It's only a four year all clear post.

I just can't seem to let the 24th October go by without some kind of comment. Four years is simultaneously a lifetime ago, and scarily recent. I haven't banged on about it so much this year, but it is still very much in my thoughts. A lot has happened since that day, yet I can't help dwelling on it. It feels oddly lonely that it still means something to only me.


Today is also the first day of my first contact as a self enjoyed grown up, so I have lots to distract me.


Happy brain day to me.

Scan day 2016.

This morning I had my annual 'toe ring removal' panic, but it came off quite easily when I actually tried. And the whole day seemed to follow that example - things are far more frightening in the run up, but you just get on with it when you have to. And then it's done.

Since my last scan I had a fragment of metal stuck in my eye (don't ask, I don't know) which I ignored for quite a few weeks until it got nice and rusty and I had to have it scraped out over several sessions. Horrible as this was, it didn't occur to me, until I was in the waiting room this morning, what it would mean to have a piece of metal in my eye. They gave me an x-ray to make sure (thank you thank you NHS) and of course it was all fine. Just another thing to stress about.

And then there I was again, ears stuffed with plugs and sponges, knees resting on a pillow (new design from last year - very comfortable!) and my head lost in an oversized clanging washing machine for an indeterminable amount of time. Which was fine when I got there. I quite enjoyed the lying down part actually.

That might be because yesterday I got a bit drunk which is a rare occasion for me these days. I thought it would distract me and help me sleep. It did distract me for a bit, but sleep was not having any of it. Sleep doesn't like alcohol, or brain scans. So I woke up really early and fretted. The kids slept until after 8am, MIRACLE, so I caught up on some of yesterday's Olympics on my own on the sofa feeling sorry for myself. It was really nice.

Incidentally, I was thinking earlier. I wish I'd done one of those fashion blog things, of scan day attire, from the very beginning - I'd have quite a collection by now. It still causes me a lot of anxiety planning what to wear (mostly because I would rather do most things than go out in public not wearing a bra). And I already can't remember what I wore in the early days.

For future reference, today I sported some hareem pants, a long vest and short floppy top and a ridiculous sports type bra thing. I took a normal bra with me to immediately change into afterwards.

Anyway.

Two things worry me about scan days. One is that I feel glum and tetchy and defensive. I am rude and thoughtless and I blame it on the scan and get away with it. I know I shouldn't do this but I still do, which really annoys me. I feel like after all this time I should just get on with it, but instead I take advantage of scan day to get a bit more attention than normal. I should just grow up and stop whingeing.

The other thing is that deep down, I don't think there is anything wrong. (Hence why I shouldn't be moping around). So if it turns out there is actually something wrong then I am woefully unprepared for it, mentally. And then the doubts start to creep in, just to mentally prepare in case, and then I really am a bit jittery and emotional and we haven't even left the house yet.

I hate scan day. It forces me to think about things I don't want to think about. And it forces me to contemplate different potential futures and it makes me selfish and introspected and a total bore.

And it is so lonely. No matter how many people you have waiting outside (and I was lucky to have loads today, singing "if you're happy and you know it" so loud I could hear it during the x-ray") you still have to do the scan alone. Nobody else is in that room. And it's so lonely in my thoughts too. Not for the first time, I wish I could swap brains.

Roll on results day HA. Not.

Hi ho, hi ho. Sob.

I'm going back to work tomorrow, after almost a year on maternity leave. Before that I was pregnant whilst recovering from brain surgery. And before that I was off sick for multiple months. It's been an odd few years and work has not really been a priority.

I've been in denial for ages about it. It's not that I don't want to work it's just that I don't want to not be with Alfred. I will miss him, and I will miss out on him. I won't be the one that sees him develop and knows what he likes. It's selfish, but I like being that person. The one who knows him best.

I know he will be fine. Of course he will be fine. But I worry that he will think I have abandoned him, and I worry that he won't notice I'm not around any more. And I worry that nobody will care as much as me and I worry that I won't be in control anymore. And mostly I worry that I will hardly ever see him.

But my bag is packed,  my office appropriate clothes are washed and my lunch is ready in the fridge. There's no denying it now.

