Sunday, May 30, 2010

Please welcome...

... the newest addition to my household, my new bag! Just bought this supercool looking shopper bag at the Lightbox and am LOVING it! Pay particular attention to the little monkey keychain - it's the cutest little thing! And it NEEDS A NAME! Can you help please?
(just FYI - Stitch is NOT an option!)

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Poked and prodded

I went to the doctor's today. Or should I say nurse.
It was because they were after my blood. They didn't yet know how rare a commodity it is!
I sat down and told the nurse in no uncertain terms that drawing blood from me is like... well... drawing blood from a stone.
I saw the sceptical look on her face, the one that seemed to say 'Honey, I've been doing this for the past 40 years and I KNOW what I'm doing.'
Far be it for me to argue.
I sat in the chair (yes, it was a chair, not a bed-type-thingy) and kept thinking if I pass out, I'll slither to the floor.
I told the nurse I tend to pass out when giving blood but that illicted no real response from her.
And then she tried to find a vein on my right arm. 2 minutes later she was still trying. No needle yet (just slapping my arm to make the vein pop).
Eventually she seemed to have found one and stuck the needle in. I can't ever look at that stuff so I closed my eyes. A minute passed and she said 'It's not very cooperative... there's not a lot of blood coming out.'
She seemed to think that after another minute she'd had enough in one tube to warrant three of the four tests they wanna do on my blood (liver, thyroid and something else I can't remember).
So the needle comes out and she moves over to my left arm (which I had told her from the beginning is the one most willing to cooperate.)
I show her the vein all doctors have always eventually gotten blood from but she chose to ignore it. 'It's too deep under your skin', she says.
So she sticks a needle onto my left arm at about the same spot she tried on my right. No blood at all. Oh joy.
She goes back to the right arm and desperately tries to find another vein. Eventually she gets to the hand and says 'I hate taking blood from the hand' but she does it anyway.
It is at this point that I start to feel crazy woozy. I ask her to make the chair recline and she does it. The wooziness gets worse and worse and I tell her I'm gonna pass out. She tells me to take deep breaths. I do. For about 5 minutes.
I'm ok after that.
She says maybe we should leave it for the day and I can come back to give some more blood for the last of the test they wanna do (Full Blood Count). Unless, she says, I think I can handle another try.
At this point I have recovered and the thought of having to come back to give blood again helps me make up my mind quickly.
I tell her to try it again.
And she finally goes for the vein on my left arm, the one I had told her about at the beginning. And it gushes and she's happy. So happy she tells me she'll take some extra blood just in case. What that case would be, I don't know!

Eventually after another 5 minutes of lying there, drinking water and slowly getting up again (and chatting with her about her golder retriever puppy!) it was over.

The whole ordeal lasted about half an hour. And I know I can't possibly complain that I'm now running around with four bruises on both my arms and my hand when there's people actually being seriously ill out there.
But it still stinks!

Friday, May 21, 2010

Delving deeper

So the reminiscing hasn't really stopped this week. Set off on the trail of remembering my old self in my Garth days, I went even further back to those days when I was barely a teenager, re-reading old diaries and discovering things I always kinda knew but never remembered with such great detail.
How I hated school - almost every page in my first diary is filled with it. How I loved Patrick Swayze (so much so, that I called my diary Patrick), North & South, Dirty Dancing, Michael Landon, Santa Barbara. How I crushed hard on a boy at school for three years, how infatuated I was with my new friends in Bremen, how I spent HOURS on the phone with them in the middle of the night, how ridiculously naive I was, even at 18.
How music slowly crystalized itself out of everything else to become the vision of my future, how I saw no limit to my abilities, to my talents.

I don't ever want to go back to those days, I know that much. But there's a part of me that can't help wondering how the girl I used to be is nothing like the woman I am today. And not in a good way.
I do wish I could go back in time and instruct my younger self to try and do a bit better... but then again, I'm not sure I would've known to appreciate such good advice at that age. So maybe it's all turned out just the way it should be...

Sunday, May 16, 2010


Gosh, it has been ages since I last updated this blog. Not for lack of things to say but for lack of energy to write.
Still, I shall endeavour to update this more often from now on.

Have spent the day reading a book about Garth ('The Garth factor') and reminiscing about those golden olden days where I was so happy just simply knowing he was making music. Seriously, it was all I needed. Well, him and Stillwater.
But time moves on, as does life and everything changes. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. But no matter what happens, those memories will always be fresh in my mind - nevermind that it all happened 15 years ago... We shall be free!