Professor Higgins (part one)

Peter O' Toole in pencil by me in 1985

He was Professor Higgins to my Eliza . . . He called me Eliza, among other things. Twiddlestick. Traitor. Sweetness. Gutter snipe. The Executioner . . . But mostly Eliza.

It's been an hour since I wrote that. So many are the memories that spanned our 20 years of knowing each other. I can't say 20 years of us "being together" because it wasn't always the case . . . Far from it . . . Six of those years I stayed in France after having ran away from him in Spain. Even during those 6 years I managed to pay him a couple of very surprise, but always very welcomed, visits whilst I was back in England on holiday. I couldn't stay away for ever.

I was 17 and had recently returned to the Midlands to be near my new boyfriend; a totally cool and hip silversmith who specialised in woodwind instrument repair and made beautiful jewellery. He, lets call him Silverhip, played the guitar well, cooked well and was a well-adjusted, educated young man of 21. He spoke well. I suppose looking back he was middle class . . . Yes he was. He is. And so very PC and organic way before PC was thought necessary.
His Father, who we'll call Brollyman, made his money hand-making "bespoke" umbrellas and was supplying Burberry's at the time, which was lost on me as I'd never heard of Burberry's. I was a savage. Fresh from the cave. One of the first few times I met with Brollyman, he asked me "Which of the seasons do you find most pleasing" . . . a perfectly reasonable question. I gave it some thought and struggled. Tried a bit harder . . . No. I really couldn't relate to the question . . . "Erm . . . I don't think they make any difference to me really" I couldn't see for the life of me why one season would be more pleasing than another. He thought I was plain ignorant, I probably was.
His father despised me . . . "A gutter snipe" he called me on one occasion. Something to do with me holding my knife incorrectly. How awfully British. Ha . . .  funny because I really was a "gutter snipe" to professor Higgins, yet he loved me. And didn't give a damn how I held my knife.

But they (Silverhip and his Father) didn't know about Professor Higgins . . . O they knew him. Who didn't. They lived in the same village as him. "Brolly man" who was the spit of  David Niven and spoke like Kenneth Williams had known Higgins's father; An extremely wealthy General, known for his diaries of  WW1 . . . They were a well known family. But no-one had any idea how well I knew Higgins. Not a clue . . . Not yet.

I'd taken a live-in job at the local hotel/bar/carvery in the same village. There was a Cabaret on a Saturday night. It was popular and buzzing but I was always the on-looker. Totally apart from the rest. I didn't get them and had no idea nor any care what they thought of me. I didn't have reason to talk to anyone much. I don't think I had anything to say really.

It was quiet . . . possibly a Monday lunch time, I was stirring and day-dreaming into, a bowl of waldorf salad to make it look fresher when The voice made me jump  . . ."Well . . . Hell . . .O! . . . I heard Richard Burton with the bass turned up . . . I looked up and saw a taller more swarthy and sinister version of Peter O'Toole . . . Like O'Toole meets Peter Cushing in a full length black fur coat . . . "O . . . I say . . . Now . . . Then! .  . . .
 I didn't hear any more of what he was saying. I was transfixed, magnetised . . . stuck.
And so was he . . . There was an instant massive connection, attraction, deja vu, . . . call it what you will. Le coup de foudre.

Before long, most afternoons as I finished work at 3pm, I was running off down the lane to the dark, dusty, forbidden "house" that was his home. It was his Mother's home too and there was no way she could know about me . . . That suited me fine. I had nothing to say.

So it was in through the "walled garden" gate, through another small door just inside the kitchen that led to a "secret staircase" inside the wall. Yes, in a narrow gap between the outer and an inner wall, there was a staircase with doors leading into cupboards on each floor. Higgins had his studio in part of the roof space . . .  a huge room where he wrote, painted, drank and tortured his own soul. Easels, Canvases, photographs, books, amazing clothes, theatre props . . . stuff everywhere. I never wanted to leave. There was red wine and cigarettes, I didn't smoke or drink in real life but this was different. This was not real life. Dory Previn sang to us. He was 47 . . . Almost as old as I am now. It was obvious to us both that our paths were meant to cross. He was charming, fascinating and intelligent. He was also an eccentric alcoholic with very little patience and some bizarre sexual tendencies. He could talk all day  . . . Which was just as well as I had nothing to say.

One winter's afternoon it was snowing heavily, he was at the carvery/bar chatting with the locals. A few of them liked him,  a few more of them tolerated him and his money . . . but most of them thought him a disgrace to the General's memory. A squanderer. Living in "The old house" with his Mother. Travelling the world as and when he pleased . . . Never having to work and constantly swirling a very large Brandy.
I finished my shift and instead of us walking down to his place we decided to use my room in the hotel for a change. It was tiny, just a single bed and a sink.

