I finally made it back to work after four weeks sick leave, and a weeks holiday prior to that. Funnily enough, it's as if I never left. And I don't really mean that in a fuzzy warm kind of way. More of a "*sigh* could someone remind me why I got out of my bed this morning?!" kind of way. I do know however that I need work to keep me focused, motivated and grounded in reality. Otherwise I'm in grave danger of becoming overly absorbed in CF, symptoms, treatments and day time TV. All of which are dangerous past times. Although I seriously didn't want to crawl out of bed this morning (and would have paid a large sum of money not to) I was actually pleased with my general energy levels and did manage to get through the morning relatively unscathed. Granted I hardly did any work, and got home an hour early, but best not to rush things on my first day ;)

I say relatively unscathed because there was the incident of nearly knocking down a cyclist on the way home. If I had done so, I would however not have been in any way to blame. She was after all on my side of the road and heading straight towards me. Or at least she was trying to. To let you understand, the area I live in is, shall we say, elderly in its population. So basically this old nut job, dressed in a pink velour tracksuit and daz whiter than white trainers, is astride this monstrosity of a bike, wavering in an alarming fashion and frantically trying to get the damned thing going. The fact she was rather rotund in shape and substantial in proportions may have had something to do with her difficulties. The other problem was the inflexibility of her trainers...you know the type that have soles so thick you would survive being struck by lightening several times over. So, there I am driving along at a sedate and sensible 30mph (or thereabouts) when I swing round the corner and am faced with this large pink object, complete with shock of white hair, careering towards me. Of course I braked sharply (although there may have been a slight delay while my brain attempted to make sense of the scene; then gave up). Luckily at the last minute she gave an almighty push, got some purchase on the peddles and managed to swerve onto the other side of the road. What happened after that is anybodies guess but I'm sure other drivers would not fail to miss her with that tracksuit on. Whether by "not fail to miss her" I mean not fail to see her, or not fail to hit her, is entirely open to your own interpretation.

I have spent the rest of the afternoon recovering from my first morning back at work and my encounter with the large pink pensioner. I have also found myself bizarrely creeping around my own house in an extremely stealth like fashion, making sure I don't creak a floor board or open a door too loudly. No, I am not in training for a career as a professional burglar, but I am instead trying very had not to wake Seb up. I can't believe my luck that after having been left all morning he has gone back to sleep. You have no idea what a luxury this is for me. You have to understand that Seb has 2 modes..sleep and play. Eating figures in there at times, but unfortunately not even food can distract him from play mode. This mode largely involves him grabbing toys, or preferably items of footwear if available (even if this means removing item from a nearby foot) and running about the sitting room. When this behaviour does not grab your attention, taking toy or footwear onto couch and rolling about with it is the next stage. If again, this fails to bring desired effect, then dropping toy and grabbing couch and trying to wrestle this instead is sure to bring me to my feet. We usually then enter into the game of Seb being removed from room for 'time out' then being let back in only to dive straight back onto couch, grab some fabric, hold it in his mouth while lying motionless and watching me sideways with large wide eyes to gauge the reaction. Needless to say the reaction is prompt removal from the room again..and so we go on. He does not appear to learn from this process, and in fact I imagine he thinks the whole pantomime is a game especially deigned for his enjoyment.

Lastly I have to mention the lovely day I had on Saturday. I had my good friends and their partners over for a bite to eat and a general catch up. They are my best friends from school, so we go a long way back but have somehow managed to keep in touch during that time. It was great to see every one and I even managed to cook some food, which appeared to go down well. I'm glad no one saw the kitchen an hour earlier though..the word 'bombsite' springs to mind. The fact that Seb was diving around under my feet and managing to catch food that flew from my mixing bowel gives an indication that I am no Delia Smith (although I do take my rings off when baking...have you ever seen Delia on TV sticking her ring laden podgy fingers into some pastry dough? Gross). Seb was also keen to sample the food post-baking stage, and was found on 2 separate occasions on the dining room table tucking into pavlova left overs. What was wrong with my fruit crumble, I didn't like to ask. Anyway I digress. It was a lovely day all round, and if you are reading this ladies, then thank you for your great company. Its good to know I have such fab friends supporting me; and more importantly, making me smile :)

