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The day with the big black plume of panic

By on Mar 7, 2013 in Corporate Puppet, family, health, Oh Mama | 1 comment

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Well. Last week was fun.

I lie, of course. It was about as enjoyable as an acute chest infection. Which is what I had. For TEN FUCKING DAYS.

So: not much to write about, really. My perspective over the last week has essentially been anchored to my bed, and few exciting things happen in the confines of my tiny bedroom (no offence, husband). I applied for another job yesterday (excellent money; great opportunities. I hit around 95% of the essential criteria and 90% of the desirable, but I don’t think that my experience is exactly what they’re looking for, so as much as I’d love it, I don’t think I’ll get it. But since I think I had 100% of both for that last job and didn’t get anywhere, what the hell, right? You miss 100% of the chances you don’t take. It was the hardest application I’ve ever submitted though, consisting of five competency-based questions that could only be answered with examples of 200 words or less. Jesus).

Other than that, I’ve just been trying to breathe in and out, which has been more difficult than it sounds. Monday – the day before S went into hospital – was a huge ball of stress, and had me cough-vomming as a careered around the house, trying to straighten it up for my in-laws who were coming up on Tuesday to dog- and housesit whilst British Gas came to service the boiler. It’s been ages since I’d felt that overwhelmed. It was like this big, black cloud of panic plumed around me; I was behind on everything – writing, housework, chores – and terrified that the hospital staff would clock my infection and insist I couldn’t stay overnight with S. I hardly slept at all Monday night.

I’m still spasming (only word I can think to describe it), but the crackling in my lungs has gone now, and I’m able to sleep semi-upright now in oppose to fully upright, which is what I’ve had to do for a fortnight. Unsurprisingly, I haven’t been feeling particularly well rested of late. British Gas finally turned up and completed the appliance service – phew, nothing needed condemning – I’m knee-deep in a squeelsomely exciting commission about Silent Hill for NowGamer, and my little boy’s surgery went fantastically well.

I mean that. FANTASTICALLY. He’s been a rockstar. Had it not been for the small puddles of blood at the corners of his mouth – a splash of pink on the bandage around the canula in his right hand – you wouldn’t think he’d had anything done. But I’ll cover that all in a bespoke entry over the next few days. Suffice to say he’s bounced back with perplexing speed, didn’t even require an overnight stay, and I’m a very, very proud Mummy. Even the theatre staff commented on how relaxed and polite he’d been before being putting under.