My bloggers nightmare..

This blogging thing is not as easier as I first anticipated.  My mind is full of blogging topics lined up in a neat little row waiting to be blurted out.  However I find when I start they muddle and blur together to make a giant blog fuzz.  

Preventing myself from ranting about the most recent thing to pee me off is rather difficult, especially when it is a topic I value so greatly.  Yet writing happy topics requires that smile as you type and sometimes it is just not realistic to expect it to be there on demand.

I want to inspire.

I want my writing to be meaningful… even about topics we normally wouldn’t give a second thought.  Choosing from the giant topic fuzz has become increasingly difficult yet I’m not even in double figures.

 Gosh who knew this would be so challenging?  

The dreaded Smear…

Males and people likely to boak should not read the following…

I was 21 and living in the Scottish Borders when I received my first appointment through the post explaining I was due a Smear.  I didn’t think a great deal about it and was more worried about flashing my foof to a nurse than what the results would be!  I’m now 23 (and a half), had 8 smears, one biopsy and some laser treatment.  The reason I’m writing a blog on this is because, like a lot of people I was terrified when the first results came through, I would at least like someone to know someone else has gone through it too.

The first smear was fine.  I was a barrel of nerves and think I must have washed about 6 times in the shower to make sure I was as clean as possible… last thing you want when you take off your knickers is green fumes coming out of them!  The nurse was lovely and explained the procedure well to put me at ease.  So I wasn’t too surprised when the nurse asked me to strip my bottom half, lie on the bed, bend my legs and with my feet together let my knees drop as low as possible.  Thank goodness I’m Flexible!  I was still a wreck with nerves so wasn’t overly amused when the duck clamps appeared.  Duck clamps go in you, they then ease you open, smear taken, job done!  Wait four weeks for the result.  Well my result would be fine… wouldn’t it?

Got to admit the panic set in when the results landed on my door step, it only increased when I read ‘Inconclusive’. What did this mean?  Thankfully a friend calmed me down and explained in her best way possible that actually this was really normal for a lot of women and not to panic, it merely meant they didn’t get enough cells.  Back for Smear number two.

Number two was much the same but with the result ‘ABNORMAL CELLS’.  Another panicked call to a friend who explained again this is a regular thing for a lot of people and I’m not half Alien!  It wasn’t till number three I had the urge to nut the nurse.  After being violated by the duck clamps for a third time (baring in mind they cover them in cold jelly first just to make you shiver) she then stopped, looked up and casually asked how I felt!  ”Well love, you’ve just inserted freezing cold plastic clamps into my lady hole, cracked me open and then paused for thought… I’m f**king fantastic” was what I would of liked to have said however I think I squeaked that I was fine instead.

Smear four and onwards were completed at the local hospital in a clinic I’ve never been able to pronounce.  Col-pos-cop-y, or something to that effect.  Being personally phoned by a Doctor and told you will be referred to the hospital is slightly terrifying and I was convinced they were going to tell me I had cervical Cancer.  This is a tough thing to put out your mind as the wait between appointments is usually 6 months and my results continued to come back ‘Abnormal’.

By appointment number five I was aware they might take a Biopsy and having no pain threshold at all I had to drag my Mum along.  Anyone who has had a smear done in the hospital might be aware that not only is the doctor looking inside you but they put it on a TV screen next to your head for you to see too.  Lovely, always wanted to see inside my Vagina… My bucket list is complete!  Got to admit the Biopsy hurt, not the first snip of flesh, but the  second and third weren’t to comfortable.  Oh and I forgot to mention… No sex for a month… A WHOLE MONTH!  It sucks being female, give me a kick in the nuts any day.

I waited what felt like a life time for the results and even remember saying to my Mum that I wished they would just treat me and get it over and done with.  As you can imagine by the time you’ve had five smears and a Biopsy you start to see things in a different light.  The duck clamps have been more appropriately named ‘The Jaws of Death’!  You can hear the quiet noise the clamps make when they are opening and it sounds fairly similar to an old fashion wind up toy.  (After five visits you notice things in much more detail)!  Well finally the results arrived and I had low grade something or other which yip you guessed it, lead to Smears number 6, 7 and 8!!!!!!!!!!

