It may get hairy…

Posts tagged ‘friend’

‘appy but ‘ectic post

Hello all 🙂

Finally, the time has come for a happy post.

Today I shall be the headless chicken, but all in aid of a drunken cause. Today we prepare to don our Splash Fen hats and hit the road. My mate and I shall be working there from Wednesday, so naturally we’ll arrive on Tuesday, to ensure our pickled livers stay pickled.

It’s been a whole bloody decade since I last went to Splashy. It was there that I met a naked old man, with a multi-coloured dog (spray-painted, poor bugger), swimming in a river. The quintessential Splashy story.

Me @ the last festival I went to (Download, 2010), what makes you think I wasn't exactly sober?

Today, I must run to the shops to buy buckets of cat food, to support my monsters while I’m away. Although we’re doing the supplies trip tomorrow, my personal supplies shall be bought today, like batteries (for my camera, you dirty bastards) and headache tablets (pretty sure I don’t want to be doped up on  my morphine pills when there, so Panado is a must).

In addition, I have to send off emails to various clients, explaining where I am (a work expo, obviously), chase for money, do all the work that needs to be done this week in one day and clean my bloody house.

How all this will happen, Darwin knows, but I’ll manage. Perhaps the house cleaning will fall short once again.

So, from now on, do not expect coherent posts…in fact, if anyone sees me about to post anything from my phone, take it. Quickly.

We’re doing Splashy in comfort (out of necessity and a lack of camping gear) – we’re taking a freaking sleeper couch 😀 Yup, that’s right. It’s an old foam mattress that flops into a couch and squishes into the back of a car. It takes some pushing, and you’d do yourself a favour to put the handbrake on first, especially when facing a downhill, as I accidentally found out a while back. It’s alright, I James Bond’d that bitch, chasing it down the hill and flying into the driver’s seat 🙂

I have my hat for sun and my docs for rain, what more could we need? If you need me after Thursday morning, I shall be passed out somewhere, hopefully on my sleeper couch, if not, please move me into the shade. I burn.

 

Before I disappear and on a side note:  I seem to have received a lot of calls/messages about my previous post, which I found interesting. Perhaps it was because people wanted to cement the fact that they’re my friends (and perhaps that the post wasn’t aimed at them), which I find rather sweet and thank everyone. I think the post before was more melancholy, but either way, I wanted to let the world know that although I’m disappointed in the people targeted in my previous post, I’m not wallowing in a vat of self-pity. The only time it crosses my mind is when I’m not busy and/or get some form of reminder, however, this does not ruin my day. So you haven’t any reason to fret – although I really appreciate the support and kindness.

A new religion: F*ck ’em!

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this post. There is so much I want to say, so much I shouldn’t say and so much that could spark a riot. I wrote this long, condemning post yesterday, which amounted to merely puking out all my thoughts and would’ve frightened even the hardiest reader away – hence, it has been deleted. So, hopefully this summary will achieve my goals and not frighten away my Constant Readers (stolen from S. King).

The Low Down:

My mum had brain surgery twelve days ago. Prior to surgery, she had the highest pain the world (on average, there is a 70% suicide rate in Trigeminal Neuralgia sufferers), which after surgery revealed itself to be double what other sufferers feel. Instead of merely a blood vessel touching a nerve in her brain, it was a blood vessel and an artery. The surgery was unbelievably successful. Instead of being a 5 hour operation, as expected, it was 3.5hours. My mum’s recovery has been remarkable. Twelves days later, she’s walking and talking. She gets dizzy, nauseous and gets severe headaches (akin to a migraine) when she does too much and often can’t stay awake more than two hours, but this is all par for the course. Doctors have told her that with brain surgery, Day 10 is the equivalent of only Day 2 after a Tonsillectomy. It takes awhile, but Mum’s doing better than most and with her hair down, you can’t even see the scar.

However, it’s brain surgery, it’s a mother-f*cking big deal.

*Which is why I fail to understand the total lack of common sense that people have adopted after and during the operation.

Side note, before I get all fumey and mad: Some people, mostly totally unexpected, have been amazing. My mum’s biokinetist has lent his support, her best friends, people she’s met briefly at organisation meetings actually came to visit her in hospital. A close friend of my mum’s and her daughter, who I barely knew before this, have been incredibly supportive and understanding. My best friends. My best friend’s fiancé. Family friends who understood enough to lend their care and support, without expecting anything or smothering my mother or my father and I. The support has been incredible and, for the most part, unexpected.

**Which brings me back to my vent: a lot of the support that was expected, failed to show up. In fact, in some cases, severely hindered my mother’s recuperation…and my sanity. We have had some wonderful cases. Starting weeks before my mother went in, with messages from her friends telling me that they didn’t know how they would cope if something went wrong and she didn’t survive. People, who are merely friends, expecting me, the daughter, to provide them with comfort. Here I was, merely completing task, by task. Trying my hardest not to think about what’s coming. Blocking it out almost entirely and SUCCEEDING, until I receive messages like this, which left me crumbling two days before Mum went in. A close friend of mine recently lost her mother and I was astounded when she told me that people who weren’t family, expected her to comfort them. I’ve now seen this first hand, albeit on a much less extreme basis.

Before I bore the hell out of you, I’ll sum it up. We’ve had people who’ve expected us to run errands for them, so they could visit my mother. One particular fool is still lucky to be alive, after hurting my mother and nearly setting her back, with too much physical affection…in the Neurosurgical ward. Seriously? What fucking planet do you live on? You don’t hurt someone fresh out of brain surgery, and…when they tell you it hurts, you STOP! For the most part, people just haven’t thought and weren’t malicious. We’ve had one person start a fight the day my mum went into hospital, but that’s neither here nor there. I’ve been called a nag for fussing, but you watch your mother puke (okay, I didn’t actually see that, but they told me) after taking her first steps, or see her in pain and so nauseous she can’t sleep (regardless how tired and weak she felt) after having a few visitors – you’d be a nag too.

So, after all this, my father and I learnt something in what was probably the most terrifying moment of our lives (waiting for 3.5hours in the Neurosurgical waiting room, whilst my mum had her skull drilled open and her brain fiddled with):

Sometimes, it’s okay for it to be about you. Sometimes, it’s about you and your family and no one else matters.

This was and still is (until the day she is fully recovered) about Mum. Now that she’s recuperating, we can allow ourselves to feel the anger we have towards these people for imposing their silly nonsense on our lives. After all, it was the most difficult moment of our lives. So now, it’s alright for it to be about us just a little and about Mum a lot.

So, with this in mind, we have started a new religion. A new way to dealing with problems and people:

Fuck ’em!

*Apologies for starting with a conjunction – Poetic License.

**As above

Bad, bad friend

I have to let a very good friend down and I’m not quite sure how to go about it.

I’ve made promises, or rather almost promises, to people in the past and have had to break them, as we all have. It makes me feel yucky and particularly horrible, but this one stands out above the rest.

I’ll start with my excuses first; get them out the way. I’m starting a business. There, that’s pretty much it. I have no cash. I have enough to get through the month, which is pretty f’ing fantastic if you think about it. Most starter-uppers can’t get past the first few months without capital and I have none, but my sales have soared me past them. Which means, after expenses, I literally have around R500 for food. Most wouldn’t be able to live off that, but to that I say ‘piffle!’ I’ve lived off of plenty less. However, it does mean I won’t be able to make it to Joburg for a very important day of a very important friend of mine (screw the grammar).

I haven’t promised, but I have told her I will do everything in my power to be there for her and she was beyond grateful. Now, I must tell her I can’t. I have supported her in this goal for years and even did the stupid 94.7 Christmas wish to try and get her there quicker. Now, I must break her heart on the very day that we have both longed for. In all reality, I won’t break her heart and probably won’t ruin her day, but nonetheless, she will be sad…very, very sad. And it will be my fault.

And she’s pregnant.

So tell me, how do you break a pregnant woman’s heart? Especially when that heart means so much to you?

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