we must be nuts...

Over the course of a long wet winter and throughout my recovery period New Man and I have been looking forward to all the good things we were going to do over the summer. We're both outdoors types and love hill walking, sailing (he has a boat and I used to sail in the SF era) and camping.

I've been cautious about this. I've recovered fine from the op but I've also been anxious not to do too much too soon.  

I pushed this boundary a bit a fortnight ago when we went up Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh. I managed to get to the top OK and I foolishly thought that my days of being an invalid were over. Until on the way down I slipped and sat down HARD. On solid rock. I waddled painfully to the car, took a couple of painkillers, made sure that my throbbing rump was sat on a cushion, and then went to bed when we got back.

"I don't know why you're in so much pain" New Man said, "after all you fell on a bit that's well padded."

For some reason we're still speaking!

Two weeks later I'm still a bit sore. I didn't go to the docs - I mean, what could he do? Nothings broken and it isn't as if you could bandage it.

But tonight we're off for the first camping trip of the season. The Ka (yes, I've still got it BHM) is packed, and I'm awaiting the call to say that he's on his way before I head off to Loch Lomondside from sunny (?) Argyll. The Hound knows something is up. He's seen the tent go into the Ka and every time I move he thinks that's an excuse to go rushing down the stairs.

This should be an interesting weekend. It will be our first camping trip together. But the weather's set to deteoriate this evening and is set to pee down all day tomorrow.

The thought of snuggling up in a tent with him listening to the rain hammering down outside is one thing. But we're going to be in the company of four dogs plus his pain-in-the-butt teenage daughter who "hates camping" and will probably moan all weekend.

This one is a recipe for disaster.
25.4.08 16:12


Thanks to Cha0tic for telling me about this site (www.bitstrips.com). That's another excuse to waste another few minutes when I should be working!

 <a xhref="http://bitstrips.com/read.php?comic_id=26353"><img xsrc="http://strips.bitstrips.com/2ca8913f7ec9e870b1abf25964f494c7.png" alt="Birthday Girl'" border="0"  width="706" height="405"  usemap="#map1"/></a>
4.4.08 17:26


the journey towards Cronehood

I've always believed in being well informed when it comes to making decisions about my own body and my future.

So when the Doc recommended I have a hysterectomy I asked for some time to consider my options. Yes, I knew I was sick of being in pain for between 2 and 3 weeks out of every 29-day cycle. I was also thoroughly sick of the mood swings, the extreme depression and the severe diarhorea at the tine of my period.  Yes, I was fed up of the constant dragging feeling in my abdomen which meant I needed to pee rather frequently. Yes, I knew that with 2 grandmothers, a mother and a sister having had ovarian cancer my chances of avoiding it were limited. But it was still a big step to make.

I also knew that it was going to HURT. But I also knew that I'd get a couple of months at least off work to recover. On full salary. I looked at my bulging bookshelves crammed full of interesting reading material and tried not to let them sway my decision.

I chatted to a few friends who'd been through it. Some of them were nurses so I got the low-down from both sides. I chatted to neighbours and friends, rallying the troops for practical help around the house. I got onto the internet, Googled 'hysterectomy' and spent a couple of evenings reviewing the information. A slip of the finger and I uncovered photographs of the actual procedure. I moved on rather rapidly.

I gave the go-ahead and sat back to wait for the 'date' to come through.

For four months.

By the time the date came through nerves were sinking in. Cute Boss offered to take me to the hospital en route to a meeting in Glasgow and I can't help shake the suspicion that he wanted to make sure I'd go to the hospital and not the nearby airport instead. He dropped me off at reception, told me to let him know if I needed anything, waved, and drove off.

"Hmm", I thought, "a drink would help."

No such luck. I consoled myself with a large bar of chocolate from the hospital shop instead and made for the ward.

I had only been in hospital for an overnight stay once before and that was 20 years ago for a tonsillectomy. (Yes, I know they don't do this to adults very often as it's a more involved procedure. I was the exception. I can vouch for it being unpleasant as I spent an hour throwing up after the op and burst most of my stitches.)  I  was allocated to a reasonably pleasant room with six beds in it.