Seven was finally my treatment.  My unsuspecting boyfriend had to chum me to this and thankfully as he was sitting at my head he did not have the view the Doctor had.  However I seem to remember him making a comment when we came out about watching what they were doing on the TV screen and it being ‘cool’!  Cool isn’t really how I would describe getting injections and then laser treatment to the Lady Garden.  Although I was pleasantly surprised that the anaesthetic didn’t have the fact effect as it does in the Dentists.  Yes it does numb things obviously, but after getting your teeth done you usually feel like your jaw is hanging off and feeling massive.  Thankfully my lady parts didn’t feel massive or like they were falling out, so that was a big bonus.  I felt so much better after having the treatment and have just attended my eighth appointment to get the results and find out if it worked.  Fingers crossed it did and then I can go back every three years.  If not then I’m back for yearly appointments and I guess more treatment.

I really wanted to write about this because although it sounds like I’ve had an ordeal can you imagine never knowing at 23 that your life could be at risk in the future?  I at least can say I’ve been dealing with it and trying to prevent anything more serious developing and I really do urge others to do the same.  Don’t be scared of the tests, it will be worth it in the end.  Just remember one thing… do NOT ask the Nurse if they have any pads.  You would think after eight smears I would remember my own one, nope!  The Nurse pulled out what I can only describe as a gigantic cushion with the potential to absorb half the Pacific Ocean… At least I got a giggle.   

Good Luck Ladies!

Prepare to be shocked… I don’t like alcohol!

How many of us when we were young were so excited by the thought of getting to drink because we knew we were under age?  I bet the same amount of young ones still screw their face up when they take each sip because lets be honest, most alcohol tastes bloody vile!

I dread the times when people say ‘try this, it’s really nice‘.  It can be as nice as it likes but 99% of the time alcohol still tastes like total shit to me!  

Now I am aware that I am a bit of a rare species, and I know that because when I tell people I don’t drink they appear so shocked and usually question whether I am being truthful.  I put this to the test one day and told someone I had once been locked up for committing murder… they did not question me, disbelieve me, or in fact seem the slightest bit shocked.  Yet when I told them I was joking but was in fact a non-drinker the response was “WHAT?  You don’t drink?  Like ever ever drink?  WHY?”  Well my friends perhaps it’s because alcohol bares no meaning in my life.  I do NOT judge people who like a drink, in fact I have maybe used Tee Total in the wrong sense.  I will have a glass of bubbly at a wedding or on Christmas Day (usually ends up that I am quite p*ssed by the bottom of the glass), I sometimes in-delve in the odd bevy at a night time or a hot summer day just for a different flavour… but by no means do I ever drink on a night out or drink more than maybe three drinks in one sitting!  

How shocking considering I am 23!  No, I am not a recovered alcoholic keeping tight hold of my reigns.  No, I was never a violent drunk about to lose all who loved me and push my criminal record to new heights.  No, I most definitely did not open my legs a little too wide the more I drank.  I merely decided not to drink and the reasons are as follows…

I am a complete and utter light weight.  I hate the feeling of not being in control.  One of my friends are ALWAYS so hammered it would be a complete crime to allow them to find their own way home (yes, you know exactly who you are) so I prefer to drive and sleep easy.  I do NOT trust even the nicest of people with alcohol in them, unfortunately at some point a drunk person will lose sight of the importance of things.  Whether it be their morals, their good behaviour, or the ability to find a suitable place to spew.  I could not afford to spend what others to on drink.  Lastly, the only time I ever blacked out and have no memory of events was at the age of 6, playing Chinese Tig in the playground when an older lad called Jason apparently ran into me sending me flying only to be greeted by a not so soft concrete floor.  I still have the bald spot to prove it no thanks to the ‘Traumatic Alopecia’ of whatever the Doc called it, so I would like this to remain my only black out.

How bad is it these days when people would rather believe you can commit murder over staying sober on a night out?  But I seem to have had little choice.  Test it one day, try telling people you only want ‘a couple’… Don’t worry you won’t get only two drinks.  I tried time and time again to put this theory into effect but sadly the more drunk everyone else got the less likely it was that they would only buy me one drink.  What the hell is wrong with that I hear you say.  Nothing is you are happy to be bladdered, but when you see friends wasting their money and feel yourself getting more and more out of your depth it stops being even remotely worth it.  A diet coke suffices these days and thankfully I was blessed with having enough confidence to shake my arse as awfully as I like without worrying what people think (mainly because when I see the state of people I know they won’t remember just how wobbly by arse was).