It's nearly 2 weeks since I got home and I'm now more or less feeling back to normal. I even felt well enough yesterday to venture out with Seb for the first time in weeks. It was very showery, so I bided my time waiting for a sunny interval, and when the sun did eventually put in an appearance I quickly ushered Seb out the door. We had only gone 10 yards down the road when the sky became dark and brooding, the wind whipped up from nowhere and then the heavens opened. Seb continued to prance along merrily, seemingly oblivious to the deluge of rain which poured upon him. On the other hand, I was far from prancing and definitely not merry. I battled with the umbrella in slightly comical way as it resisted my efforts strongly, before defiantly blowing inside out and rendering itself utterly useless. Luckily I did have a little hood on my coat so I battled on and braved the elements. Obviously I could have just turned back at this point (only being 2 doors down from my house) and this would have been the sensible and, dare I say, 'normal' thing to do. If however you have ever seen Seb prancing, and even more important, doing so merrily, you wouldn't be able to turn back either. He would have been so upset. After all, a little rain never hurt anyone. Did it?

15 mins later we arrived back home, both absolutely drenched; me puffing and panting, and Seb still prancing away merrily. I stared at this muddy, wet and rat-like creature. Then I stopped looking at myself in the mirror and marched Seb right upstairs and straight into the bath. Now to let you understand, bathing Seb is normally a two person process. One to hold him in the bath, and the other to hold the shower spray and shampoo his coat. Obviously I do not have 4 arms, so what ensued proved to be an interesting act of contortion, a battle of wills and another good soaking for the pair of us. Holding him in the bath with one hand, I managed to hold the shower head with the other, and spray his coat, the shower screen, the wall and my eye. Momentarily blinded, I nearly didn't notice him trying to climb out the bath. Caught just in time he was held firmly back down and shampoo applied. He then proceeded to make things even more awkward my squinting his head backwards and trying to drink from the shower spray, managing to nearly choke himself in the process, as I would suggest that drinking with your head upside down is not advised. On eventually getting him out of the bath, he was so exhilarated by the whole process that he dived about wildly in the hall for a while, dragging the wet towels back and forth in a vain attempt to get me to chase him. As I was simply ignoring this behaviour, he then dived back into the bathroom and grabbed the toilet roll off the holder, sprinting down the hallway like the Andrex puppy. Seemingly he thinks he could have a career in TV. I personally think he is more destined for the stage. Little prima donna that he is.

The other thing to report on, is that I did eventually phone the hospital about the pain at my peg tube site. This decision was made at the weekend when I went to one of those retail parks with Andrew to get a couple of things for the house. After successful getting what we needed, Andrew then tells me he wanted to look in B+Q for something. By this point my peg tube was so painful I could hardly stand, never mind walk, so I said I would just wait in the car. And wait I did. I waited very patiently; first reading all the messages in my mobile inbox, then the ones in the outbox, before finally sending some new ones. Finally he arrived back, looking very pleased with himself and carrying a suspiciously large box.

Yes, we are now the proud new owners of what is essentially a giant hoover for the garden. Clearly we needed a hoover. It is obvious that we live in an orchard, surrounded by trees just ready to drop all their leaves and litter our garden. Come the autumn, we shall not be able to see the grass, and may be in danger of losing the dog under a blanket of soggy foliage. Sadly, this is not the case. We have in fact one tree, and half of that hangs over the back fence into someone else's garden. Andrew insisted however that we also required the 'blowing function' so that he could blow grass cuttings off the decorative stones. Obviously.

So off he goes into the garden carrying this beast of a machine. It is in fact so large, that it requires to be held by its sturdy carrying handle, and balanced underneath by a wheel, as its too heavy to be simply carried around. To help you understand the power of this instrument, I will tell you that Andrew would not let the dog into the garden " because he will come to investigate and what if I 'sook' him up". Good God. So there he was going up and down the lawn, hoovering away and blowing things about. When he comes in I enquire about the success of the new toy, only to be informed "well the hoover bit is ok, but I don't think much of the blowing bit...I think maybe I should have got the 'turbo' version". Really?? The turbo version? How about the version that has a long handle and metal prongs. I think its called a rake. Apparently they are good for clearing leaves. Or so I've heard.

