Life, Death, and Everything Inbetween

About six weeks ago, in the lead-up to being admitted to hospital, our family suffered a painful loss.

Our family is small. Sure, I have cousins and aunts and uncles, but I could walk past them on the street and not even recognize them. Those I can truly call family are rare and precious. For the most part, it's just the three of us, but there are a few extended family members who I consider truly a part of my family - not just strangers I'm related to.

On the 11th of March, my Great Uncle passed away.

Mum lost both of her parents as a teen, so her aunt and uncle became honorary parents, and in turn, honorary grandparents to my brother and I. Her brother, supposedly my uncle, was already married with kids, and they lost contact while he went to live his life and mum was left to pick up the pieces. Even at the funeral, she barely recognized him, and he was taken aback when she eventually recognized and went up to speak to him.

Apart from my Great Aunt and Uncle, I had grandparents on my father's side. My Grandma passed away when I was a baby, just a year or two before my dad. My Pa passed away when I was 16, and since then, I've feared the day my Great Aunt and Uncle go.

The guilt is nagging. It's got to be at least a year since I saw him. Ever since I was diagnosed with COPD and Bronchiolitis Obliterans, I've had near-constant infections, and not wanted to risk getting him sick when his health's been so fragile.

The worst part, is that I couldn't get to his funeral. It kills me. I put off hospital as long as I could, hoping I'd be able to get there, but on the 21st of March, the day of his funeral, my breathing was so bad I couldn't safely stay at home any longer, and couldn't walk for long enough to be able to push myself to go. I posted a couple of pictures on the online tribute though, and I wanted to share them with you guys.

I'm planning to go visit my Aunt this weekend. I feel terrible that it's taken me so long to get over there, but the past few weeks seem to have just been hectic. I'm worried I'll crack and start crying on her, and I really don't want to upset her. There are so many tears that haven't been shed, and I'm worried I'll breakdown when I see the empty corner where his armchair once sat.


As for everything else, I didn't want to bring down the positivity the last post seemed to have, but I hadn't gone to an appointment in two weeks - including the psychologist appointment and MRI I was supposed to have. When I saw the dietician this week, it was the first thing she asked about as she clicked through my notes.

  "Oh! And your appointment with the psych's this week?"
I covered my face with my hand  "It was last week"
  "How did it go? Did you go?"

I shook my head, and told her that was the main reason I didn't see my GP either - because I don't want to deal with anything, or think, or talk. I don't want to hear her disappointment that I cancelled the psychologist again, I just want to close off and hide away. I mentioned that the psychologist was also a financial strain, and she said she'd talk to my GP, let her know what's going on and find someone who bulk bills.

I ended up forgoing my regular coffee beans, and instead spent the money on a big jar of instant and the appointment with the dietician instead. Otherwise, it would've been a month with no appointments with anyone, and I couldn't make it that long without support.

As for the MRI, I found out last week that the 'sedation' they offer is just lorazepam, and I'm to just take my own meds since I take it every day. I'm hoping when I do see my GP, she'll be able to offer me something a bit stronger, since I don't think lorazepam will be enough (or at least, not at my regular dosage). Being stuck with my head in a tube with loud noises for 40 minutes with little-to-no sedation, having to stay perfectly still? I cannot see that ending well.


Tomorrow is my birthday. 23. I'm really not too sure how to feel about it. I don't have any plans, except for maybe going out for dinner with the family, or even just having a few quiet drinks at home. The joys of having an entirely online social life.

My dear Great Uncle

As a baby, he was the only one who could instantly
stop me crying as soon as he'd pick me up

xxBella

Bushwalking and Baking

It's been a while since I've gotten out and about in the great outdoors. So when my brother mentioned heading out to the You Yangs for a walk this weekend, I decided to keep him company and go along. It has been over a year since I've been on a decent walk (this sounds terrible, but I just don't get that much walking in around the house).

The three of us headed out, and spent a little over 90 minutes doing a trail walk. Mum threw in the towel at halfway, and waited for brother and I to come back with the car after we were done.

And for once, I actually managed 10,000 steps in a day! Most days, I'm lucky to make 500.

I've also done a bit of baking this week, for the first time in ages.

In hospital, most days there would be fresh scones for either morning or afternoon tea. When I got home, I found I really missed having my scone with jam to look forward to, no matter what the other meals may be like. As far as baked goods go, scones are probably one of the least scary, so I decided to keep them as an occasional part of the plan.