Bed 1 contained someone who was out for the count and who moaned with pain continuously. Bed 2 was occupied by someone who looked healthy enough but who was constantly connected to a drip. Bed 3 was a quiet old lady who did crosswords constantly. Bed 4 was empty. Bed 5 contained a lady who, like myself, had just been admitted for a hysterectomy.

I sussed her out within about 10 minutes. A moaner. She complained about everything for all the 5 days she was in. 

Forms were filled in, the consultants came round on their rounds. The Moaner turned to me and said "They're keeping me waiting until 10 o'clock tomorrow morning!"As they had already told me my operation was at 3pm I was decidedly unsympathetic,

The morning came. The Moaner was wheeled away. I turned my attention to daytime TV in the hope of some distraction from what lay ahead. First up: a hospital drama. Followed by Robert Winston talking about 'female problems'. Finally an article about medical negligence. I tried to doze and cursed the outwardly calm exterior which had meant that I hadn't been prescribed any 'pre-med'.

I also cursed the 'nil by mouth' sign hanging over my bed. Oread had bought me a box of Thornton's chocolates the night before and they were lying tantalizingly on my locker. 

My time came. Wheeled into the antechamber I chatted with the operating staff. The surgeon came through.

"OK?" he asked.

"No," was my reply "I'm dreading this."

"Oh, you'll be OK," he said "I'm not nervous about this at all."

Hmm. It wasn't his stomach that was going to be filleted.

I was 'out of it' a second or two later. I briefly woke up in the recovery room, was vaguely aware of being wheeled back to the ward, I gradually came to on the ward surrounded by tubes and wires. The one I was most interested in was the magic push-button that delivered the morphine. 

I was in a drug-induced haze when New Man came in to hold my hand. He produced a carrier bag with a flourish.

"Food!" he exclaimed. "I've got you a smoothie in case you can't eat, but I've got fruit, chocolate, yoghurts, strawberry tarts..."

The lad had raided the food department of Marks and Sparks. I'm surprised there was anything left after his visit. He was most disappointed to find I wasn't going to be allowed anything apart from small sips of water until the following morning.

So was I. The 'Thorntons' were still in view. 

He busied himself with hovering around my bed, mopping my fevered brow, holding my hand, fetching and carrying glasses of water. The nurse came in to remove the oxygen mask over my mouth and replaced it with a tube.

That was a good move. Extensive and lingering lip contact was made, An officious staff nurse came in and caught us and tutted disapprovingly. 

The first night was more comfortable than I'd expected. The morphine pump did its stuff and I spent the night on a 'high' that was unfortunately dissipated the following morning when this was removed and I was left to my own devices and lesser painkillers which didn't do theirs. The pits came later that afternoon when the Officious Staff Nurse came in and announced that she was going to remove my catheter. I pointed out that without pain meds I couldn't get out of bed, if I wasn't able to move then I'd be lying in a puddle before very long and that would make me even grouchier that I was at present. She got the message. Macfawkes 1, OSN 0.

Once the pain meds had been sorted my recovery was swift. I was out of bed and able to take a shower the following morning, was walking around the ward in the afternoon. I spent much of the day asleep but I could feel my strength returning daily.

On Day 3 I was up and about for most of the day and chatting to my fellow inmates. The bed opposite me changed occupants. The new occupant tearfully consulted her surgeon.

"I'm scared," she said, "I'm having a hysterectomy tomorrow and I just know I'm not going to be able to move or do anything for weeks." 

The consultant jerked a thumb in my direction. I was wandering around the ward, handing out chocolates.

"She's 3 days post op," he said. "Still think you'll be bedridden for long?"

We spent much of the evening chatting about her fears. She was wheeled down first thing the following morning and was back on the ward by lunchtime. She raised her head enough to give me a weary 'thumbs up' on her way in.