A couple of hours later we were pulled out of half-asleepness by a knock on my door . . . Strange . . .  It must be one of the other live-in staff. I put on my dressing gown and opened the door very slightly. Woah! No! It was Silverhip, otherwise known as my boyfriend. He worked in the city nearby but had come back to the village early due to the snow . . . and thought he would pop in and surprise me . . . O he surprised me!
"Hi . . . Aren't you going to ask me in?" His head was already in . . . there was no point shutting the rest out now . . .
"Oh . . Er . . yeah . . . OK . . ."
Seeing Higgins sat on my bed in nothing but his cravat, he said . . .
"Maybe my father was right" . . . Maybe he was. I had nothing to say. (to be continued)

I have only ever kept one photo of Higgins. A black and white A4 publicity shot from some theatre. It disappeared in France . . . I suspected my man at the time. Years later when we were back together I kept another copy of it . . . I looked for it tonight to accompany the post . . . Gone! 
So the nearest thing is a portrait I drew of Peter O'Toole whilst I was living in France. I probably did it at the time to "replace" the missing photo.

That was close

Just a quickie to say Geekster finally got the scanner up and running. He gave me a lesson in how to use it then said "Ok, go pull a photo out and I'll watch you scan it . . . to make sure you understand" :-) . . . This was a lucky dip from hundreds of pictures. On holiday in Spain. Stropster having fun and Geekster no doubt having a "Eureka" moment or similar . . . He's such a Geekster. Bless him. So I proved myself by scanning the photo. He tried to hide his surprise. I made pancakes to thank him . . . Yes with Nutella.

I walked into the back garden on Saturday afternoon and decided it was time to start some work . . .  Three hours of raking later I knew I'd gone too far. Really, I knew after two hours but I had to be absolutely sure . . .  I was absolutely sure on Sunday when I tried to bend my back. It's a good start though.

I had to fight the urge to score tonight. I'm not sure why . . . Apart from stress, back-ache and tiredness. Hamper G would not settle and has only just gone to sleep at 10pm, that really does annoy me. She is constantly with me from 7am and by 7pm, quite frankly, I've had enough. She was over-tired and gripe, gripe, griping . . . It was seriously grating on me . . . testing my nerves. I  must say I came very close. I knew it would kill the back ache and un-knot my stomach. I tried to think further ahead . . . I would wake up feeling shit tomorrow . . . Not just physically but I'd be pissed off with myself . . . Also I would worry that any future stress would cause the same reaction. That could be a daily occurance.

So I'm grinding my teeth very slightly . . . My legs are aching and I'm a bit wound up. Part of me is thankful it's too late to score . . . Part of me says "You idiot . . you could've been well chilled by now" . . . Well it can fuck right off. I'll go to bed with my aches and my frown and grind my teeth . . . And I'll wake up brighter and stronger for having said "NO"

I didn't expect every day to be easy.

The weather is about to improve. Thursday till Sunday is gonna be warm and sunny . . . Gardening weather.

She's awake and griping again, after precisely one hour of quiet. Barely time to wind down. All I can think is thank fuck it's too late now. For real. Patience and strength please . . . Now? . . .??

100 th post.

So this is as good a time as any for a quick progress report. The first post was 5th (?) October where I had 16 months to hopefully make some changes in time for my 50th birthday . . . 5 months on, almost a third of the way, things are looking far better than I ever imagined.

It's fifteen day's since I said "no" and most days it doesn't even enter my head. The days when it taps me on the shoulder and says "hey you . . . remember me? . . you looking a bit stressed, you know I could soon change all of that for you" . . . I say "I'll sleep on it . . . and I'll let you know tomorrow" by which time things have always changed. It still amazes me that it has gone from my life. Just like that. Gone.

My teeth are being made. My feet are being mended. I spent three days worth of  "would've been" gear money on various foot products and have sat for hours soaking, grating (!) softening, massaging and moisturising them. They needed it. It feels like I have someone elses feet on. It's the first time I have spent money on my feet!

I'm psyching myself up with each hint of Spring to get busy . . . I mean real busy. Not just day to day life busy . . . Gardening and decorating busy. I'm not sure when it will happen but I'm pretty sure it will . . . Well I hope it will. I'm waiting for the energy really . . . I'm not sure where I think ts gonna  come from . . . The Spring maybe?

In fact, I am starting to "Enjoy some of the good things that Heroin replaced"  which was one of my goals mentioned under "about me".

I honestly don't think this would have happened without this blog. It forced me to look at things and think about what I really wanted. It made me realise how desperate I was some days as I struggled to find words to explain how I felt . . . It led me to other bloggers and their stories of change and hope.
And . . . somehow it attracted some very caring, encouraging, understanding and beautiful people . . Yeah You!

I couldn't ask for more . . . It's working.  So here's to the next 11 months . . . Onwards and upwards.

Ok, I was about to say goodnight. All is calm. All is bright . . .

. . . Now guess what? Geekster asked me earlier if he could have four (!) mates round for a sleepover for a late 13th birthday "do" . . . Erm? . . . . .  No!  "Ok we'll camp in the garden" . . .  In February? I think not. Also, by the way, some of the (new) mates were sniggering that their "4" might be more like 7 and I heard a mention of beer . . . No. No. No. Forget it . . .
Later he said him and 2 others were staying at Cam's house. It wasn't Cam . . . but there does seem to be a lot of "Cam's" . . . What sort of a name is that? Cam. Ok. That's fine. . . .
Now . . . at ten to one (shit!  . . is that the time?) someone has just burst out of the shed, which is built within the house, underneath my bedroom . . . and thrown up on the patio! they are in the fucking shed . . . I kid you not. The little fucke  swines!  I best go and deal with this. Bugger. Bugger.

Before I go though . . . thanks to every reader.  Little buggers the lot of them (Not you, them lot ;-)

Let's get down with the trumpets - yeah yeah

It's past one am!  I'm starting my post with "Is that the time!?" instead of finishing that way. Though I am almost finished. Just a flying visit to say . . .

Occasionally I hear Stropster listening to some "music" that catches my ear . . .This did. Well the trumpets did. They caught hamper G's ear too . . . and before long we were all dancing to it.

"Just be careful you don't lose your chick when I dance" . . . Love it ;-)

I also loved the warm sun today. Yes warm sun. I looked at the garden. It could be amazing . . .  It might be. It would do both me and the garden good. Both physically and mentally. Not now though . . . It's definitely bed-time. Way past.  May your dreams be peaceful and easy. I'm not even gonna mention the time.

De-Goofing

As is always the case, the reality was a walk in the park compared to the anticipation . . . Why can't I remember that next time? It's the same every time, yet I always put so much effort into convincing myself this time will be the exception . . . What's that about? Foolery.
Saying that, he did have to do the top impressions twice . . . and the second time he filled the "denture trough" with gunk, as he explained to the nurse that she hadn't put enough gunk in the first time!! Just after my heart rate had returned to normal after having survived the first "bite". It could only happen to me.

And what is it with dentists and sense of humour?  I don't know any dentists in "normal life" other than in the dental  surgery . . . I wonder if they are"different" in general . . . Who are they? . . Do you know one? I don't mean "know" in the biblical sense . . . No . . . I just mean know one to talk to?
I said to him "The only thing really bothering me is having to undergo a general anaesthetic"
"Why?"
"In case I die"
"O yes, well that can happen"
"Aren't you supposed to reassure me?"
"Well I suppose I could lie and say it won't happen, as you're not likely come to back to tell me I lied if it does  happen!?! . . Har har. He sounds German but they say he's Portuguese. He doesn't look Portuguese. He looks Swiss. German Swiss.

Even though I only have six front top teeth left I am rather partial to them. I've known them for a long time. They are quite big, slightly protruding with a "pronounced" over -bite (Goofy?) . . . But that's what suits my face . . . That's what I'm used to. I'm quite concerned about that disappearing. Ermm . . .
"When I get this top denture, it will be the same as my teeth won't it? . . .  the same angle and over-bite?"
"No. Not that bad"(!) He said
"Yes but I want it to be that bad" . . . That's the point . . .  I want them as close as possible to the real thing . . Complete with faults, angles and over-bite . . . like they are now . . . why is that not possible? Is it possible? " . .  .  He was starting to look a bit impatient.
Possibly thinking . . . If you were so bothered maybe you should have come eight twelve years ago.
So I shut up. For now.

And I'm gonna shut up (for now) again because "One born every minute" is on. It's "fly on the wall" thingy following women through childbirth. I'm not sure why I want to watch it really. I got quite frantic last week as a woman naturally gave birth to the second twin, who was breeched. You knew it was touch and go when the "old prof "was called in. It was a worrying five minutes.

Stropster has finally got his own bank account so I can have mine back. Yay to the joys of on-line shopping again . . .  and with money to spend on myself  this time ;-) Now that is a novelty.

I'm off to look for boots. Yes boots. Spring boots, Summer boots . . . I'm not really a shoe person. I'm a tired person. Too tired to look for boots even. Goodnight good folk x

Guilt, gunk and pickled Jalapenos

I've postponed Pancake day until tomorrow. I have the ingredients for the pancakes but the kids Geekster always wants some obscure filling which means buying a whole jar just to be used once then chucked next year . . .  So as it's "weekly shop" tomorrow he'll have to wait. Yet another small but significant freedom gained from being clean. No more guilt driven compensation. Ha. I hadn't bargained for quite so many rewards.