I bought a few scones from the bakery for the ease of having nutrional info provided, while I brainstormed how to get an accurate count on homemade ones. Kneading, sprinkling with flour, even just touching dough, all make an accurate calorie count difficult. Then I had the brainwave to use our Magimix food processor. I could weigh all of the ingredients straight in, dump the dough out onto a baking tray, and just pat it together gently with gloves on to shape it, and I could weigh all the dough that got stuck to the food processor, gloves, knife, etc..

I also made ANZAC biscuits, which went down very well. For you non-Aussies (a.k.a, 99% of you), ANZACs are popular biscuits dating back to World War I (supposedly sent to soldiers by their wives) made with oats, flour, coconut, sugar, butter, and golden syrup.


Tomorrow is ANZAC day. I was considering going to a dawn service for the first time, but given my lack of outings in the past couple of years, it might be a bit full-on with all the people (tempting as it is to drink booze at dawn).


xxBella

The Ultimatum & Sleep Deprivation

On Wednesday I had another EEG done, as further investigation into the seizures. This time, it was 3 hours long, and required I stay up the night before so I'd be in a sleep deprived state with a higher chance of abnormalities in the results. They stuck electrodes all over my head, and I just leant back in the recliner, pulled the blankets up, and killed the time reading.

I've had a terrible time sleeping this week, not helped by withdrawing from synthetics and insane coffee consumption. Last Sunday, I stayed up all night, slept Monday night, stayed up Tuesday for the EEG the next morning, slept Wednesday and Thursday night, stayed up Friday night marathoning the new season of Unbreakable, and slept last night. So essentially, I've only been sleeping every second night, and staying up all through the day.

On Tuesday, the dietician weighed me for the first time in a couple of months. At home that morning, I was 44.3kg (97.6 lb, BMI 12.8), and 45.2 clothed on her scales. Even though I've gained back a couple of the kilos I lost in hospital, where it got as low as 42 (92.5 lb, BMI 12.1), it's actually the lowest weight on record. Before AN, the only time I remember being weighed was after my big OD just before I turned 13, which is over ten years ago now.

She asked how I felt about it, and I told her I probably don't want it to drop much further, as my GP would intervene, but I also don't particularly want it going back up.

I also took my full set of measurements, so I've updated my stats here. I tried to use my body fat percentage monitor, but it said I was outside the measurable range (which is bullshit, because it's supposed to read from 4.0% - 50%).

I mentioned before that my coffee consumption has been slightly insane. After being on instant for nearly two weeks in the hospital, I hit it hard when I got home. I'd been drinking up to 20 cups a day in hospital as a substitute for smoking. Whenever I wanted a smoke, I'd make a cup of coffee. When I came home, I went through a kilogram (2.2 lbs) of coffee beans in seven days. Usually, it'd last twice as long. But I've been drinking lots of coffee and smoking lots of cigarettes, which has kept me off synthetics for over a week now (which mightn't sound like much, but it's the longest I've gone in... probably a few years now, with the exception of hospital) and keeping the natural stuff (mostly) to after dinner.

I've had a hard time motivating myself to do much these past few weeks. It hasn't helped that, when I left hospital, I was taken off the PRN oxazepam, which had been my lifeline without smoking. My GP gave me some when I caught up with her, after much begging and pleading, but only once a day. She also wants me to choose between the lorazepam and the oxazepam, when The Lung Doctor Man had me on, and recommended to my GP, both.

She said the benzo situation might change when I start seeing this psych, but I don't know when that will be. It was supposed to be this Wednesday coming, but being the day before payday, I don't have that kind of money just sitting. So it was cancelled.

I'm absolutely dreading facing my GP on Thursday.

Mum said  "Move forward or move out."

But frankly, my health is no more of her business than her's is mine, and I don't really care to discuss my health with her at all - mental or physical - as it just leads to arguments.

This weekend, she's gone away to visit her friends for a couple of nights, which is a much-welcomed break for both of us. I've just spent it quietly on the couch, marathoning Disney/Pixar movies and re-playing Terranigma for the millionth time on SNES.

This week, the dietician is away, and then I see the GP on Thursday for our regular catch-up. Next week I need to see the nurse to get my tongue frenulum piercing taken out for the first time since it was pierced 6-7 years ago (because going to my piercer in the middle of town is out of the question), because it's in too awkward a place to get my hands in, and I have a MRI next week.