Anyway I totally digressed there. I was saying how I decided to see someone about my peg (just got caught up in that story for a second). I saw the nurse who specialises in peg tubes, who told me the tube itself was in good working order and there was no evidence of infection. I then saw the doctor, who felt it was more likely to be a problem in the muscle and he thinks because I have been actually eating recently, the muscle is just being stretched more. The upshot was that I have some more tablets to take, and these seem to be helping. Thank goodness. While I'm on the topic of weight I'm pleased to report that I've gained a kilo in the last couple of weeks. I'm also pleased to report that last night, for the first time in months, I actually felt hungry. Embarrassingly enough I didn't actually recognise what it was and told Andrew I had " a weird gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach", to which he replied "would you like some supper?" I had it again this morning, and you have no idea how exiting it is to actually want to eat something. Sad I know. To monitor the process I have also indulged in a set of digital scales. They come with the offer of 2 free issues of Weight Watchers magazine. How ironic.

I've been home a week now and at last I'm starting to feel a bit stronger again. I must say however that I was a little disappointed when I first got home, because strangely enough the doctors did not manage to restore my lung function to 100%, nor indeed did they give me a new pair of puffers during my hospital stay. The result being that its still a big effort to climb the stairs, to get ready in the morning, to walk any great distance and, more importantly, to recover stolen pants and socks from Seb. That being said, I am definitely less breathless than I was 2 weeks ago, so I need to now concentrate on improving my general fitness, so I can manage such tasks with a little less huffing and puffing.

Limiting my general activity this week has been pain at my peg tube site. For those that don't know, a peg tube is a small tube going into the stomach, to allow me to do feeds overnight and therefore improve calorie intake. The only part that is visible is the small 'button' sitting on the surface of my skin, which for all intents and purposes looks like the valve on a beach ball. Luckily the primary aim of the feeds, is indeed to make me look more like a beach ball, so at least with the valve in situ, I'm half way there.

Otherwise health is on the up, and my chest is much better. Annoyingly I did have a tickly cough at the start of the week which was preventing me from getting to sleep. After the first hour of sitting propped upright, watching the clock ticking on, I thought to myself 'What would mum advise me to do?'. The answer was clear. Out came the honey jar and I indulged in a good couple of spoonfuls, in the hope of 'soothing my throat'. Another hour ticked by, and still I continued to cough, splutter and blow my nose loudly enough to make sure Andrew couldn't sleep either. I then thought to myself 'Well, what would my dad advise?'. Again the answer was clear. Out came the whisky bottle and I poured myself a large whisky liqueur. Two(or was it three?)glasses later, I felt much better. The cough had gone, sleep was imminent and all was well with the world. I may or may not have ricocheted of the wall on the way to the bathroom, however clearly this was due to poor lighting in the hallway.

Lastly, for completeness I feel I have to mention the latest window cleaner episode. I was going to promise that this is the last time I mention them, but that may prove to be an outright lie, so I wont. In fairness it must be about 4 weeks since they last visited my house, so frequency is not the issue. The issue this time, is that they decided it was appropriate to sit in my garden and eat their pieces and drink their tea(for any English readers, pieces=sandwiches), before they started on my windows. Now, I know they need to have tea break, but do they not have a van they can sit in? Why do they have to come into my garden and sit on my wall? Maybe they would like it if I put some patio furniture out the front, so they could at least relax in comfort. To make matters worse, my mum was visiting and on coming up the driveway saw these two strange boys ( I say boys, because they looked about 12)sitting on my wall. As mums have a tendency to do, she asked "Can I help you boys?". Now on paper, this sounds a fairly reasonable question to ask but if you know my mum and you understand the tone used, and the facial expression donned, then re-read as "I don't know who you two are, but you look very suspicious and indeed, very scruffy. In fact, if you don't provide me with a good reason for your being here in the next 10 seconds, I shall phone the police. Or if called for, I will not hesitate in making a citizens arrest" All that conveyed with a look? You haven't met my mum. So I think if there was ever a window cleaner conspiracy (or in fact surveillance on me, as someone helpfully suggested) I am sure she has just successfully ended it. Mums are useful for all sorts really.