O shit how have I gone from pancakes to getting clean in four lines. That's barely an intro is it? But whilst I'm here I'll just explain briefly what I mean . . . although it's probably obvious even to a non-addict what I mean.
The guilt didn't come from them "going without" . . . O no they never went without . . . Quite the opposite. Never even missed a Pancake day! The guilt was all within . . . As in, if they had (God forbid) missed a pancake day or lived through an other such life-wrecking trauma . . . In my mind it would be blamed, in my head, on me being an addict . . . It couldn't be simply about not having any Nutella until tomorrow . . . and even if it was then that would be because I was an addict. How dare you not have Nutella in a house with three kids?  Yes I bet I know where that Nutella money went . . . And the Jif lemon . . . Call Social Services this is tantamount to abuse!
Ok you get the picture. . . and this applied from pancake day through birthdays right round to Christmas. I had to get it right every time. No room for compromise. So  . . . Gone. No more  . . . No more guilt. No more compensation. I can relax and put Pancake day off for a whole day . . . and guess what? . . . No-one gave a damn ;-)

Other than that I have a dental appointment tomorrow to have impressions taken . . . Well you can imagine the horror films that I'm dreaming up about that. Actually you probably can't unless you're as bonkers as I am . . .  You see when you bite into those denture shaped troughs full of fast drying gunk there is a lot of (fast-drying) gunk-displacement and where does it go? . . . down your throat, that's where . . . fast drying? . . . and there's not much you can say in the time its drying . . . Whilst the dentist counts, with his back to you . . . "Keep biting!" Seventy five . . . Seventy six . . . Have you ever tried to un-bite? impossible. Or say "Ermm . . . Excuse me, please? . . . I seem to be choking here" . . . Impossible.

I think I better change the subject as it's only twelve hours away . . . That's if I can. I suppose the less teeth you have the less (fdg) displacement occurs which is good news for me . . . I only have six top teeth . . . Yes, six . . . I best get those "before" photos done before it's too late. Geekster? camera? scanner? cables? . . . No news there then.

Quiet day today . . . Busy day tomorrow. I'm off to write my shopping list starting with Nutella . . . and pickled jalapenos for the savoury pancakes . . . Unless last years jars are still ok ;-)

Hopefully I will survive the dentist and be back tomorrow. Sweet dreams and sweet days x

Goals for this week . . . and one more thing.

Ok somehow this week I have to get Geekster to sort out the cable for the scanner and show me how to use the damn thing . . . There are so many pictures, drawings etc I would like to put on my blog and taking a photo of them with the webcam is just not good enough . . . Especially when I have a scanner here. It has to be done . . . This week.

Whilst I have Geekster locked in, I have to get him to show me how to use the camera on his iphone then transfer the pictures to my laptop . . . another cable/lead to find. I know this sounds very straightforward and probably will be when we finally do it . . . So we just gotta get on and do it. . . . This week.

Basically what it amounts to is getting Geekster to stay in after school for an hour (or so), find the appropriate cables, slow down his brain and speech to accommodate my speed slowness of learning . . . Not get irritable when I need something repeating twice a few times  . . . and to just realise that I need these things.
I'm fed up of saying I will post a photo and not being able to do it . . . I want to do "before and after" photos of my garden, my teeth, my house . . . my life! and at the rate things are changing I need to start now to get the "before" ones done . . . Or at least this week.

Another good thing that came from me being in bed ill for almost two weeks  . . . I lost 6 kgs! What a bonus. That's a good incentive to carry on and lose a bit more or at least keep those 6 kgs off. It's all in the right direction.

So there we go. Nothing major but these are my intentions for this week . . . along with staying clean. Now why do I feel like I have more chance of staying clean than getting some photos scanned and posted?  Who'd have thought it.

Just briefly (whilst we're on the subject . . . The subject being staying clean in case you didn't notice me steering us there) it is really bothering me that some people don't believe me. I "get" that it shouldn't bother me . . . Or indeed, make any difference to me . . . But it does. I never did lie when I was using and I'm certainly not about to start now . . . And why would I? What's to be gained? My drugs worker did say "Don't expect other addicts to be pleased for you" which I do understand but  . . . I'm not talking about other addicts here . . . Oh I don't know. I just don't get it.

Fortunately I have found some amazing people here who accepted, believed and encouraged me when I was using . . . and and are still doing just that. Thankyou. It means a lot to me that you, who were "strangers", read through my struggles, didn't judge, didn't doubt and helped me to believe it could happen. It has happened and each morning when I wake up and realise in those first few seconds that "it's gone" . . . I'm up and smiling :-) . . . If I was still using I wouldn't even be able to imagine how great this would feel. I couldn't make it up . . . I have to stop letting this bother me.
All I ask is if you think I'm lying please stop reading here . . . Why would you want to read the lies of a deluded junky pretending to be clean?

To all the rest of you from Bangladesh to Bangor . . . Sweet dreams and days. It's never two am? Again! Goodnight all x

Was it daffodils you wanted?

Oooooo ya bugger . . . I' m walloped, right worn out. Almost too tired to type . . . What a busy day. Cleaned the twenty-five hamsters out and cooked caulifower cheese with roasted winter vegetables. Definitely one of the kids favourites and one of the hamsters favourites too as they get loads of raw veg . . . Bless their whiskers. Hamper G (called hamper girl as she used to call the hamsters- hampers), has a real way with these dwarf Roborovskis who are notoriously fast, hard to catch and even harder to keep hold of. She kind of cradles them lying on their backs in the palm of her hand with her thumb across their bodies and they seem to relax and "sit" there for ages, even to the point of falling asleep . . .Then she will carry on going about her business with the "hamper" in her hand. I realised how much I'd missed chatting with them all in the last two weeks whilst I've been mainly upstairs . . . It was good to catch up with them.