Some will see this post as a rant or something that tries to change others perspectives but those of you who know me are aware I do not judge if people like a drink, get drunk, or even use their nice new outfits as spew holders.  It’s a part of life.  

Perhaps the only thing that riles me is when people say, “I need a drink!”  No mate, no you don’t… you NEED Oxygen, you WANT a drink!!!!

Man’s best friend

The moment we met she was just another Dog!  Curled up under a table looking very worried (something to do with emptying the contents of the kitchen bin all over the flat), but soon I realised she was just a loving bundle that wasn’t just a best friend to someone but actually part of the light that saved them.

Her innocence (and the fact she can’t speak human) means she is completely oblivious to the fact she saved a life.  Perhaps more of her appeal.  None of this ‘Woop, go me, I’m a hero, I’ll rock your world’!  

There is something about the light in a this Dog’s eyes when you walk into the room and she comes to greet you… right before she licks you to death.  I’m sure everyone thinks this about their pets but she is a massive part of my life now.  Earlier in the year we nearly lost her and even just thinking about the house being without her made me sick.  I actually worried not having her would be the end of a relationship through grief that we had lost our baby and part of our hearts.  Maybe its like losing a child?  Many people might disagree but after last night I would fight this point to the death.  

Having one of my random dark moments where thoughts go deeper than you want them to I naturally got a bit emotional, leading to a ridiculously early night.  Now whether she can sense the emotion or merely wanted a cuddle I’m not sure.  What I am sure of was that she didn’t move all night, didn’t flinch or decide she was to hot and go on the floor like she always does.

Granted, if my Mum reads this there will be a comment about the dog hairs on the bed but sometimes those trivial things don’t matter.  This gorgeous bundle of black fur lay beside me all night, curled up in my arms and occasionally giving me the odd head nudge if I stopped stroking her chin.  That desperate feeling of needing someone to cuddle me and stop me feeling alone completely disappeared thanks to her loyalty.

Where would we be without man’s best friend?  I would be lost without you, sweet, slobbering Amy.

 

Popping my Blog Cherry!

Consider my blog cherry well and truly popped.  Although the phrase ‘popping your cherry’ always did seem odd… I’ve never heard a cherry pop!  A balloon maybe, but then I don’t think telling your friends you just popped your balloon has quite the same ring to it.

Before I go any further perhaps I should explain that spelling is not a strong point.  Yes kids, cheating in ALL of your class four spelling tests really does have a lasting effect.  Not something I’m proud of but definitely something I can live with.  Just yesterday I discovered the word ‘ensure‘ can also be spelt ‘insure‘ and that they have similar meanings.  Slightly intrigued by this but also a little p*ssed off as I will always question which word fits into my sentences.

So… my first blog… my head is filled with a million topics to rant about, would really like the first one to be positive though.  Start how you mean to go on and all that!!  Maybe I will start with a quote?  Now I’m aware there is a ‘quote’ button to the left of my screen however if I press this I will no doubt lose all this typing then rewrite it ending with a rant about rewriting it.  So just to be on the safe side I will type it in myself.

This is a quote by the late, great John Wayne.  Otherwise known as Marion Morrison… (perhaps not surprising he changed it).  This man has been a large part of my life, filling many an hour with his dodgy walk and one liners like “That’ll be the day”.  You just cannot beat that feeling of being curled on a sofa, fire blaring, blinds closed, and hoying a Western on.  The music usually sung by deep voiced men singing about horses, the women cast usually squeezed into those flash tight dresses with the odd frill on the cuff (yes, I would like to try one but that is besides the point), and the bars only ever selling whiskey that you rarely see anyone actually pay for!  

It’s true, I have a collection of John Wayne films.  Only ones in colour however, although I have seen the odd Black and White film he is in.  No, I don’t have a favourite.  I do however have a least favourite… The Shootist!  How can I be expected to love the last film he ever made?  He dies in it for a start.  Now, although he also dies in The Cowboys, that is not the same thing.  The Shootist sends that harrowing message that we all have our time and our hero’s will not be around forever.  I don’t want that in a film.  I want inspiration, Goodies fighting Baddies and winning, the odd Goodie injured for effect, Horses with radge names like Coachese, and a happy ending.

Oops, I’ve ranted.  Oh well, here is the quote I find to be very true…

“Bravery and Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway”