H – 1: H is for Hillary (One Can Only Hope)

I’ve known for months how many weeks it was until the American election. I remembered every now and then that it falls on Graham’s birthday. However, as the election has gotten closer, the times that I’ve forgotten that his birthday is the same day have outweighed the times that I’ve remembered. I would blame the Squatter but I’ve got no trouble remembering the election is tomorrow so it’s really Trump’s fault.

So, in case I forget in the midst of all the stress and nervousness of tomorrow, I want to wish him a happy birthday in advance. This is not something I would usually do publicly but these are not normal times by any stretch of the imagination (he’s called in sick today, some people can’t handle the pace!).

Happy Birthday Mr Cole, my old-man toy boy. I’m hoping that I can manage a date in Costa or Subway, if you’re feeling up to it. As a warning, though, my Mam has asked the nurses to sedate me tomorrow if the election stress gets to me, so I might not be awake!

SALT Break Twitty

I’ve been struggling for words in a literal sense since my surgery. I have no trouble understanding anyone or anything I read or watch. The thoughts are in my head, I just struggle for the connections between my thoughts and my speech (including in written form). I found myself saying the wrong words immediately after the surgery but knowing they were the wrong words and wondering where they’d come from. I was experiencing a slowness of thought and struggling to express myself that was alien to my usual verbose style.

The speech and language therapist (SALT) assigned to me told me that it’s very common after brain surgery. She saw me on Friday and it was improving from the post-surgery fog: I was saying the wrong words less and less but still struggling to find the words to express myself. I saw her again today and she’s assessed me as having a mild problem (she doesn’t know the half of it!) but it’s reassuring that, as my energy levels have improved, so has my speech. So apologies for my inactivity on the blog. I have a doctor’s note for my absence…

Fits and Starts

A blood test showed on Friday that my phenytoin levels are once again sub-therapeutic (a score of three against a target of 10), so they’ve upped my dose again as of Saturday. If more proof were needed that the levels of one of my three anti-seizure medications were low, Friday night brought another seizure after over 36 hours without one. There were a few more over the weekend so they are not quite under control. I’m awaiting both the results of a blood test taken this morning and the recommendations of the neurologists.

I saw Mr H earlier and he thought that we need to get the seizures under control before I go home. As much as I’d like to go home, I agree with him. What’s a few more days in hospital when you’re racking up dozens of NHS points (while we still have an NHS).

As I implied above, I’m feeling a lot more energetic (relatively!) as the days go by. My strength and movement in my leg has gone up from non-existent to feeble. I’m starting to walk short distances down the corridor with the splint on with assistance. So, despite the seizures, I am doing a lot better as the days go by.

I’ll feel even better if the American voters do their thing tomorrow and elect HRC. This is classic Trump: outright lying about things that can be fact-checked, presumably knowing his supporters don’t check.


I saw the kids on both Saturday and Sunday, which was super cool. On Saturday, Leo was walking around my room like he owned the place, found the danger zones (clinical waste bins) and ventured down the corridor to explore. He has a seventh tooth that’s come through, and the eighth was causing him a fair bit of angst yesterday, which cut short our family time. His crying is not what a ward full of people with bad heads need.

Jennifer brought me two leaves on Saturday, ate half my Sunday dinner yesterday, showed me her new book (Funny Bones), which I read to her, practised her writing and generally behaved impeccably. It saddens me that she’s used to seeing me in a hospital bed, but I’m proud of how she behaves when she’s here.

Coulda Woulda Shoulda

I should have been returning to work today after maternity leave. Instead, I’m a lady of leisure as a guest of the RVI. With two holes and what’s left of the Squatter in my head (I don’t know how much Mr H removed). Still, it’s best not to brag about such things…



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