Redheads kicking butt

I'm not going to review every single film I see, but this one definitely deserves a mention! I went to see Brave with my mum (yeah, my mum. It's a very mummy/daughtery film), because being a redhead, how could I not. I want to support Disney Pixar's first ever female protagonist. First ever! I think it's ludicrous how Pixar, after what, at least 10 years(?) of fantastic films, have never had a female lead. Not very good. Big tut tuts. So, in this epic week of girl power (SPICE GIRLS FTW), Merida takes pride of place. And how perfect to have a lead who is a fiery, independent, beautiful redhead - about bloody time!

No way! I shoot arrows too!

What I was most moved by (yes moved, I was very emotional), was how unlike Disney princesses of yesteryear, Merida didn't need a prince. There was a happy ending, but that happy ending didn't revolve around her finding true love, getting married and all that traditional frankly outdated palaver. It was all about breaking tradition and controlling your own destiny - whatever you want that destiny to be. I can't help but feel a swell of optimism of how this young generation of little girls will grow up with role models like this - head strong, determined, courageous and independent, rather than the majority of princesses we were all brought up idolising - ones who, for them, only desired to find their Prince Charming. And not Princesses who are always pristine, neat and practically perfect in every way, with skin as white as snow, lips as red as roses... no, princesses with wild unruly hair that matches the untameable soul inside - a rugged natural beauty that stems as much from the outside shimmer as it does from an infectious spark within. I didn't need the 3D goggles to gauge how much depth Merida had - a multi-faceted diamond of a lass inside and out (the 'out' thanks to the incredible animators, seriously, wow). Did I mention she was a redhead?! Not blonde, not brunette, a redhead! Yes yes, there was Ariel, but c'mon, her hair was totally dyed. This was ginge. True ginge. I was bursting with pride!

As lovely Merida was big on escaping fate, and controlling her own destiny, I began to realise how far away from my normal self this transplant situation has made me. Normally, (blowing my own trumpet here) i'm quite similar to Merida (yay!) - I believe if you want something to happen you go out and you get the oil and you get those cogs moving, not relying on some external power to decide what will happen for you. But waiting for a transplant is different - you have no other option but to sit and wait. It's a disconcerting feeling of powerlessness. Yet on the other hand, because there is really nothing I can do to control what is happening, I can indulge in this guilty pleasure of pure passivity and let archaic and somewhat alien notions of fate and magic play with my thoughts (in case you haven't realised!). It's a bit of a treat. I'll chill out in this dreamy passive timeless frozen (almost)care-free floating bubble humming 'que sera sera' until my gaudy pink mobile rings and bursts it. Then afterwards back to reality i'll go, fighting fit and ready to shoot fate and destiny down with a well aimed arrow. I'll be so fed up of doing jack shit that i'll probably like, marry a prin... I mean, hunt down a job and a career! No rush though. This is kind of a biggie.

But yes, I want more princesses like her. We need more princesses, heroines, protagonists, role models like her. Pixar, you dun good. And it was funny too. But i'm never going to a PG film at the cinema again. So many crying babies and talking kids and kids eating and kids crying and mums shushing... argh. Kids.


I also want to mention my Podhaler. I've been using it nearly three weeks now, and it's really been quite life-changing. It takes a bit of getting used to because the powder can be really harsh on the back of the throat and makes me cough like crazy. But it's so quick - 5 mins tops, and because it's so speedy speedy, I find I actually take my Tobi much more that I used to. Before, with the neb, I used to sometimes not do it especially if there was no clean nebuliser bits or was in a rush to go somewhere, it just took so much time and effort. But that's not even an issue now, so i've hardly missed a single dose! To avoid the tickle and the coughing I often take a much more gentle breath in, which just means I end up having to take 3 inhalations per capsule rather than two to get all the powder. But that's no biggie.

If you CFers aren't too hot at always taking your nebs, I would recommend asking about and trying to get the podhaler - you might find you're more likely to take your meds more often. I'm always quite compliant with taking my meds, but we all have our off moments where we just can't be bloody arsed. I find I now have less of those, which both my conscience and i'm sure my lungs are very pleased about! I have it on good authority that my lungs are happy, as my lung functions at my 2 weekly hospital appointments (I know, 2 weekly, so lame) continue to get better! That is why I now kick butt, just like my on-screen doppelganger.

I Camb(ridge), I saw, I conquered.

Finally got released from Addenbrookes hospital today! It wasn't the worst hospital stay ever - actually, I quite enjoyed it. I succumbed and payed for those bedside television bundle things - something that the Brompton gives you for free and that I usually refuse to pay into because HELLO you should be able to watch TV in hospital without paying extortionate prices! But anyway I went all out and got the 5 day mega super cool bundle which had so many films - it was heavenly! Last night I watched the new Johnny English -

BIG MISTAKE.

I was in stitches and crying with laughter the whole way through, fluctuating between sheer joy at Rowan Atkinson's genius and utter guilt at annoying the hell out of my ward buddies. As I had headphones in, of course the ward was deadly silent apart from my coughing-come-raucous laughter. I had to turn the damn film off and watch like Emergency Bikers every 5 minutes to re-zero my escalating hilarity. Hospitals make you go cookoo.

Apart from watching films, the week was spent being shipped off for an ultrasound, an MRI, an endoscopy (yes ANOTHER FRICKIN ENDO), being squished full of Meroprenem (an antibiotic I never have!), and being squeezed dry of blood thanks to the phlebotomists in maroon uniforms and the nurses checking my blood sugars at every possible moment.