The GP mentioned bolt cutters.

Eek.

Billy and Misty actually sharing a chair when I got home

xxBella

Follow-Up

I've been home from hospital for a little over  week now. I've been trying for write for a few days, but it took me until this afternoon to even get started.

When The Lung Doctor Man gave me the all clear to go home, he said he'd talk to my GP about increasing my dosage of lorazepam. He told me about how, in the old days, that' why people smoked cigarettes - to deal with their anxiety, the same reason I smoke both tobacco and other things. Then benzos entered the scene, but no, they were bad because they're addictive and you become dependent on them. But, as he said, it's better to be on a higher dose and risk addiction/dependency than be to bee to anxious to function (or smoking to deal with that anxiety).

But when I saw my GP this week for follow-up, she didn't seem too keen to raise my dosages. I had to beg and plead for her to give me a script for PRN oxazepam like I'd had in hospital, just to try for the next two weeks until I see her again, because I feel it'll be a huge help in cutting back my smoking. But she wants me to choose one or the other, lorazepam or oxazepam, because otherwise I'm going to start pushing it with the government. Which sucks, because ideally I know which combination I'd like to try.

Maybe things will change when I start seeing this new psychologist. I was supposed to go with my GP to meet her last week, but due to obvious reasons, it had to be postponed. Now it's set for the 20th. It was going to be this Wednesday, but I'm already booked in for a 3-hour sleep deprived EEG (follow-up on the seizures), and so may not be in finest form by the afternoon, and the week follow it is a MRI (again, because of the seizures).

I also saw the dietician this week. She let me off the hook for weighing for one more week, which I'm thankful for given I was bloated and blocked up since leaving hospital and no longer having IV antibiotics constantly flushing me out.

As for food, breakfast and lunch fell off the cards as soon as I got home, though I'm trying to keep up with lunch, dinner, and two snack. I'm struggling to pick up the supplements again since getting home. In hospital I was at least having a little 150ml Milo with breakfast most days.

I'm slowly settling back into routine at home. I'm really struggling without the extra PRNs, but I'm just taking things one day at a time, one hour at a time, one moment at a time.

For now, my focus is just on getting through each day, preferably with the least stress possible. Keep food going in. Try to do some sewing. If I can get through until after dinner without smoking, great. If not, then at least I tried my best, and will move onward and upward tomorrow.

tl;dr, I'm not dead. Thank you guys who checked in.


xxBella

Pneumonia

For the past week and a half, I've been in hospital with pneumonia.
I put off hospital for as long as I could, but last weekend, it reached the point of being unbearable. With my GP away for two weeks over Easter, I came straight in to Private A&E last Monday. My O2sats were dipping as low as 75%, and no amount of painkillers would help me move from my armchair.
I never know what to say when I first come in to A&E for my lungs. I started telling the triage nurse that I thought I had a nasty chest infection brewing, following a cold going around the family, not to mention the six consecutive courses of antibiotics from my GP. First, my brother had tonsillitis. Then, my mum got bronchitis. And although I didn't know it then, I developed pneumonia.
They ask a few questions, I say a little more. Then, they ask,   "Any history of asthma?" And I laugh, assuming they'd have seen it in my notes.   "No, but I have COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease) and Bronchiolitis Obliterans." Wide-eyed, they ask,   "How old are you?!"   "22, 23 in a month. I was diagnosed just after I turned 20."   "...and what caused it?"   "I don't know. Smoking. Bad luck."
Lungs of a 60 year old, bones of a 70 year old, pressure wounds to rival an 80 year old's.

The Lung Doctor Man came by later that night, shortly after I'd settled in and mum had gone home.   "So... You haven't really progressed since I last saw you." I'm still smoking much the same amount, still struggling to deal with my mental health in non-destructive ways, still self-harming, still starving.
The x-ray showed further thickening of my bronchiole walls. As is the nature of Bronchiolitis Obliterans (which I swear sounds like a spell from Harry Potter), they'll just keep shrinking and constricting until one day I won't be able to breathe any more.
Not one to dance around the facts, The Lung Doctor Man said I'm on the path to an early death. It's easy enough to do the routine treatments when I have exacerbations, but it won't change where I'm headed unless I start making big changes. This is my third admission for COPD exacerbations. 2013, 2014, 2016 - I got lucky last year, as they're all around March-May.
Part of me is relieved to have a serious issue with my physical health, something I can't be sectioned for for making it worse or refusing treatment. The words "consistent downward trajectory" were strangely comforting  to hear. Unlike the AN, where my GP now warns my BMI is approaching a point of being "no longer compatible with life", they simply can't force me to stop smoking and take better care of my lungs.