I'm pleased to report that I successfully escaped from the hospital on Thursday and am now relaxing back at home. Andrew has taken a few days off work, and mum is coming to stay for a few days at the end of the week to help me out (and no doubt try to make me eat something every 2 minutes). The good news is that I've spoken to my transplant co-ordinator about my weight loss and at the moment I can remain on the list. However he did stress that should I be called in the near future and "arrived looking like a skeleton" they would be unlikely to proceed with the surgery, so I have to make every effort to improve the situation. He wants me to call next week with an updated weight...no pressure or anything.

I was particularly relieved to be home for the weekend, as yesterday was the 2nd anniversary of losing my sister to CF. She has been on the transplant list for 2 1/2 years, but sadly, time simply ran out. We had a family gathering at my parents house, which was a lovely way in which to remember her.

I must say that the expression 'time is a great healer' is, for the most part, true; in that the rawness of the wounds fade, the sharpness of the pain dulls and the memories become ones that more often make you smile than make you cry. Yet there is still not a day goes by that I do not miss her with all my heart. Those moments in the day where something happens to make me laugh or cry out loud, and for a second I think 'I must tell Frances Ann about that later', and then remember I can't. When I see something in a shop that I know she would have loved, and I have no one to buy it for. When I say or do something I think is hilarious, then realise the only other person who would agree is her. The awkward instant when you meet someone new and in polite small talk they ask if you have any brothers or sisters, and you don't know how to answer. To say "yes" no longer seems truthful, yet to say "no" is to deny her very existence.

In the most selfish way, I truly thought when my time came to be listed for transplant, she would be there to guide and support me through the journey, having already been there herself. Although she is not with me in a physical sense, I have come to realise over the past 2 years, that she will always remain with me..through my memories, my thoughts, and through the belief that I will see her again. When I write about window cleaners and motorised beds, I can hear her laugh; when I write about buying handbags and shoes, I sense her approval; when I write about this journey towards transplant, I know she is beside me. Every step of the way.

I'm still in hospital but hoping to escape on Friday when my IVs finish. My chest is much clearer now and the pain from port has settled. The only lingering problem is random nausea and sickness, which will seemingly clear up then suddenly reappear. Its something I need to get on top off, as I have already lost some weight and am in danger of being suspended from active transplant list until I put it back on. They are looking into possible causes and other medications I can take, so fingers crossed.

Now for story time. Are you all comfortable?

So there I am, lying in my hospital bed, wearing pyjamas (matching I believe) and tucked up under the covers. I was just dozing off when, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move outside the window. The fact I am on the 6th floor of a multistorey building made it quite unlikely there was anyone out there, so I closed my eyes and settled down again. A few moments later a noise startled me and I slowly open my eyes to see.....not one, but two window cleaner men outside my window. I couldn't believe it. I'm still recovering from the trauma of the window cleaner episode at home last week and the last thing I'm expecting is for them to visit me in hospital (especially on the 6th floor). I could have been in a state of undress for goodness sake..or even worse; perched on a commode. I did however manage to behave in a reasonable fashion and simply stared at the TV (although, again, it was not on) but at least I didn't leap out of bed and hide in the toilet. It just as well I didn't do the latter, because about 5 minutes later there was a small knock at the door and in strides the window cleaner (dressed all in black, and looking strangely like the milktray man,except instead of milktray he had a bucket and squeedgy). It was strangely surreal, lying tucked up in a hospital bed while a window cleaner squeedgies the inside of the windows...I've never seen anything like it. I have it on good authority that the hospital windows only get cleaned every 5 years and, yet, they still managed to pick the same week I was staying. Coincidence? I don't think so.