Went down to the bank to find out why they haven't sorted out Stropster's account yet  . . . They'll get back to me. Took my medical number to the dentist so they can refer me to hospital and shocked saw  my drugs worker . . .  She didn't even want a urine sample to prove it, she could tell by my eyes. Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway) she was very happy for me. She was also very surprised . . . She even said "It's a bit like a miracle really" Yes. I said. It is. I stopped myself  from saying "As performed by God" lest I catch that "O here we go with an addiction  transference . . . let's see how long this one lasts " look in her eye . . .  I did say that a lot of good little things had started to happen since I stopped and she asked me "Have you heard of the law of attraction?" something about good attracting and causing more good  . . . I said "No. Is that a new thing?" . . . O alright, I didn't say that really, I said "O, right, I get it . . . That sounds good" :-) My Dad used to say "If you plant daffodils . . . don't be surprised when daffodils pop up".

She did say "You  might do well to delete your dealer's number from your phone" . . . I said "It's in my head, not my phone". Anyway, taking any number of those precautions is pointless because if you did want to use again you would . . . With or without phone numbers, money, phone credit or lungs.

Other news? Ermmm, . . . Yeah I was asleep again there. Tomorrow will be good. Homemade lamb curry with naan bread. I hope you're all well and good. O bed . . . I love bed when I'm so tired. Happy days and dreams . . . I'm gone x

Hello, Hello, Hello . . . . O Hi!

Well I ventured out today for the first time in two weeks. I went to my Dr's appointment which was originally booked for yesterday but as I wanted to see the same Dr, I got it changed to today.  I went to the market with Mum to choose some wool so she can start knitting a new jumper for me . . . She has to have something to knit, a bit of a harmless, creative addiction really. Then I walked a hundred meters or so to Sainsbury's to get some "emergency" shopping.
A very mundane, eventless outing except . . . On four seperate occasions, four men, all in their late fifties, early sixties, all tall, a bit rugged and slightly bohemian looking (scruffy:-)) looked me very directly in the eyes and said "Hello" . . . Without any hesitation, questioning or doubt in their tone or expression.

I was kind of caught unaware each time and responded with a simple "Hi" but by the fourth time even Mum was baffled. "Are you sure you don't "know" these men?" she asked. One hundred percent sure, there was no way I had ever set eyes on any one of them. How bizarre.

Mum reckoned it was to do with a light in my eyes and face. An "openess" . . . Well it certainly  had nothing to do with two weeks unwashed/unbrushed hair, two weeks unplucked brows and whiskers ;-), No make -up, trackie bottoms and an oversized hoody . . . So who knows, maybe she's right. Maybe I have a spring in my step or am just "walking tall" . . . If I was alone I would 've thought I'd imagined it. Could I be projecting my newly re-discovered self?

O well whatever it was, it was the highlight of my day . . . I know, what does that say about my day? The Dr. was satisfied with my progress and didn't prescribe any further anti-biotics . . . Just a few more days of "taking it easy"  ;-) . . . I didn't tell her my news. It's almost as though it's so fragile that I feel the need to protect it . . . like a new-born baby. Also I would've been hurt to catch that raised eyebrows, pursed lips look of  "Hmmm yeah we hear this all the time from your sort"  . . . But that's ok, I've got plenty of time. I'll still need my weekly prescription of methadone until I decide whether to wean off to nothing or transfer to Suboxone once I'm down to 30mls methadone . . . I needn't do either for a while.

So that's it for today. I'm almost asleep. Proper food shopping tomorrow and I must clean out the hamsters. Bit of a boring post . . . Bit of a boring day :-)

Thanks as always to anyone reading this. I often enjoy checking out which countries I've had visitors from. I try to imagine the reader sat in India, Latvia, Russia etc. . . . Who are you? how was your day? I'm intrigued. All these different lives invisibly connected. Sweet dreams to all where the sun is setting and where the sun is rising . . .I hope your day is a good day. It's never half two?! . . . I'm gone.

Happy Valentine's Day . . . A love song

The official "It's gone" post.

Ok I have to at least devote one post to it . . . Surely? To what? . . . I Know, it's probably getting a bit boring, but for my future reference I feel it deserves a short post that I can refer to. After which I will attempt to change the record for a day or two ;-) So here goes  . . . I  best milk it for all it's worth.

I've just chosen not to take heroin for the past five, six, who's counting? days.
Are you sure?
Yes absolutely 100% positive.
How come, what happened?
I can't explain it other than a huge change at some level within me.
Something went, was removed, disappeared. The overwhelming "need" to score and use of an evening . . . The panic at about 8pm if I tried to not score. The persistent texting until I got a result . . . Not being able settle down until after delivery . . . It all just went. That's about it really. Like having a rotten tooth removed. Gone.

I keep half  expecting  dreading it coming back . . . Almost to the point of I daren't even say "But I know it won't" . . . just in case.
It's as though my memory has been wiped. Until . . . I'm asleep.