The Lung Doctor Man asked about my weight, and I told him that when the dietician last weighed me, I was around 44kg, but that I was working with her to get my intake back up to maintenance. All in all, I'm down about 10kg from when I saw him for an outpatient check-up last year.
Over the long weekend, they were renovating the ward I was initially admitted to. Wanting to make sure I got a private room, they transferred me on Thursday to avoid the stampede of patients being shuffled.
The first thing I noticed in my new room were a little set of devils lurking in the corner - bathroom scales. Despite being in the afternoon with a belly full of food and drink, clad in warm pyjamas and a cardigan, I couldn't resist. Before my bag was even unpacked, I stepped straight on them.
The next morning, they'd been moved. I shuffled my way to the tea & coffee room to make my first coffee of the day. On the way back, I got lost, and a nurse found me wandering and helped me back to my room. I casually asked if I could borrow the scales quickly, and I've weighed in every morning since. They're analogue (why?!), and hard to read from 186cm away, but with the aid of my phone camera, I've gone from roughly 44-45kg to 41-42kg in just under a week. If they're accurate, I'm close to the lowest weight I've ever been. 
I should note, I've been eating a lot more in here than I was at home, although I haven't been taking Ensure or any other supplements. I've been eating 5-6 times a day, compared to 2-3 at home. Most meals have been a slice of toast. With a poached egg for breakfast, with Vegemite for lunch, and sometimes dinner too, although I've had a couple of the simpler hot meals - grilled chicken with potato and veggies, things like that. Snacks have been fruit, dairy, dry biscuits. My kitchen scales were one of the first things to hit my suitcase, which always makes things a lot more manageable.
Unlike previous admissions, I've been skipping the nightly quarter bottle of wine. I've only had it the once. All I can think about it how much weight and bloat it'd add to the scales the next morning. A few days ago I got really anxious about my intake, and ended up stuffing my suitcase with blankets and using it as a makeshift aerobic step to burn 100 cal in 15 minutes. My lungs may not have thanked me, but apart from smoking, weight loss is the only thing that'll help me feel better right now.
It's the beginning of the end. I hadn't stepped on real scales outside of the dietician's office for the longest time. But for now it's keeping me sane, keeping me receiving treatment for my lungs. It's just one less worry, one more coping mechanism, while I'm in here. I have every intention to continue once I go home, with my old reliable digital scales.

I've been feeling very lost and alone. I'm getting more familiar with the staff by now, and getting my bearings as to where exactly I am, but to start with, it was just like being dropped off on the side of the road in the middle of town. It's not a very safe feeling. For someone who leaves the house so rarely, let alone by herself, being in here has been scary as hell. All of the staff in here are really nice though - everyone from the nurses to the PSAs to the cleaners.
I'm trying my hardest not to hit my head, mostly because of the seizures, but I've been scratching and hitting other body parts a lot. I have a 3-hour EEG and a MRI coming up in the next month. Not wanting to make a fuss, I hide in the bathroom because it's the quietest place, and sit under the sink so I don't bother anyone. It feels safer to hide in the corner, less overwhelming. Considering there's not a psychiatrist in the building, they're being really good about the self-harm. They just bring me meds and warm blankets and a cup of coffee, and gently remind me they're here to help and want me to feel as safe as possible. 

