Well, I thought I better do a little update from my hospital bed (courtesy of a laptop and 3G card..ooh fancy ;)). For those who don't know, my escapades down south were rudely interrupted when my chest decided to play up. Unfortunately the high quality oral antibiotics I "acquired" just weren't up to scratch and I had to come home early last Wednesday and finish my holiday in Hotel Hospitalia, in a pleasant little room, complete with en-suite and views over...err...the hospital car park.

Normally I manage all my IV antibiotics at home, and may also have been known to point blank refuse hospital admission in the past. However having just had IVs 2 weeks previously and the 2 subsequent oral antibiotics having little effect, I really couldn't argue about needing admission. The good news is that having been started on an IV combination I haven't had before, I seem to be making good progress and my chest is improving nicely.

I have however had lots of problems with IV access and my little veins were sorely protesting to any needle which even came into the room, never mind near my hand. I previously had a port-a-cath, which is a permanent IV line under the skin, but had this removed due to an infection nearly 2 years ago. Fortunately on this admission, the doctors has to agree that I really needed the port back in, as my veins were just not cooperating. So at short notice, one of the radiologists agreed to put my port back in under local anesthetic yesterday. I must say that without any sedation (which I had expected to receive!) this wasn't the most pleasant of experiences, and as they had some difficulty getting the line in, I was lying 'very still' for almost 2 hours. I can hardly sit still in the cinema for 2 hours, never mind lie in one position, quietly and without complaint while someone pokes me with needles and digs about with shiny surgical instruments at my neck and side. Needless to say I felt extremely sorry for myself, and have since then mumped and moaned and perfected my 'pouty huffy puffy face' by practicing on everyone who enters my room. Who ever said I was mature?

I'm not sure when I will get home, but its starting to look like I might not be released until I finish these IVs, which is another week away. Thankfully for amusement I have the motorised bed, which rises at the top, bottom and goes up and down. However I'm quite sure that by pressing combinations of buttons simultaneously, I may discover some hidden functions. Should this transpire to be the 'eject' mode, it could prove highly dangerous. Oh wait a second, what if i press these two and then that big red one?.....wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!

Well the good news is that I survived the wedding (and, more surprisingly, the car journey down with dad largely driving in the fast lane, muttering to cars in front "get out of the big boys lane"). The bad news is that I'm now running a temperature despite a week of oral antibiotics. Since I am not home until Friday I have managed to procure some extra oral antibiotics to add to ones I'm already taking, so hopefully that will settle things. In a rare and surprisingly sensible moment I did actually phone the CF team to discuss the course of action I had already decided upon. If only to be polite.

The wedding itself was fantastic, and after a week of torrential rain, they had the most beautiful sunshine. The bride was gorgeous, the meal was lovely and the speeches were all excellent. I even managed a dance at one point, but only because my 8yr old godson came up and tapped my shoulder and politely enquired whether I would like to dance with him. How could I refuse such a gentleman? That being said, this is the same 8yr old that later in the evening was seen to be cutting some moves with two of the brides friends and on leaving the dancefloor turned to his dad and gloated "hey, I've just pulled two hot chicks". Priceless.

I'm just planning to take things easy this week, although we did go to a big shopping outlet yesterday which sells everything from furniture to clothing. In my usual stubborn manner I simply scoffed when my mum suggested using one of the shops wheelchairs since I wasn't feeling well, and purposefully strode around the shop...for about 5 minutes before in a puffed and bedraggled fashion I finally collapsed on a seat in the shoe department, where I intended to stay until we were ready to leave. After 10mins sitting staring at the size 6 rail in front of me (and I'm a size 4) I finally conceded to being wheeled about in a princess like fashion around the store. My dad was pushing me, and bearing in mind what I've already said about 'big boys lane' I was apprehensive to say the least ;) I did however find that it didn't really affect my retail therapy, in that bags and shoes are conveniently placed at eye level from a sitting position. The wheelchair is therefore entirely to blame for the shoes and bag that made its way to the checkout. I was in no way responsible. I also found when I was parked in a corner while the others looked at some rugs, that I could in fact manoeuvre the chair myself and in the short interval taught myself how to do a 360 degrees turn. I was about to progress to wheelies but sadly I was moved on to the coffee shop before I got the chance, where I found myself squealing "Its a miracle" when we parked the chair and I then stood up and walked unaided. Not particularly PC, but it amused me.