Ultrasound was same old shit. Sort of. Nobbly liver, fat spleen, a miniscule dot of fluid. I've had so many ultrasounds recently I can't remember when they found this little bit of fluid, but yes, it's happened. I have fluid. 4cm ish right at the bottom of my abdomen, and on this occassion another tiny dot just under my liver. They also said my spleen was now 23cm - 3cm bigger in 2 weeks? I'm hoping one of the measurements was calculated wrongly and that it hasn't expanded that fast...! Apart from that they did find a lump in the middle of my liver. Got a bit scarred thinking it was like, cancer. Imagine - all this, and she ends up getting cancer. Honestly. This then led to the...

...MRI, which I absolutely hate. It's all the holding your breath, lying flat stuff which I can't do. Last time I was coughing blood (or trying very very hard not to) the whole time, which resulted in a complete waste of an MRI as they couldn't see a thing. I was more prepared this time - I was propped up on pillows and had an oxygen mask so I could hold my breath for longer. I was trying to remix Abba songs in my head to the beat of the deafening and really quite intimidating buzzes, but not even Abba could drown out that aural monstrosity. They saw the lump wasn't anything too dodgy, just a very odd scarred bit.

They found another varicie to band in the endoscopy - obviously the pressure in my arteries/ veins keeps rising. Slightly worried that they'll keep popping up, and there's nothing I can do about it. I just hope I don't get another big bleed because that would suck, and my life would involve endoscopys and fasting and blood transfusions and mushy food on a weekly basis. Saying that, I did by-pass the mush and head straight for the chicken nuggets after the procedure, on the promise to mum that I would chew every nugget a million times. The endoscopy department was the most incredible place - I was wheeled into this waiting bay that was about the size of a cathedral (but not as tall, obv), and along the sides were curtained off bays, each one with a bed. It was like Auschwitz crossed with a chicken battery farm in it's disturbing, clinical sterility, but in a bright pastel-hued almost utopian heaven. (Messed up? Sorry.) Down a corridor paralell to the longest side of the room was room after room of endosopy suites that continued for what seemed indefinitely. Mass production applied to healthcare. There was something quite Kafkaesque about it - if you've seen the 60's film version of The Trial - it was a bit like that. I know i've painted quite a contradictory picture of this place - I simultaneously loathed and loved it, intrigued yet repulsed... awe-struck for sure.

The meroprenem antibiotic was given to fight the infection that they suspected was somewhere in my body and that was causing me to turn yellow. They never found the infection, or sepsis (whatever that means), but the drug did the trick as my Simpsons hue slowly faded to daffodil to buttercup to primrose to sunshine to sick to mushy banana to 'is there something odd about that girl?' ('Probably?').

You get the idea...

I'll quickly write about the hoards of student doctors that were sent my way -  obviously I must be an interesting case as a constant stream of med students came to poke and prod me, to ask about my CF and my liver, to rummage through my meds... they all seemed quite fascinated, and would return the next day with a friend or two ha! I think they were quite impressed with my knowledge of med stuff, which I suppose you naturally accumulate living with a multi-system thing. Endocrine, respiratory, digestive, circulatory... CF is simply amazing in how it's annoyingly shit tentacles reach and affect every branch of almost every system in the human body. It's shit, but my god, I know a lot! Never really realised it, but when the final year student docs ask you questions about why this is affected and how, and you can answer them, it makes you feel quite bloody good!

I had one student who did a trial exam on me - she was asked to do a respiratory examination. At the end she basically said, if it wasn't for the clubbing of the fingernails which indicate a chronic lung condition, she wouldn't be able to tell I had anything wrong with my lungs. GET IN!!! I LOVE it when that happens. Puts a massive grin on my face and I couldn't wait to tell mum that all her hard work when I was young paid off, and all MY hard work paid off too! Wait, is PAYING off!

Well anyway, i'm home, liver levels are a bit more normal than they were (one test should be under 17, mine was 300, hence the jaundice), and my appetite is back to it's brilliant normal self. I'll miss the Burger King downstairs, but nothing beats home-cooked food. Obviously.

Insulin bruises thanks to my spleen and its non-clotting ways! Yuck.

Toesies! Yuck.

Moonrise Kingdom

Yesterday afternoon I saw Wes Anderson's 'Moonrise Kingdom'. GO SEE IT. It's gorgeous. Everything he does is gorgeous. I think it's the colours. Like when Dorothy steps out of her black and white house into technocolour and realises she ain't in Kansas anymore, Toto. The girl in the film also carries round a kitten in a basket through the wild forests, which is just way too cute. I think i'd like camping if it was like this film - if my cat would be willing to come with me, if I had a portable LP player, and had a proper Khaki Scout boyfriend to set up camp in such glorious places. Oh, and if I was twelve. In reality i'll just let Wes Anderson create my escapism for me, because life is never quite as pretty as his films. It just doesn't really match up, does it? It's like everything has been lovingly wrapped up in aging parchment, tied up with twine, and has a little hand written declaration of love hanging off the bow.

P.S. Why don't people write letters anymore?


But anyway last night was a joke. I think I drifted off to sleep around 3, but was up every few hours coughing and spluttering... too hot so I put the fan on,  then I was too chilly, then my light blew up, then my blood sugars were really high, then it got light, then my blood sugars were too low... I don't think I got very much sleep at all, and now I feel rotten. Thank goodness it's sunday so no-one has any expectations of doing anything productive. Not that I ever do anyway... I've asked dad to bring me back some cheapo fairy lights from Homebase so I can decorate the living room. They maaaayy end up in my room though. A gal can never have enough fairy lights!