I've been waking up with nightmares a lot. It doesn't help if I wake up to find they've turned the lights out. I swear it happens at least once each admission. But this time, the nurse just apologized and bought me more meds, a warm blanket and a cup of coffee, and it hasn't happened since. The nightmares are chronic though. I must be screaming or making some sort of noise, and I think I'm kicking the end of the bed or flailing about, because most nights when I wake up from nightmares, it's enough to make the nurses come rushing in.
They're so real. I think it's because I'm so isolated, I don't have a lot to influence my dreams. They're always about the few places I go (mostly in the car en route to appointments) and the few people I do see, it's hard to identify it as just a nightmare and work through it like I used to. 
Even if I've only had my bedtime oxazepam a few hours prior and a PRN shortly before that, they bring me more without even asking to make sure I can get back to sleep.   "Can I get you anything else? A cup of tea?"   "A coffee would be good - black, no sugar."   "Coffee will keep you awake. What about warm milk?"   "I'd rather stay awake than keep having nightmares." For the record, last night I had two cups shortly after midnight, and was still back asleep within the hour.
I cannot wait to get home to a real coffee and a cigarette. After spending the last several months brewing my own coffee fresh at home, the instant stuff is like lolly water. I'm not exaggerating in the slightest when I say I had 20 cups yesterday. It's like I've replaced each cigarette with a cup of coffee. I am allowed to go downstairs to the cafe and gift shop, as long as I don't smoke (I'm not that daft - although admittedly I did on my first admission), but without mum visiting much, I haven't really made it further than looping around the nurses station to the tea & coffee room.

When I first came in, The Lung Doctor Man wanted to call this new psychologist I had an appointment pencilled in with and get her to visit, but I haven't even met her yet. I was supposed to be going with my GP to meet her today, but obviously, that's not happening. It's been hard when, some days, mum won't even answer the phone. My first day in here was long and empty, with the home phone ringing out without going to the answering machine, and her mobile phone not ringing at all. Maybe the last mental health nurse was right, and she really is tired of me.

This morning, The Lung Doctor Man said my chest is sounding a lot better. Although it took its time, I've finally turned a corner. He was hesitant to send me home while my mum and brother were still sick, but they seem to be getting better now too, so I won't go straight backwards when I go home. With any luck, I should be home in the next couple of days.
After more than a week, I'm finally starting to breathe on my own again. Not perfect, but no where near as bad as it was. The biggest struggles are when I'm eating, sleeping, and moving about. They've taken me off the two different IV antibiotics and put me on oral, and they're tapering back the steroids slowly. After three cannulas and as many collapsed veins, I'm glad to be off the IV. It's terrible. I have 18 piercings, not counting the ones I've taken out over the years, and I still have to close my eyes tight to even have bloods drawn.
I'm supposed to be up and moving around more, but with the agoraphobia and anxiety in general, I'm having a lot of trouble getting further than making myself a coffee and doing a u-turn back to my room, which is about 150 steps for the round trip. Even when mum has come in and I've ventured downstairs, I haven't quite been able to get to the cafe to get myself a proper coffee. It's been too busy, too loud, too much.

I don't know how I'm supposed to even want to fight it when it's been confirmed I'm well on my way.

Apologies for the epic length of this post. Gold stars to anyone who actually waded through all this crap. For now, pictures.

One of the nurses had a pair of bunny ears over the long weekend, and on Sunday, he even had a tail and a basket full of chocolate eggs to hand out to the patients. Mine are still sitting at my bedside. Funnily enough, he's the first male nurse who doesn't automatically scare the shit out of me. Everyone always comments on how well-loved my stuffies, Boo and Hazel (both gifts from my amazing Starsister) are. They're always shocked to hear I haven't had them since I was a baby.

And my collection of the world's handiest measuring cups/shot glasses is growing. I have 100s of them at home.

And I know hospital food gets a bad rap, but St John of God have always been a cut above. There's something about ordering and analyzing and dissecting the hospital menus that I just love. It's nearly therapeutic. I won't bore you all with pictures of bread and eggs, but here are some of the more notable things that've come up from the kitchen. I've also got a little stash of coffee and Vegemite and random bits 'n bobs in my bedside.
The biggest disappointment food-wise - a Caesar salad, though Caesar Cardini would be turning in his grave. I'm very picky with my Caesars. Unfortunately, this one had the wrong lettuce, plus grated carrot, tomato, red onion, and sardines.

xxBella

Outing #3

The other weekend I went out for dinner with the family - mum, brother, and his girlfriend. We went to a new Chinese place that just opened a few months ago.

Apart from my stupid manic trip to Melbourne to see the guy who left me unresponsive post-seizure, I went out twice last year. Once for my birthday when we went to Warrnambool, and once in August when we went out for dinner. So far this year I've gone out for dinner once and coffee once (more on that in my next post). I do appointments, I organize smoke, and that's it. I can't even go to the regular supermarket, or for a simple walk around the block.


