After not feeling too well throughout the week, I had a magical day on Friday. It was my bestie Bec’s birthday, where her husband whipped up some amazing coffee and birthday morning tea treats for us very lucky ladies. There were happy children, friends who I hadn’t seen in a long time (I even met one of their children for the first time) and everyone was just really happy to be there. People are generally happier when they’re surrounded by Bec 🙂 I’m always happier when I’m around Bec.
I stayed until the afternoon, then went to meet my Mum for a post-outback emergency pedicure. I’m always happier when I’m with my Mum, too. We make each other laugh and I missed her when I was away. I was also slated to George-sit Friday night, because his owner had a funeral and subsequent wake to attend of a very close friend.
Since I’ve been back, things have been a little off-kilter. I’ve had a couple of days where I’ve battled mountains of pain. I returned to Brisbane happy, calm and relatively stress-free (even though I didn’t want to leave), but since my return, I’ve had some shocking and devastating news from a friend and by six o’clock Friday night, I was in the grasp of one of the nastiest migraines I’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing. A migraine which was made that much worse when I ended up with a stomach bug chaser …
In 2004, I had a surgery to stop me from aspirating (vomiting) into my lungs. Had I not had the surgery, I’d be dead from O.B. It was an amazing pick up from the Lung Transplant team. Also, It was a reasonably painful procedure (the surgeon said it would be painless. Next time I’ll ask them if they’ve had it done) called a Nissen fundoplication. Trust me – there’s nothing fun about it, especially when you need it done multiple times as a mate of mine has done, because the surgeons just can’t seem to get it right. Luckily for me, all I ended up with was a mild case of pneumonia, but the surgery to ‘switch off my reflux reflex’ (that’s how I explain it to non-medical people) worked well. And by well, I mean super well. As in ‘I CANNOT EVEN BRING UP ONE MIL OF SPEW’ well. I haven’t been able to throw up since, and while it’s possibly saved me a lot of money in cab clean-up fares over the years, when you’re desperately ill from either food poisoning (last year), or a stomach bug (last Friday night), all you want to do is SPEW. And spew I did. Well, a little. I’ll spare you the photo (yep, I photographed it to show my doctor), even though I’m damn proud of how much I managed to bring up. But here was the crux – because I was heaving so violently, the pain in my head just wouldn’t shift. I took all the pain killers I possibly could and was wiped out for two days from exhaustion. I seriously thought I was going to vomit my brains out. Or at least my eyes. By Saturday morning I was resembling George the Pug, who thankfully was taken from my care before I completely sissied out.
Yesterday, my entire trunk was aching from all the heaving I’d done Friday night/Saturday morning. I’m still sore today. I look … disgusting. I couldn’t move my body yesterday – or cough or laugh or sneeze – because of the resultant post-spew pain. My head is an oil slick and my skin looks sallow. Looking back, I really should have gone to hospital to get rehydrated on Saturday, but I like to handle these things of my own accord and in a controlled environment. If anything, I should have gone to hospital for more pain relief, but I’m fairly certain I would have felt worse, because, yep … that’s right … controlled environment etc.
I spent the day yesterday
‘liking’ LOVING all of my sisters photos of Paris on insta-spam and trying to absolve myself of not having showered for two days. Today I made it out of my place downstairs for a coffee, and it was glorious. Old jeans, a singlet with no bra, Birkenstocks and grease-ball hair where I was greeted by hugs and more coffee. I should go and have my left hand x-rayed, because it probably really is broken if it’s still ridiculously sore after two weeks post-fall.
I’ve been gentle on myself today, keeping in mind that it can always be worse, just like it is for my friend who shared their shocking story with me over the weekend (when I wasn’t wrapped around the toilet bowl), beseeching my return to the city and asking, ‘why did I have to come back?’ Oh, that’s right – I DIDN’T. Every time I come back to the city, I feel a little more lost. It feels like a solid country drought since I’ve been away, and all I want to do is go back – which I am, but not soon enough. Things and people are uncomplicated where I go, though there are often harsh reminders when you’re working the land for a living.
Is it so wrong I just want to see some cows in mustering context again? I mean, really – just look at them. They’re smart and adorable. So un-humanlike. Better than a bowl of hard-won spew, even.