I finally escaped 5 days after surgery. New Man took a day off and drove me home, where Trolleydolly was waiting. Her original plan was to stay for ten days to look after me. After four we knew I was coping so well that she was able to go home.

I can't believe how easy it has all been. 18 days post op I am able to cook for myself, able to walk the half mile down to the village shop to buy a loaf of bread or the mile to the doc's to pick up prescriptions. The pain levels are so low that I'm dispensing with pain relief altogether apart from first thing in the morning. I'm taking things steady and not doing anything foolish (I have help with bringing in wood for the fire and for doing heavy shopping) but with care I'm self-sufficient.

And I have another six weeks off to enjoy. Now, what book am I going to read next?! 
18.2.08 16:59


love spells

One of the most common things folks think about when they hear that you practice witchcraft is that you might do a love spell for them in order that the current man/woman of their dreams might fall in love with them.

The ethics surrounding this is rather difficult. Pagans and witches operate under a code of ethics which in Wiccan circles is summarised as 'if it harm none, do as you will'.

This has been endlessly discussed among Pagan circles and particularly when it formed part of the 'three principles' for joining the Pagan Federation. It has recently - and controversially - been withdrawn from the criteria for membership (in England and Wales at least - it remains part of the criteria for PF Scotland). Hmm... long story. Maybe I'll blog about it sometime.

The point I was trying to make before digressing was that most witches feel that taking away freedom of thought and action is morally wrong. So spells to enforce actions are out.

On the other hand, doing a spell to bring love into someone's life is OK. The source of that love is unspecified, no-one is coerced. The love may be a husband, a lover, a puppy - or even increased self-esteem. All in all a positive outcome - and no-one is hurt.

After the events of last summer I was feeling bruised and somewhat fed up. My two relationships since parting company with SF eleven years ago had been disastrous. I felt I was due a break. But there was a lot of negativity to get cleansed away first.

On the night of two consecutive dark moons I climbed the hill to a spot I often use for contemplation and ritual. Over looking both my home and the loch, the view stretched for miles. Lighting candles at the quarters I was aware that they'd be seen for miles too. But by the time they'd been spotted I'd be out of there, leaving no trace apart from a looming suspicion in the minds of the locals that the 'village witch had been at it again.

I traced a circle of protection around me and visualised it enfolding myself and my home. I asked the spirits of the east to protect me from bad news, those from the south to give me energy, those from the west to dispel my anger and hurt and those from the north to give stability in my life. I then faced SP's home and visualized the specific threats therein. I'd passed his car parked outside it on the way up the hill. I knew damn well what they were up to. Summoning all the energy I could muster I pushed my circle of protection outwards.

"Go in peace

Leave me alone

Go in peace  

But get out of my life

Go in peace

And leave this negativity behind"

After a while I raised a horn of mead to the gods, drank a toast to them, thanked them for their support, and left a libation before going down the hill again.

The next dark moon I did this again.

Cleansed, it was time for more positive action.

Over the past few months most of my closest friends had been in the process of moving on. Oread has a new man. Ecowarrior is moving away. Twosticks is away resuming her studies at university.  Classixwitch was teaching EFL in the Peloponnese, Wee Dimmock was chasing promotion and was moving away as a result. I was in danger of being left behind - and needed some new people in my life.

I considered my options. I wasn't bothered whether the new people were male or female, friends or lovers. But I certainly needed some kindred spirits to keep me company.

So with the first sight of the moon and throughout its waxing phase I started lighting red candles, burning a suitable incense as an offering and raising a horn of red wine, toasting Aphrodite, asking for some love to enter my life.

I also started browsing on match.com. All of the love spells in the world won't help unless you do something proactive to help them along!

The window shopping was interesting but in the main not very productive. But there was one person who replied that I thought I might have something in common with.We exchanged emails over a few weeks. He 'phoned. We talked non-stop for an hour and a half. We arranged to meet.

The first time we were both rather tongue-tied and out of our comfort zone. But the following week he found himself working in Glasgow the day I was at university and we arranged to meet for lunch. We were nattering so much we didn't realise what the time was and he was an hour and a half late for his next appointment.