For entrees (which I unfortunately didn't take photos of), we ordered steamed pork dumplings, vegetable spring rolls, satay chicken skewers, and sesame prawn toast. For mains, we had Mongolian beef, beef in black bean, and stir-fried noodles. I had half a spring roll and half a piece of sesame prawn, plus a little of the Mongolian beef and black bean with rice - plus a good half a bottle of wine.

Things fell apart at the end when, without going into detail, my brother mentioned the name of my abusive ex. I started attacking my arm under the table, and had to cover it with napkins and my coat on the way out. This led to a massive breakdown, resulting in me sitting in the garage with a knife to my throat and taking two weeks' worth of oxazepam, mum threatening to call the police. It was 1am before we got to bed. Needless to say, it was a bit of a disaster. It's not surprising I ended up in ICU the next day.


And just lastly, my lungs are killing me today. Mum and Brother have been sick all week, now it's my turn. So much so that even mum keeps saying I should be in hospital. O2sats were 87% with a fever of 39°c, but I'm freezing, everything hurts, I can't sleep more than a hour before I wake up coughing. Anything sitting in my stomach makes me want to puke.

Right now, all I want is to curl up under an electric blanket with Billy and Misty. If I'm still this bad on Monday, I might try to get into see my GP and get her opinion.


Apologies for the awkward photos. I've misplaced my tripod and remote, and 6'1" is a long way to bend down to take photos of my legs, hence my hair getting in the way. Please excuse my messy study.

Leap

I hate leap years, with a burning passion. This year may just be the most painful of all. Excruciating. The 29th. It's now been eight years since my abusive ex first hurt me. Twenty years since I lost my father.

Each year I sit down with my manilla folders full of chat logs, photographs, old blog posts and poetry, and read through it. I read bits and pieces out to mum. It's a sick and twisted ritual, but it's sort of a way of grieving. I honestly believe I died back then, that he killed me. I'm not the same person I was before I met him. I don't even go by the same name.

I want to cry, realizing that since it's a leap year, it's eight years ago, and it never gets any better.

I've bounced back from last weekend's OD pretty well. The pressure sores are starting to heal and I feel less weak in general.

But after last weekend's fiasco, my GP started me on weekly Webster packs, meaning there's no extra meds in the house. It's sad. It was only a year or two ago that mum stopped hiding my medication - everything from paracetamol to antidepressants - after my big OD when I was 12 (which I'll write about, for the first time ever, later this month to mark 10 years).

I did okay for a few days, more or less. Then I had another big slip up on Tuesday with Webster pack #2. My week's worth of meds was gone within a couple of hours. Normally I take seroquel of a morning, lorazepam of an afternoon, and more seroquel and oxazepam before bed, plus seroquel and lorazepam PRN. I thought I was going to wake up in hospital again. I don't know why I did it. I just wanted to make the pain stop.

Apparently I saw Jo later in the day, but I don't even remember. I thought she hadn't had any gaps. I went back yesterday, scared of what she was going to say. Scared she'd stop the benzos and tempt me to take other crap in it's place. She said I'm pushing it with the benzos, but for now, we're trying daily dispensing.

Yesterday was day one, and it didn't take long for me to pop them all at once. Last night, with no meds, I only slept two hours after spending the night doing step aerobics and marathoning Dr Phil. This morning she gave me the week of PRNs at once, and they were gone in one gulp, so now PRNs are to be picked to daily too.

She also said she's worried about my calorie intake, as my weight's been dropping consistently again for a while now. I'm having supplements pretty much daily, and it's still not enough. Although it's agreed it's the dietician's domain, not her's, not the psychologist, who I'll be meeting in a few weeks. In fact, the new psych doesn't deal with EDs at all, which is a blessing. She agrees the ED psychs go too hard and fast, and it simply doesn't work for me.

I've been texting the dietician these past couple of days. On Monday I didn't know what else to do or who to turn to, so I asked for her help. I didn't see her yesterday, partly to avoid being weighed, but I'm tried to get in to see her this afternoon. She usually has a couple of cancellations, but no such luck today. It feels like she's the only one I can talk to and who puts up with my crap.

I'm at a point where I think know I need support with my smoking. I just hope this new psychologist my GP has in mind will be able to help.

So that's about it for now. I just wanted to give you all a quick update, since I now suck at posting at least once a week.

Thank you guys for all your support, always. I honestly don't know where I'd be if not for the blogosphere.


xxBella