hand ready for the knock me out in seconds potion if I were to scream loud, lol .

I love Mr Relaxed, he thinks I have a few screws missing and I think the same, but it’s worth a go. Anything is better than the poisonous potion that puts you to sleep.

In October I had a Suprapubic catheter, inserted via the abdomen directly into the bladder. So far so good with the not pissing every 5 minutes, but the infections are never ending. Making me feel run down and ill all the time.

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