I can laugh about the wheelchair, and it really did help me keep up with everyone else. However, it was a huge psychological wrench to admit that I was struggling to walk and that I actually needed someone else to help me get around. I have this fixed idea in my head about pushing myself to my limits and never, ever giving in. I hate even being wheeled to xray in hospital and have walked back to the ward on many occasions (nipping out of the chair when the xray staff aren't looking;)) I think its so important that whenever possible, I walk places and keep up with some form of exercise (even if this is just running after Seb to get my pants back) Not only will this keep me as healthy as possible now, it will also aid a much speedier recovery post transplant. That being said, I think I also have to concede that on occasions when I'm not so well, I may need some extra help; as the other option is to miss out entirely. At the moment I have no intention of being wheeled about back home (I save wild antics for holidays only) but at some point in the future, I might need to consider this as an option for days out. Maybe I could get one of those motorised ones? I would be very safe and sensible when operating such a beast. I only have 6 penalty points on my current license. That's not bad is it?

Well, health wise I haven't been feeling on top form this week. Finished my IV antibiotics only last week and had to go straight back onto some oral antibiotics, as I was still feeling puffed and not quite 100%. I did drag myself into work monday and tuesday, but decided the more sensible (and appealing) option was take this week off. I have the following week booked off for my cousins wedding, so fingers crossed I'm feeling revitalised and bouncing around again by the end of that week. Well maybe not bouncing around. That would just be odd.

As I've been feeling so puffed I was experimenting with new ways of getting the dirty washing downstairs with minimal effort. Yesterday I tried the "throw pile of clothes in one large bundle over banisters of stairs" with the hope they would all land in the hallway. This was semi-successful, with most of the clothes making it there, or thereabouts. There was however an unacceptably high number of socks and, dare I say, pants littering the stairs and hall table. After fishing a sock out of a vase, I decided this method may need revised. Perhaps throwing smaller bundles at a time would increase accuracy of landing. The other option, which I think is entirly feasible, would be to train Seb to carry washing downstairs. In support of this is the fact he has no problems carrying socks and other items of clothing around at high speed when he is trying to get 'a chase', so I'm sure the task would not be beyond him. Even larger items like jeans and towels shouldn't be an issue, seeing that he has no problems taking all his bedding outside and dragging it around the lawn. I assume he is just 'airing' it, although I've never asked.

The other issue I need to tackle, is that of learning to behave in an appropriate and normal fashion when the window cleaners come. It is, you must agree, an odd situation to be relaxing in your own home, when suddenly a strange man props up his ladder and appears right outside your window. You are then in the bizzarre situation where despite the fact he can clearly see straight into your living room, he has to pretend he can't see anything and instead becomes strangely fascinated with his squeedgy. This situation is not aided by the fact I am sitting in mismatched pyjamas, cow print slippers and with my pep masked firmly clamped over my face (for those who dont know, the pep mask is for helping with physio and looks like some trauma mask from E.R. Except its blue and yellow and not very subtle). So anyway I try and look casual and slowly remove large blue mask from face and stare at TV (which isn't even on). I then have this sudden and overwhelming compulsion to hide, so slowly get up from sofa, then stride purposefully to the kitchen. Bad move. The other window cleaner has started at back of house, and there he is in full view at the kitchen window. I can't even think of an excuse to be in kichen, so with look of surprise and embarrassment on my face, spin around and scuttle into hall, where I settle down on the stairs and plan to just sit it out. All is going well and I'm almost home and dry, when I suddenly had that strange feeling of being watched. I slowly turn round, heart racing, palms sweating...and there he is, the window cleaner man at the tiny hall window behind me. Now feeling extremely daft having been caught hiding in the hall way, I grab the phone and pretend I am talking to someone (as this would clearly validate the fact I was sitting on the stairs). The fact the phone didn't actually ring, and I didnt actually dial a number is beside the point. I'm sure I got away with it. I'm sure the window cleaner men think I am entirely normal and not in the least eccentric. I'm sure they have seen much worse.

Hello and welcome to my first ever post!

I think I'll use this post to explain the title of my blog 'Up the Faraway Tree'. To those people not familiar with good old Enid Blyton, 'The Faraway Tree' is a childrens book about an enchanted forest with a magical tree, which has a different land at the top every day...sometimes a wonderful place, and sometimes somewhere strange and scary. It was my favourite book as a child, as it just allows your imagination to run wild as you get swept along on a magical adventure.

So what has this to do with my blog you might ask? Well I just think its so important to keep some of that imagination with you as an adult, and hopefully manage to view life as an adventure, where each day could take you somewhere new. Sometimes these places are wonderful, but unfortunately they can be strange and scary too...I suppose you just have hold on tight, enjoy the ride, and hope at the end you can look back and say 'wow, that really was a magical adventure!'