I don't want to go to bed as that means morning will come quicker.

Sleeping. Or, more accurately, not.

Warning: this post is a self indulgent rant. Formulated in my head over night and possibly (definitely) contributing to my inability to sleep.

I've always suffered from bouts of insomnia so this is nothing new. But since going back to work I need much more sleep than I did before surgery in order to function and concentrate properly. The effects of not sleeping are much worse now.

I found a great term in a trashy magazine at the hospital yesterday. It was an article about surviving 50 years of marriage, and mentioned "night rage" (as in, don't have it). I love this, my definition: irrational rage in the middle of the night aimed at any number of inanimate objects and / or unfortunate husband or cat. Something I could really learn from.

Last night was particularly bad and I found myself raging away. It isn't productive as I end up actively searching for things keeping me awake to add to the list. Plus the adrenaline caused by the outrage puts falling asleep into the realms of impossibility.

So my plan is to treat this as I would a work project. By exploring all the things that give me night rage, I can identify the ones I can do something about. Then do it. Then get some sleep.


Ok, let's go.

1. Lack of curtains. Easily fixed you might think, but requiring decisions. Difficult ones! We have a huge bay window with shutters on the bottom half. The curtain pole we inherited was never fixed on properly when we moved in, and finally gave up the ghost about a month ago, so we took it off completely.
   
   The question is though, blinds or curtains? Or both? The other question is, curtain pole or rail? And the other one is, fix the curtain pole (or rail) to the wooden frame or to the wall? And how much would it need to stick out in order to allow the curtains to fit over the shutters? And how to measure it properly, given the bends needed for the bay? Also - what colour curtains?
   
   I am paralysed by indecision. And awake.
   
   In other news, there's a street light ideally positioned just outside to shine directly in ones face at a certain point in the bed And if you move to avoid it, then it reflects in the wardrobe door - directly into ones face. Also, the sun has a habit of coming up each morning, and since British pretend summer time started recently I think that's probably going to get worse.
   
   
2. The bloody cat. In an attempt to find out if Oliver is allergic to said cat, she is no longer allowed in the bedroom. Plus, sometimes she makes this horrendous smell, which I won't go into. Not impressed by this turn of events, she has taken to scratching the bedroom door repeatedly in the dead of night. She even adds dramatic pause for effect, then starts up again. She has amazing stamina actually.
   
   
3. The radiators. Since the new boiler incident about two months ago, the radiators make a clicking, groaning, straining, hitting-self-with-spanner kind of noise every morning. It's really irritating. I'm always just waiting for the next click.
   
   
4. Being pregnant. Weeing. Or specifically thinking I need to wee when I know that I actually don't need to. Also, not being able to sleep on my front (preferred sleeping position for over 30 years) or back (in case of aorta-squashing). This results in major paranoia about whether I'm harming unborn child in my sleep, by depriving it of blood whilst merrily dreaming away. Ha. And another thing - heartburn. Sigh.
   
   
5. People breathing. And turning over. How dare they? Actually I'm adding this in for effect as Oliver is away this week so he really can't be held to account. I can't hear him breathing from Germany.
   
   
6. The bin men. Rudely awakening me (I know - I've used this already, and it isn't Wednesday). We have single glazed sash windows, which are lovely but not very good at sound proofing. Despite initial concern when we moved in about the level of outside noise, mostly it's fine. If an argument does happen to take place just outside our window, I generally find it quite easy to drop off to sleep again (plus it's quite entertaining).
   
   The bin men on the other hand, Jeez Louise. Do you have to make such a song and dance about it? Will that bin lorry rev any louder? Can you make more of a crashing sound with each bin, getting closer and closer with each crash and shout... then sloooooowly, further away down the street? Maybe if you dropped the bins from a bit higher up you could get more volume going on the crash, but frankly I doubt it.
   
   And what - is every day bin day now?
   
   
7. The car alarm. I'm not sure it is a car actually, maybe a building somewhere opposite, but it goes off with alarming (ha ha) frequency. Only at night. See previous post when just out of hospital.
   
