ducking for apples
"Change one letter and it's the story of my life ..."

MUCH better now. We've had a whole weekend of pretty nice weather, pottered in the garden, chatted to one or two people, planted seeds, finished chicken pens, planned where raised beds are going to go, and generally relaxed.

Leo helped with the watering.

Gosh, there was lots of water. And it was VERY helpful.

Luckily we had put his seat outside the greenhouse before we gave him the hose, otherwise my seedlings would have been drowned. As it was, only he was. And me. And B. His face when he discovered that the water sprayed back on him when he put his hand over the end of the hose was an absolute picture - more photos on my Flickr if you click through.

On Sunday afternoon we had some very dear old friends visit, that we haven't seen properly for ages. The children built a den at the top of the garden whilst we sat on the patio looking out over the view and caught up.

And I have gone in to business as an Egg Pusher:

The hens are laying very well at the moment and the chaps seem to be doing their job very enthusiastically - so we are off. Place your orders here!

Today, B has gone away for three overnights - he dropped Leo at nursery on his way out this morning and his mum, Kate, is coming to stay with me today. She is going home tonight and then coming back with Vic tomorrow for the night - he is going to make some raised beds for me and finish off one or two other things that need doing in the house.

Positive positive positive. And now, I am going out to do things in the sunshine.

I am so ashamed. For no good reason, really.

As part of my 'getting to grips with things' approach recently, I asked the GP if there was any help available from the Community Psychiatric Team. They offer CBT and that kind of thing, which I have found very helpful in the past and which B and I felt might help me with a bit of extra support now.

However, instead of offering me anything like that, I was given an appointment with a psychiatrist. It's peculiar, isn't it? I am happy with the idea of seeing a psychologist for talking-type therapies and I refuse to be stigmatised because I am suffering from depression. But being referred to a psychiatrist makes me feel dirty and ashamed and very, very scared.

I know that this probably comes from the period in my teens when I suffered from chronic fatigue syndrome and as a family we/I were/was referred for all sorts of bizarre and positively damaging 'family therapies' and psychiatry, which were no help at all. And I was repeatedly told by my family that if I didn't 'pull myself together' then the psychiatric people would 'lock me away'.

But, unusually for me even knowing all of this, is not allowing me to rationalise my emotions away.

We went to the appointment yesterday to see what help they felt they could offer me. I was extremely reluctant to go and literally had nightmares all weekend about being trapped and needing to escape from places*.

The young woman that we saw (B came with me) took a case-history for about an hour and then announced that she would want to see me after my twenty week scan to check that the medication is not affecting the baby; and periodically after that to 'monitor my condition'.

Pointless. Time wasting. Bollocks.

The GP is 'monitoring' me.

The Health Visitor is 'monitoring' me.

The Midwife-with-six-organic-compost-heaps is 'monitoring' me.

The Sweary Obstretician is 'monitoring' me.

Over the last week I feel** as if I have spent more time attending and travelling to and from doctor's appointments that I have at home; and it's making me very, very stressed. Absolutely the last f-ing thing I need is yet another person 'monitoring' me. Particularly since all the people at the baby-end of things are perfectly happy with the very-incredibly-startlingly-low possibility that the low dose of escitalopram might-may-possibly not-yet-be-proven to be safe for pregnant people in the producing-a-baby-with-fins department because it hasn't been around for long enough.

I feel truly fucked about by them all and I am not going to see the psychiatrist again. I have also cancelled my 'monitoring' appointment with the GP and am not going to make another one unless I actually need some help.

Because, you know what? B and I are 'monitoring' me, too.

For today, slightly irritably, that is all. Next post - something not related to babies, pregnancy or depression, as even I'm getting bored by it all now and everyone else has probably nodded off.

---

* And about human-sized badgers dressed in plate armour and wielding broad-swords, oddly.
** Unreasonably.

So, Pa has Parkinson's apparently. It can be controlled with medication and people are now talking about him going to the local cottage hospital for a while and then going home. However, the only way to tell whether it *is* Parkinson's for certain is to give him the medication and see whether he improves. This seems rather hit and miss - but so far things are sounding cautiously positive.