An hour's nap this afternoon felt like three hours trying to tell my dealer not to come round.
Firstly (in the dream) He called me to say he had stopped supplying . . . I said that's ok because I've stopped using. Then he says "Well obviously I will still get some and you will be on my special list" . . . As I tried to say "No, don't worry, I really have stopped" the connection started breaking up and I couldn't get my message through to him. He kept saying "I can't hear you, but don't worry I will pop round . . . I can't hear a word you're saying, I'll see you later" . . . then I began texting him and as hard as I tried to type the words into the phone . . .  they were not the words appearing on the screen . . . Then he was at the door and I was telling him . . . "No, I really mean No" . . .  Then it's there in front of me, on the foil, and I'm not sure now if I'm trying to say "No"  but that's not what's coming out . . . And so it went on from one scenario to another.

When I awoke, for a split second, I thought I had used. It was a heavy, sinking feeling deep down in my stomach . . . It was good, but a little disturbing, to realise it had all been a dream.

This is not a literal fear as he his not the sort to insist . . . He could hardly be bothered sorting  it when I did want it . . . And I'm easily replaceable. I don't think he'll miss my meagre custom.
It must be more a case of me not quite believing it myself. Of it seeming too good to be true. A fear of not being heard or believed. "All addicts are liars" and all that . . . I didn't even tell my Brother until yesterday.

Ok that's about all I have to say. Just so I know how I felt at this stage. I keep getting secretly very excited about all of these changes actually happening for real . . . Like, if this can happen, then anything is possible.
I almost daren't allow myself to envisage a future with these changes in place . . . As if it will turn out to be a cruel joke or something . . . Am I mad? 
Is it because I didn't suffer to "stop" that I don't feel I've worked hard for it and therefore don't deserve it and the rewards that come with it?
One simple desperate prayer for the strength and ability to say "No"  . . . Granted. Thank God.

Surely soon I will believe it, trust it and bledy well get on and enjoy it?!

Just in case you were wondering

Yay! I've been invited by Jeannie to answer some questions about myself then pose eleven similar questions to eleven other bloggers. I've seen this kind of thing on other blogs . . . and wondered if one would ever come my way. I swapped the vacation question (as any readers will know we camp out) for the look-a-likey question.
It has come at a good time as I wouldn't usually have time to indulge . . . but as I'm still on second day "forced rest"  . . . I've managed to keep the washing/drying down to four loads today, mopped the kitchen and made a "proper" shepherd's pie . . . I have a few hours spare to ponder.
I think this might do me good. Even if it only serves to remind me that I exist, this could be very valuable exercise.


1. What is(are) your secret (or not so secret) outrageous longing(s)?

Wow this has got me thinking. I went from thinking I didn't have one . . . To having to choose which one to write. I could be here a long time. I hate decisions . . . O for God's sake it can't be so complicated . . . This is question one! ermmmm
Ok to be a grade 8 pianist (or even just a real good pianist) . . . To make my kids proud of me (yes, I know totally outrageous ;-) . . . and to own and drive a camper van.


2. What kind of restaurants do you prefer right now? Or what's your favourite meal to make at home?

Well for the last few days (since I stopped using . . Did I mention I'd stopped using ;-) I have craved sweet chilli sauce!? I've been ordering doner kebab meat from the local "Take-away" just for something to put the sauce on. I could end up with a raging "sweet chilli sauce" habit.


3. What is your dream vacation?

O boy what a question . . .  At the minute, ideally, I could do with a week (maybe two) somewhere hot with a sea  breeze . . . clean, beautiful sand and sea. For the most part alone with some good books. Hotel suite leading onto beach. Top nosh. Personal trainer/masseur for an hour or two a day. A couple of "clothes/sandals/jewelry shopping therapy" days thrown in . . . O stop it. That's enough. I'm getting pissed off now ;-)


4. When relaxing in the evening, say on a Friday at home, what beverage would be sitting next to you?

Shit I was happy at that hotel . . . I've right come down now. Anyway, once again, until a few days ago it was Ovaltine . . . I couldn't go a night without it . . . BUT that went hand in hand with the gear. Hamper G  in bed  =  Ovaltine and foil out. No more. So it's a big mug of sweet chilli sauce hot Ribena!?
If I didn't know better I might think I was pregnant. My entire "taste" has changed.


5. Which goal in life have you achieved that gives you the most pleasure?

Well I can't claim to have achieved any goals as I don't remember having ever set any . . .  Shit! I just forgot my most recent . . . How could I forget? That was a goal wasn't it? . . . To get clean. That's definitely giving me pleasure. I still can't quite believe it . . . Sorry to go on but the question was very "leading" your honor.


6. Have you ever reluctantly done something you were urged to do by friends/family that you ended up really enjoying (good or bad)

Only the obvious. I'm not sure that I was urged to do it but certainly encouraged, as in  . . . Try it! you can't get addicted if you smoke it. I was definitely reluctant having got through 37 years without it but I thought I was "safe" and would not become an addict . . . Little did I know.