   
8. This blog post. Gah. I've been composing this all night in my head, which has inevitably been keeping me awake. It's now almost time to get up. The radiators have stopped clicking, the cat has given up scratching, the husband isn't here, the car alarm isn't screeching and the bin men are long gone. Even the street light has gone out - although it is broad daylight.
   
   Perhaps my time would be better spent getting a doze in instead of ranting on my iPhone.

Under pressure.

Having always been a bit of a planner, it's annoying that there isn't some stake in the ground - a point in time by which I know I'll be fully recovered. How can I plan when I don't know how long it will take?

And how do I know if recovery is taking too long? I have nothing to compare it to, so feel this pressure to be recovered already. And be heading back to work.

I'm not very consistent in my own understanding of my recovery. Some days I'll convince myself I am totally ready to go back to work. Some days I can't bring myself to get out of bed. There doesn't seem to be any pattern, and there isn't anything visible to judge it on. I worry that people think I'm putting it on. Making it up.

I know they don't think that really, but I feel like I have to go over the top to explain myself.

There is progress, it's just not linear, and not visible. I feel a pressure for me to be better, be recovered more - and I put that pressure on myself. I feel guilty if I laze around not doing anything, but I feel guilty if I'm out doing something, because maybe that means I should be back at work.

I just can't win with myself.

Reflection reflections.

I've been really self conscious about having no hair, as is probably obvious from this blog. But yesterday I started to feel better about it.

It seemed like such a violation to go from long hair to literally none, so I cut it short first. That style felt very alien, and not like me at all. But it was a strange time as I knew I had about a week before it was all going anyway. And I had bigger things to worry about...

Then when the bandages came off after surgery I was so glad it was over that I really didn't mind about the lack of hair. It looked ok at that stage too, and the plasters were still on - hiding the scar.

Recently I've been struggling more. Olly shaves his head every few weeks, and has done for as long as I've known him. Sometimes I do it for him. He takes for granted the fact that his hair grows normally. He has a normal hairline, his hair grows evenly over his head with no thin or thick patches, and nowhere can it be seen grown horizontally along his head clumping in an unnerving manner. Also, he doesn't have bald bits around a crusty red bumpy scar.

Lucky Olly.

I've struggled with the dilemma of what to do when someone knocks on the door. It's not a pretty sight, and really quite scary I imagine. When I'm in the house I generally walk around with the scar out, so the air can get to it. When someone arrives, the choices are to manically pull on a headscarf (which isn't an easy or quick job) whilst shouting at visitor to wait... not ideal, or just brave it naked-headed.

After an episode with the man from British Gas, who couldn't stop staring at the scar in the manner of teenage boy (or pervy grown man) who talks to your chest instead of your face, I try to make sure I have a scarf by the door. Sometimes though, I just can't be arsed or there isn't enough time, or I can't find a scarf. Nobody has actually said anything or seemed uncomfortable. Except me, I am horribly self conscious.

It's quite depressing having to just accept that you look strange - to yourself. I don't look like me, and that is a really weird and horrible feeling. And if I think that what must everyone else think?

Yesterday, for the first time, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and didn't recoil in shock. I've become quite good at just blocking that feeling out, "who the fuck is that in the mirror...? oh god, it's me". I just push it aside as there isn't anything I can do about it. For the first time though that didn't happen, and again this morning after brushing my teeth.

I've thought about it and it could be for any of the following reasons:

1. I've just got used to it, so it's no longer a shock;
2. My hair has grown back long enough (in some places) to balance out the massive cheeks. I've been used to seeing my head with a certain volume around it in the form of hair (oh how many hours I used to spend working on that volume), and without it the ratio is off. My cheeks are way too big in comparison;
3. My cheeks have shrunk. Mum thinks that the steroids made me puffy (not moon-faced, shudder) and that effect may have finally gone.

Anyway, something has changed and even if it's only my perception then it's a good thing.

What motivation?

It doesn't seem long since I was writing about how motivated I am. Drumming, exercising, learning programming languages... If I could be bothered I'd check exactly how long ago it was. But I can't.

I don't seem to be able to be bothered to do anything much anymore. It's like me and Neville are having a competition to see who can sleep the most (she can). I end each day with the best of intentions for the following day, but when it comes around I just can't drag myself out of bed.

