Part 2.... Chapter 4.... 2007

Hello again thoughts. Welcome to my void. Not much change I’m afraid with the thoughts of my new beginnings. I haven’t written anything thing for a while. My main Consultant has had me sent here, there and everywhere for this and that. Poked, prodded and drugged up, which is making no difference to my pain.
 
My stomach looks like I’m in the last trimester of pregnancy. It’s so distended I’m asking why it’s this way to every nurse that comes in, until I eventually find out it’s my bowels.
As much as my bladder is connected to a catheter and on continuous draining without my knowing. My intestines are full of air making me look pregnant, and my bowel movement also has a disconnection with the brain, so I have no idea when I need to go, until it’s too late.
 
The only way I find out whats transpired is when a nurse walks into my room. A facial expression is the classic sign that the nose is not happy being subjected to the air it’s breathing in my room. Now without waiting to be told I’ve shat the bed, I check with a mirror every 5 fucking minutes to find out exactly if anything has occurred. Then I press the buzzer for assistance if need be. I can’t remember having my arse wiped when I was a kid, and by the look of things I’m certainly never going to forget it being wiped and sponged down as an adult by an adult. God, I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry. I do enough crying so I guess it’s time to start laughing…. ;-)
 
The body really does have a mind of its own when it’s not connected to the brain ;-). I can’t even smell the signs of whats materialised, or even come to pass, and that’s putting it mildly. The head injury took away my sense of smell so I can’t smell what the nurses can smell, so for me right now thinking positive there are pros & cons in any situation ;-).
My taste has also gone and I see that as more of a con.
 
How long this “shituation”, is going to last I do not know. I just want it to stop. They have told me that nothing can be done about it here at Morriston. I have to wait until I go to the Spinal Cord Injury Unit at Rookwood Hospital, in Cardiff where they can help. Until then they say, I must stay on my back and try not to move so much as fractured bones need time to fuse and heel. But feel free to shit as many times as you want Amanda, we are always here to help. Is pretty much the forefront of all the developments in that department.
Great!!! I shall now class myself as royalty if that’s the case. As King Henry VIII had staff to wipe and sponge him down, after his defecation.
Anyway who came out with the saying, “Ain’t life shit”….
 
I’ve had so many visitors. People from the past are coming through that door, the shock on my heart seeing them is probably going to kill me with a heart attack, quicker than the balcony fly over tried.
I still get no-where in terms of any memory of the night in constant question. When I think of the balcony and me dropping from it like a feather, but hitting the ground like a lead weight. It’s never adding up. Nothing is adding up right now. I was told that my partner was not supposed to have any contact with me until after the CID Police had interviewed me. He
apparently knew this and didn’t say anything. If he has, I don’t recall it happening.
 
Things are still very confusing and not gelling together well in my head, and with a body that’s just lying in front of me doing nothing but piss and shit without my knowing. It’s all just too much to take in right now.

Nobody is seeing my tears. I don’t want them to. I know what will happen. The nurses will ask if I’m alright, of which my answer would be a quite obvious NO. Just from them noticing my red swollen eyes and drenched cheeks, it would be an obvious statement that I’m not alright. But I’ve never wanted or needed, or indeed allowed or taken on board, anyone’s advice on anything concerning my emotional state and well-being. And right now I don’t want to hear any advice given on a subject they themselves hopefully will never have to endure. So when my tears fall, I let them fall with me alone. It’s my self-release, no-one else’s….
 
Apparently the news of my fall was aired on the BBC 24-hour news channel when it happened, and the local newspaper The Evening Post, have been sharing my story pretty much from the moment I was admitted into Morriston Hospital. A long-time friend of mine who’s a journalist for the paper has been covering the story and has been in to interview me. It’s like I’m a celebrity, hahaa. 
Even the hospital staff are saying that they haven’t seen so many visitors per day for one patient in a long time. Cards are allowed but flowers, plants and anything organic aren’t allowed on the ward. And just like the number of visitors, the nurses have said they haven’t seen so many bunches of flowers and gifts brought in so quickly. Even my bank manager sent a card and a big box of flowers, they were really beautiful but had to go and join the rest of the bunches at the Cricketers Pub. Customers popping in for a bevvy were giving their condolences to the staff and my partner, after observing the vast number of bunches of flowers all around the bar. Thinking I’ve died, bless ‘em…. Funny tho.
 
When I was in the ICU there was a police presence outside the door to stop people trying to sneak in to see me. There were to many people trying to see me wanting to get close, to be the first to spread the word. One girl in particular did manage to sneak passed, by lying and claiming to be my sister. How fucking rude and selfish of her. Only thinking of herself and how many people will flock around her for the update no doubt. Oh how popular she wants to be. She didn’t give a flying fuck or a moment’s thought to how and what my daughter was feeling and going through at that time or how she is feeling now. She has never been or ever will be a close friend of mine. I’m too choosy. To me she is just a customer in my Bar.