More positive here, too. I am feeling more like myself - still tired, still weepy, still feeling a bit weird about interacting with Leo, still not really wanting to be left on my own. BUT - the physio has fitted me with a HUGE bit of tubi-grip, that goes from under my armpits to below my hips (whooo-hooo, SEXY!) and that is helping with the pelvic pain no end. I have even done some garden pottering. And today I cleaned the bathroom AND scraped the yack out from the bottom of the oven. Which is a tri-annual job, normally, and only prompted when the house fills with smoke when you turn the grill on. Oh. Wait. That's what happened.

We had a very pleasant afternoon earlier in the week, helping a friend kill her chickens. That sounds like we are some kind of bizarre Manson-family-alike ... but it was a lovely afternoon, she has a BRILLIANT plucking machine and it all went very smoothly. I even remembered to take a change of clothes to change in to before I picked Leo up from nursery.

Ah, nursery. He LOVES it. Thankfully. One whole day and two half days. Bliss for everyone. Tomorrow, B and I are planning on dropping him off and then visiting our bees for a few hours.

Tonight - chicken curry and an early night. B is working and won't be back until the small hours.

Things are, tentatively, looking up.

After further investigation, Pa's problem swallowing is a 'slow swallow' rather than no swallow at all. Apparently this means that he can safely eat puréed food and therefore doesn't need a nasal tube.

Everyone is keeping very quiet about the prospects of him being able to come out of hospital and go home, rather than to a nursing home. Particularly as the ward he is on now has diarrhoea and vomiting as well as c. diff. His is slightly closer to his normal self, though:

Ma: Here, dear, you must eat the rest of this yoghurt, to keep your strength up!
Pa: (glum as a Marshwiggle) What's the point? The world is just going to be FULL of yoghurt from now on.

We are all very relieved that he is able to see the bright side of things.

In the meantime, Ma has had a tooth removed and is soldiering on on a diet of soup and soft things; my change of medication is making me as bats as a deserted tower in the middle of the woods protected by an force of elite shock troops from the Bats Protection Society; B has pulled his shoulder lifting Leo all the time; and the final straw - I have come down with a cold that has made my nose all red. This is not being made any better by the fact that there has been an east wind for three days now, which it seems to make the stove smoke like mad.

B has given our neighbour a lift to a hotel up near Lake Vrnwy for an evening out and I am about to cook something nice for our tea - Leo has been asleep for half an hour.

We are hanging in. Thank you for all the good wishes, some of which made me go all weepy. I passed them on to Ma, who is very touched. She doesn't read the blog and pretends that she is disapproving of me writing about them all - but I think it helped her that so many people are routing for her.

Also, remember this? Delivering flowers to these particular graves is an annual event for Ma - and she sent me a text earlier this afternoon to let me know that this year, it had happened without incident.

So that's a good thing.

Another positive thing is that we have made a list of meals that we are going to make this week and actually gone out and bought some vegetables to make that happen with. Vegetables! Cooking! Hasn't happened for a while around here - but last night it was chilli and tomorrow it is spinach lasagne.

For now, that is all.

Just a quick update. As of the weekend, the hospital were talking about Pa coming out this week.

However, yesterday it transpired that he has a problem swallowing. This is not going to get any better and is the reason that he has a chest infection - bits of food and liquid are getting down in to his lungs. The options are to continue as he is, feeding him normally and accepting the probability of continuing chest infections running him down; or for him to have a feeding tube inserted in to his nose.

Either way, he is not going to be going home - they are talking about a Community Hospital or a Nursing Home.

We have some very difficult decisions to make as a family.

I am a slightly better. The consultant has swapped me back on to my original medication as apparently the risk of foetal deformity is very small and it has become clear to everyone over the last ten days that the new thing they have put me on isn't helping me very much. They are also going to fit me with some kind of scary corset-type thing for the SPD.

These all seem very minor considerations at the moment.

I don't want to stop blogging, but I do seem to be writing a catalogue of woes at the moment, so excuse me if I become a bit 'gappy'.

We should hear about Pa's test results later today and we will then make a decision about whether we need to go back to Somerset.

Just had a phone call from sister Natalie. Pa was taken in to hospital last night with vomiting and dehydration and has been having tests all night.

Is the universe destruction-testing me, or something?