- Catherine Irwin
- Perth, WA, Australia
- Hi friends. To those I have met in person and the many I haven't - welcome to our nest. Thanks so much for stopping by. I am a mama of six baby birds and wife to one papa bird. Our nest is an intricately woven home, crafted over time, through the highs and lows of life, and many in-betweens. We are soon to leave our Australian nest to re-locate to our second home, the UK. This is our story, of our new life in a new country, the trials and tribulations, bidding goodbye to precious friends and embracing new. I know at times, our wings will be flapping so hard to keep us moving forward that we will tire, however, a little perseverence will bring effortless gliding amongst a soft breeze, and even stronger wings for the journey ahead. Welcome to our flight......
Friday, 19 November 2010
Ill's and Ails ...
It's been quite a week and now I am taking a breather. In fact, the term 'breathe' is described as 'to draw in air and expel out of the lungs'. Something that we take for granted, of course, however, sometimes when I am busy, tired and stressed, I forget to breathe properly. Instead, I take a series of short, sharp puffs of air followed by a big sigh as the lack of CO2 starts to take its toll.
This week was one of those weeks that I forgot the whole breathing thing. Mainly because my family have been either at the hospital, the GP's or sick in bed.
Firstly, child number four, our 'growling princess', came down with a cold. No biggie, except that our little one never does anything by halves and she ended up with pneumonia and we spent hours at the GP and eventually came home armed with meds and steroids to stop her from labouring with her breathing. No small matter considering she turns into a writhing, seething mass of arms and legs when her poor caring parents try to administer the required dose. It is more a case of pin her down on the floor and hold her nose which in turn makes her open her mouth and swallow (the Doctor recommended this - not me).
This was the same day that my ever-suffering OBH went into hospital for a little day-spa therapy in the form of 'contraceptive plumbing down-stairs'. He cut a forlorn figure as I dropped him off at the hospital entrance, and asked me whether I was going to walk him in. 'No my love', I said, as I opened the passenger door for him, 'It's not like you are giving birth, and did I mention, I did that six times?' I did feel a little sorry for him as I drove away, but only momentarily, as my mind was on more pressing matters, - drive-through coffee fix.
So the OBH was being dealt with, the little one was sick and my other little ones (the twins) were secreting a large amount of nasal fluid. After medicating everybody in my path, as well as myself, it was soon time to collect the OBH.
Upon arriving, I noticed the whole ward was full of men having the same plumbing procedure and their faces were pictures of pain and anguish at the very thought of 'their boys' being tampered with, and even worse, cut (which by the way is teeny tiny and they don't have stiches - only glue!). There they all were moaning and groaning and walking like cowboys. I took one look at the nurse and said 'Oh for goodness sake'. She just rolled her eyes and said 'I know, I know'. No more words needed there!
The lovely nurse then enquired of the OBH whether he needed a wheelchair to get to the car to which I snorted 'Are you kidding? I'm not pushing him! I didn't have a wheelchair after pushing out my babies'. So he walked, well hobbled, leaning on my arm, whilst I kindly told him that the car wasn't too far away and would he prefer to take the lift instead of the stairs. See, I can be compassionate and sympathetic when called upon to do so.
So thank goodness this week is nearly at a close. The little ones are recovering, the big one is faring well despite his traumatic procedure, and I think that I am due to have some time off. I might book in for some day surgery myself. Honestly, I could think of nothing more enjoyable than lying back on crisp white sheets, having my brow mopped, being fed intravenous high-as-a-kite meds and have my food brought to me on a tray. It sounds like absolute bliss. I just have to work out what I am going to have done and that's the fun part ...