7. Have you ever done something that was, for you, very risky,exciting or dangerous?

Not recently no. Many years ago though yes although I didn't see or want to see the danger at the time. Possibly the most danger I put myself in was "running away" from a situation in Spain and hitching alone up through Spain to France. Three times during that escapade I thought I might die . . . but at the time I wasn't afraid. Which is possibly what got me through.


8. Have you ever had any "exotic" or unusual pets?

Only my 27 (?) Roborovski hamsters, who I must clean out tomorrow . . . And re-count.


9. Have you ever had an unusual job?

Hmmmm. Putting flyers under car windscreen wipers for a private detective in Nice in August! The heat was unbearable. The weight of the holdall full of flyers at the beginning of the day was back-breaking. But some of the things you catch people men doing in their cars . . . especially along the sea front was definitely unusual!


10. If you were available and found the right person, would you get married?

Yes I think I would . . . I've never been married and I would have to be so so sure it was right . . . But if I was that sure then yes.


11. Which famous person have you been told you look like?

Again, recently I haven't been told I look like anyone famous . . . When I lived in France I was constantly being told I looked like Jane Birkin (English actress/singer married  apparently not married, just together for many years with Serge Gainsborough. More famous in France than England) . . . It could've had a lot to do with speaking French with an English accent although I could see some similarities.

That's Sunday evening gone . . . I will post this and think up some questions to pass on tomorrow. It's half term so Geekster will be at home. He has promised to set the scanner up for me so I can have some fun with old photos . . . Whilst I'm resting. Back to the Dr. again . . . I'm definitely on the mend but would like to see this infection cleared . . . Totally.

Sweet dreams to you all across the globe. Thanks for reading and Goodnight.

So where were we?

Ok I'll try to keep this as short as possible. Let me start with a brief description of what appeared to happen then I will follow with an explanation of what really went on. I hope that makes sense.

Roughly ten days ago, after noticing my breathing deteriorate, I realised I had been using an empty inhaler for possibly three or four days. The inhaler is specifically designed to manage the symptoms of emphysema. It's for long term use, unlike the blue Ventolin usually used by asthmatics for immediate effect on chronic symptoms. I sometimes use the Ventolin too if I get breathless.

Ok so no problem I had a new one at the ready and started on that . . . By last Saturday morning things were not improving, I checked my inhaler and discovered I had thrown the new one in the bin and was still using the empty one!! I know, I know, hard to believe but true. It isn't a spray inhaler or a cfc one. It has a block of the effective drug in the bottom and when you twist it, it grinds a small amount of this drug which you then inhale hard and fast . . . There is no taste, only effect.

Stropster came in from work last Saturday, went through the outdoor bin for me and found the new inhaler . . . which I immediately double dosed on to try and get some "lungs" back. By Sunday morning my neck, face and head were swollen. My head was hurting so much I couldn't touch it and everyone except me seemed to think I might need an ambulance. I was extremely confused and began to think I was de-hydrated. I would not listen to anyone. By Tuesday the Dr had called and prescribed strong anti-bios for what she had diagnosed "over the phone" as a chest infection. She thought maybe the head pains were from over compensating with the inhaler.  She thought wrong.
Apart from my head hurting to the touch all over there were random stabbing pains across my head  and eyes at varying intervals and a dull throbbing at the top of my neck. . . Awful. Frightening.

I was in bed until this morning. I couldn't get up, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think straight and couldn't reason. It didn't feel like my usual "chest infection" as I have specific physiotherapy to do when I get an infection to clear the damaged lung, as it can't clear itself. This didn't seem to be making any difference. My lung wasn't hurting. My trachea was and my head was. Also the anti-bios didn't seem to be "kicking in".

I prayed for the strength to say no to gear and for the first time in twelve years I chose not to use. Last night when I realised this prayer had worked I prayed to be a little better this morning so I wouldn't be sent to hospital and so I could care for the kids. I woke up and didn't think I felt better but within an hour or so I found myself in the kitchen (downstairs for the first time) putting on the washing . . . Then washing up . . . Then changing the bedding. The head pains had gone. I was still very short of breath but I persevered, partly in case I had to go to hospital so things would be in order at home.
The Surgery phoned to cancel my morning appointment due to snow but transferred me to another Dr for 4.10pm. By the time 4pm came I had swept, mopped, vacuumed, cleaned bathroom, toilet etc etc. It's amazing how dirty things can get when I have a week off. I had caught up on at least 5 loads of washing . . . and realised that once again my prayers had been answered. Sorry this was meant to be short.

So off I went to the Dr . . . I explained all of the above to her. A very understanding, non-judgemental middle aged woman. She listened thoroughly to both my story and my lungs, then the trachea area. She checked my throat. Good lord! She almost jumped . . . That's where the infection had got in . . . from my inhaler that had spent four days in the bin!! So far the infection hasn't gone to my lungs, which I suspected, its all in the trachea/primary bronchi area, which is why the physio was not helping. It's also why my head was in screaming pain as the infection tried to spread elsewhere . . . And for every anti-bio I took, I also took two huge great puffs on the offending dirty inhaler. So that's safely back in the bin now and I have a  new one.

