Doctor Doctor

A few weeks ago I visited the doctor to get my allergy meds. Later in the afternoon I began to feel unwell and ended up in hospital with suspected appendicitis.

Yesterday I visited the doctor to have my post partum check up and guess what?
I ended up in the hospital a few hours later!

I am beginning to the think that going to see the family doctor is hazardous to my health!

There is nothing more frightening then waking up, taking a drink of water on your bedside table and having it dribble out of your mouth because all of a sudden half of your mouth doesn’t work anymore. I was terrified.
It was like the sandman came along whilst I slept and instead of sprinkling me with sleepy dust, he injected a load of anaesthetic into my face.

The next thing I know, I have 3 paramedics in my living room assessing me. All of my symptoms point towards a possible stroke.
Yes. A stroke!
Healthy 29 years olds don’t just have strokes! Well, not statistically anyway.

For the first time in my life I got to ride in an ambulance at a very quick speed with the blue lights going and siren wailing. To a hospital a fair way away. One that had a specialist stroke unit.

I was met by the consultant neurologist and the resus team. After a few minutes they realised I wasn’t in a very serious way and left the neurologist to manage the emergency.

He quickly ruled out a stroke (thank god!) and diagnosed me with Bell’s Palsy. Still scary, but at least I’m not going to die eh?

This was my face at 3am whilst in hospital.


This was the same expressions 6 hours later.


I’ve been told the symptoms peak within 48 hours and can take between 2 weeks and 6 months to resolve themselves, depending in the severity. So far I have 8 of the 13 symptoms listed by the NHS.
I’m hoping for the 2 weeks recovery, but with my string of luck recently, I better not hold my breath! God knows what would happen if I did that!!!

So far 2013 hasn’t been the most fantastic year for me. The only good thing so far is Emma!

I’m ready to be healthy body, so hop to it!!


Emma is 16 days old and I’m getting to grips with limited and interrupted sleep.

I’m getting to grips with breast feeding and being peed on and explosive projectile poo.

I’m getting the hang of this mothering business.

After having Emma, I was told I had to take Iron tablets, as well as antibiotics (2 lots!) and the many pain relief tablets, not to mention daily injections to prevent DVT and PE (for the next 6 weeks!)

It was a pretty easy labour and birth (thanks to my epidural) however I lost a litre of blood. Which is apparently quite a lot to lose. However months and months of taking prenatal vitamins meant that my iron stores were very good and despite losing a litre of blood my iron count was still 10.9 after delivery.

Even though my iron count was still pretty good, I had to take the iron tablets (standard if your level is 12 or lower it seems) and then have a follow up blood test 2 weeks after the birth.

I had my blood test yesterday morning. This morning my doctors surgery sent me a text message asking me to make an appointment as my results showed a B12 deficiency which required further injections for me.

People may complain about the NHS, but that’s pretty good going, having a blood draw yesterday and then getting the results back the very next day.

I don’t like the fact that I have to have more injections, or the fact that if my body doesn’t manage the deficiency and resolve itself then i’ll be on these injections for the foreseeable future.

My pregnancy at the start was OK, the sciatica was a bitch, the middle it got a bit more difficult, what with the increased sciatica and the itching, and by the end I could hardly walk on most days, my skin was scabby from the blood I’d drawn scratching my itches and I was ready to be a mother, ready to stop vein pregnant.

Labour? Well, they reckon that you don’t remember the pain. Ha! It’s 2 weeks on and it’s still fresh and clear in my mind. I certainly won’t be forgetting it and neither will I be in any hurry to experience it again.

The best part of my labour was the moment my epidural was cited and the pain went away. The gas and air was pretty awesome too.

By the end of it, I had this pretty awesome teeny weeny bundle of amazingness.

She’s worth every pain and medicine and cringey moment where I have to inject myself.

Still not too happy about the B12 deficiency though.


Over the last month or so I’ve slowly been coming off of my anti-depressants with the help of my doctor. It’s probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I have moments of panic that I’ve made the wrong decision, and moments of proudness that I’m managing OK without medicinal help.

You see, my anti-depressants were never meant to be long term.  I’ve had a long history with depression, and it flares up and down, and rears it’s ugly head when I least expect it.

The last time was an unfortunate incident in my old job, which I won’t go into on here. The incident left me scared to return to my job and as such I moved departments. It left me on medication to cope with working. Medicine that after 8 or 9 months became ineffective.  I started on new medicine, which worked a dream, and now I’m off it. After 15 months.

I have days where I’m wondering if I made the right decision, worrying that I’ve stopped too soon, worrying that I’ve made a mistake.  Depression never goes away, it’s always there, waiting, all that changes is our ability to handle situations and our emotions.

I’m proud that I’ve managed to come off the meds, anyone who suffers from depression will tell you that weaning off your meds is hard.  I did it, and I’m proud of myself.

I’m slowly winning my battle.

Being a Donor

I used to give blood. Sadly I can’t anymore, simply because my veins refuse to give up their precious cargo. I can’t manage to fill up a pint bag of blood, hell I can barely provide a few phials of blood when I go to the doctors. Only 4% of the UKs population donate blood, yet everyday more and more people need transfusions to save their lives.

When I was advised not to continue donating blood, I was given the option to donate bone marrow, a much more painful and invasive process than blood donation, but equally important. I am a marrow donor. I’ve yet to give up my marrow to help someone else, and I may never be called, but one day I might. One day I may get the chance to save someone elses life.

When I was 18 I decided I wanted to be an organ donor, so I registered. The only thing I’m not donating when I die is my lungs. I have so much trouble with them when I’m ill, that I can’t possibly pass them on to someone else. But everything else is being given away.

To me donation is so important, and when I saw an advert for the Anthony Nolan Trust, I didn’t hesitate.  I filled in the form to become a donor and submitted it online via their website.

A few days later I got a small package in the post, containing a form to fill in and a nifty little plastic container and instructions of how to provide my saliva sample.  Once that was completed it was sent off. A few weeks later I received confirmation that they were happy to accept me as a donor and I got my donor card.

The Anthony Nolan Trust helps people with blood cancers. You can donate marrow or stem cells to help someone with cancer.

I may be a very small part of the population, but I am doing everything I can to donate what I have to help save others.

What are you doing?

Paste – a new hair styling product

So it turns out that when you smell things that other people can’t smell (like ammonia) the doctors you see put paste in your hair.

Paste in your hair is a nightmare to remove.

Let me start from the beginning.

A while back I posted about smelling things that others couldn’t smell (ammonia). It started to get to me when I realised I was smelling it outside, in the fresh air. So I saw my doctor, who referred me to a neurologist, who scheduled an MRI (which was fine) and an EEG. It has taken 4 months to get the EEG done.

When you have an EEG, they measure your head, then they mark your scalp, then they clean it with gel, then they stick some paste on an electrode and stick it to your scalp. Not just one electrode mind, but about 30. I looked like an electronic Medusa.
The technician did make a joke that you couldn’t possibly go out in public with the electrodes secured to your scalp as people might think you’re a new type of suicide bomber. That was an awkward moment.

Then I had to open and close my eyes, relax and take big deep breaths and then I had flashing lights directly into my eyes. I fell asleep.

30 minutes later the test was done.
It’ll be a week before my neurologist has the results and I suspect that it’ll be even longer before I find out what they are.

I strongly suspect these smells are auras for migraines, and thankfully I don’t actually get the headache. Just the auras.

I really hope its not epilepsy. Of any kind.

But I’ll guess I’ll find out soon enough.

In the meantime I’m still not 100% sure I’ve gotten all the paste out of my hair.

Damn paste. Thank god there was no glitter!