We kept in contact over the coming weeks and arranged to spend a day together hillwalking. On a blustery day we plus our two aging hounds headed for the hills. The icy blast blowing down from the north blew me off my feet as we approached the final ascent and I landed a couple of feet away. Deciding today was not the best day for hillwalking we turned back. The conditions gave him a good excuse to hold my hand on the way down. All the way to the car park. Check out the link. It's a big hill!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ben_Lawers 

We went for a late lunch in a cosy little pub instead and then for a low-level walk by the loch. Through several kissing gates. Lip contact was made.

We haven't looked back.

I continued the witchy assistance at home. During the waning of the moon I embarked on a massive clear-out of my boudoir; throwing out old stuff, stripping wallpaper. As the moon waxed the next month I applied a blushing pale pink to the walls, new blinds, bought new bedding. I hung a dusky pink witchball over the bed for protection and filled it with rose and patchouli oil.

On the evening of the next full moon I bedecked the room with candles, lit a suitable incense, put a dozen red roses in a vase,  

He arrived later on that night. I left the final bit of 'magic' up to him.

I was not disappointed...  
14.2.08 15:53


ebay

With time on my hands I'm spending a lot of time online. Yes, that means eBay! I've been fairly good so far but I had to suppress a chuckle when the Lady with the Lamp sent me this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c3zTu5xzQVA 

I felt a bit guilty too. I have in the past sold an 'Egyptian athame'...

But my altar's nothing like as bad as the one in the song! 
14.2.08 15:21


guilty conscience

Well, despite appearances, I have not disappeared off the edge of the planet. On the contrary I've been around the blogosphere, lurking on other people's musings, without actually contributing anything myself.

I've been nagged about this from a couple of sources. So today I checked out the stats on my blog and it looks like people have still been popping by to catch up on my ramblings. This gives me even more of a guilty conscience.

I picked up a two month sick line from the doc's this morning. I have no excuse to avoid blogging.

So macFawkes will return. Soon. Honest! 
13.2.08 17:06


a quiet Samhain...

Samhain is one of the most important of the Pagan festivals and probably the most misunderstood. Its certainly the one the hardline Christian community have the most problems with (Beltane being a close second). But at its roots it acknowledges a time when the summer was well and truly over and when people would withdraw into their homes and prepare for the dark months of the winter. Animals would be brought in from the hills and fields and the weaker ones slaughtered, salted, and stored for the winter. It was also a time of introspection: many of the frailer members of the community would be most vulnerable in the winter.

And thus the association with death and, as an offshoot from this, with ghosts, spirits and the supernatural.

The 'veil' between the living and the dead was believed to be closest at this time and there are stories of precautions being taken throughout history and in a variety of cultures to protect the home and its inhabitants on this night. But others welcomed the spirits in by setting an extra place at the table and by lighting their way home with candles.

I've always bedecked my home with candles for Samhain and tonight it looked glorious. Flickering flames in each room, the glow of a real fire, the reek of burning peat from my new stove and the fug of frankincense throughout. Nightlights set in jamjars adorned each step outside the flat and as I'm at the top of a hill it could doubtless be seen all over the village. At the bottom of the garden I set flares on both Koshka's and Cleopatra's graves and put out a saucer of milk. Big Lou watched with interest. By the time I was up in the flat again he probably had his nose in the trough. I imagined Koshka looking on in disgust.

I lit the candles on the altar, set out photographs of my long-departed parents in front of it, gave a small libation and then settled in for the night. Samhain is traditionally a time for divination so out came the tarot cards in search of some divine inspiration and insight on what is surely going to be a year of changes. Samhain may welcome in the hag of winter: with my approaching cronehood in a couple of months this year it looks like being me.  

More interestingly, I set two hazel nuts side by side in the glowing embers of the fire. More than a hour later they're still there and have not jumped apart.

Hmm... this year looks like being interesting on a variety of fronts!

 
31.10.07 22:37


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