The Dr was shocked when I said this was me "almost better, well on the mend". . . to the extent that I had just cleaned the house. She couldn't understand how I had got through a week in bed so seriously ill and hadn't let someone call an ambulance. She doesn't know how scared I am of hospitals. Or how scared I am of dying there. She said I'd been "lucky" to fight this and "lucky" that it hadn't gone to my lungs . . . but it still could. She made me promise I would come home, go to bed and rest for at least three more days. I said Yes . . . Once I've got the clean bedding back on all the beds. She laughed. I laughed. I was going home again . . . I could laugh.

So there we have it . . . Clean house! clean bedding! clean me!! Hallelujah I say! I'd be bloody rude not to really wouldn't I?

Soon we will be dancing the Fandango . . . for Sister Bluebell

Beloved Sister Bluebell as I looked for a Bob Dylan song to post late on Wednesday night . . . I could not find the one I wanted. I ended up listening to this with tears streaming down my face. There is a story behind it about my escape from Spain to France which I will post soon (I promise).

But that's irrelevant . . . As I listened, wheezed, wept and tried to sing "Soon we will be dancing The Fandango" . . . You messaged me on Face book and wrote those very words . . . You even said afterwards "Whatever that means?" . . . Well this is what it meant.
And yes Sweet Bluebell One day we will dance again. I love you.

No better

So just a real quick up-date. Back to the Dr tomorrow. The anti-biotics have made no difference. I'm all out of breath. The good news is I haven't used. You may think, well that's because you're ill . . . Believe me even when I was in hospital with pleurisy and pneumonia I found a way to use . . . So this is something new. I fear it might be too little too late but of course I'm hoping for one last chance . . . This was meant to be the year.

I might as well have a little moan whilst I'm here. My family (Mother and Hubby, Brother and wife) yes the Christian ones who both live within four minutes walking distance have not once offered to feed my kids or bring round something for my kids to eat in a week of me being seriously ill. Now if I was a member of their middle class social club Church, people would be taking it in turns to bring round a casserole, stew etc because . . . here goes . . . They are so fucking stupid they think God only sees how they treat other Christians (or church members) No, this isn't true . . . The truth is in fact worse. It doesn't matter to most of them what God sees . . . It matters what other Church folk see. They are way more important. If they were to deliver a daily meal for my kids no-one at Church would know . . . God would know but Hey let's get this straight, Its not God who's judging them . . . It's the Pastor, The Elders, Those who fucking count! Yet when they do these good deeds within the church, not only does it get noticed, it gets a mention on a Sunday . . . Well, Well Done You, You wonderful, kind, caring, compassionate fuckers you. Yes I'm angry.
So they offer "Can I get you any shopping in?" "Sure, yeah . . . I can't even walk to the kitchen let alone cook, you arseholes" O God help me. And I mean that. Please God help me . . . Please can I just be well enough to care for my kids? I can't afford Take-away every night.

I won't have to because I have a feeling the Dr will be sending me to hospital tomorrow. I don't want to go. I just watched my only Aunty die there of Emphysema in October last year. We have had the same disease. I don't want to go there and not come home. Ok so I'm terrified.

Last week I was moaning about my life, my addiction, being trapped . . . All I had to do was stop.
Now I have stopped. I have no desire to use or score . . . Just to breathe. Would you believe it.
Please God that I might wake tomorrow and be well. Or a little better?

Fading fast . . .

It's taken me a week to get to this point . . . I won't be long, I will explain more when I'm better. I hope I get better. I don't think I can afford to wait until a detox becomes available. I have been ill to the point of confusion. Total confusion. Lack of oxygen. The Dr. has been and I am on the mend but that was the scariest ever and I should've been in hospital. That was Sunday. Where are we Wednesday? Shit did I wish for my periods back in my last post/comment? Well I sure got one . . . A year after my last one! I'm not gonna edit or  spellcheck this . . . I'm lucky to be here. I honestly had visions of Geekster having to write my last post for me (he'd be the only one who would know my password etc) Stropster is not happy . . . he has had to learn how to use the washing machine, dryer, heating, hot water, cooker . . . How to pack his own lunch. Poor lad . . . He is so cross with me. How dare I be this ill? I can see his point. Fuck off Anon I'm in no mood for you so don't even think of commenting.
This is why I have to stop . . . and this is why I have to stop now . . . Next time could be the last time . . this time almost was. My lungs will take no more. No more. Please God that I can say No.
I have to sleep. I want to catch up on all your Blogs and I will . . . Soon. Thanks for reading. Take good care and appreciate those lungs. I love you.

Ps. Stropster reliably informed me on his lunch break that it isn't a year since my last period . . . That last time I got ill (?October? ) I also had one. Poor lad. Poor fucking Kids. I love them so desperately. Why can't I be right for them.