Today it's grey and miserable and rainy and cold. Our bathroom is so minging that I've been avoiding the shower (handy excuse) so I'm still in my pyjamas - which makes it impossible to go outside. See my logic? Might as well go back to bed.

I'm not down or depressed or anything, just prefer to be in bed than anywhere else.

My one monthiversary.

Suddenly it's one month since surgery. Wow.

I'm celebrating, on my own, in bed, with a migraine. I'm really disappointed. I knew it was a long shot but I was really hoping that the tumour had been the cause of my migraines.

Rubbish.

Meh.

Feeling a bit down today.

It's like, when everyone goes off to work and college and I'm left to my own devices, I am not doing anything constructive. Yesterday I watched IACGMOOT on catch up. It really made me laugh (although it's disturbing that their bandanas are the same as my favourite headscarf). Then I ate some crisps, had a sleep on the sofa, read Heat magazine. I didn't have a shower or manage to get out of my pyjamas and slippers all day. I didn't do anything of value.

And my hair looks ridiculous.

When there's nobody else here I don't have any will power. And I feel a bit guilty for doing shit all. Like watching rubbish telly and eating crisps! (It's not rubbish, it's brilliant. Love Ant and Dec). I'm just wasting the days away. I think it's the guilt more than anything that is getting to me.

And the fact that I feel a bit aimless. Long term, there are loads of things to look forward to, but in the short term I'm just trying to get through the day for the sake of getting through the day.

Hopefully it's just a blip, I'm sure it is. I didn't do any of the things on my list yesterday, and I know it would make me feel better to do something constructive, but I just don't have the motivation. Or energy, it feels too much like hard work.

I suppose it's only been two days, I'll do something constructive soon - maybe after I've watched last night's IACGMOOH...

A sudden motivation.

Officially, baby sitting ended last week when the post-surgery risk of a seizure reduced. But Oliver had terribly bad man flu so worked from home most days, and mum was on reading week so was around a lot too. It has been great to have people to talk to during the day, but I am looking forward to spending some time on my own. I can't remember the last time I was on my own (except the night before surgery).

It's Monday and I have loads to do. I discovered two amazing websites this weekend through the Guardian, both about education. On Saturday I found the Guardian Chinese Challenge on Memrise and over the course of the morning - in three minute bursts (perfect for my concentration span) - I learnt about twenty symbols. You can learn loads of things on Memrise, I plan to learn some French vocabulary and all the flags / capitals of the world. Something I can show off with down't pub.

Then on Sunday I read about Udacity, which really intrigued me. I haven't had a good enough look yet but I believe I can learn to programme in several languages, and something about artificial intelligence. Awesome! It may require more concentration than I currently have, but I plan to research it today.

So I have lots of learning to do. If I'm going to be off work for a while this will make sure that I am still using my brain. My newly uncramped brain.

Also, drum practise - I need to do some. And get some passport photos for my freedom pass application. It's great that if you can't have a driving licence for medical reasons (as opposed to being banned for drink driving) you can get a freedom pass which gives you free bus travel after rush hour. I'm not looking forward to the passport photos though, I hate those booths.

Right then, busy day ahead, and my list is waiting. Best get cracking.

In my bubble.

Late last night I read a blog written by someone who'd had something similar to me. Mum had found it, amongst others. She has basically triaged them for me and she thought this one was worth reading.

Up until now, I haven't read much. In fact I realised I'd been actively avoiding it. Plenty of people have offered to put me in touch with their friends that have been through this, but in every case I have found a way not to. It dawned on me that I've been avoiding that too. But why?

Before surgery, I didn't think it was worth talking to someone as each case is unique. The logistics and outcome of the operation are dependent on the location and size of the tumour, I thought. So someone else's experiences wouldn't be relevant.

In fact, I think I just didn't want to know. Hearing more details would make it more real and looking back, I was struggling to prepare mentally for surgery. I don't think I could have coped with it.

But now, surgery over, why am I still so reluctant to hear other people's accounts, or meet up with fellow post-craniotomy patients?

Once I started reading this blog last night I carried on until I'd finished the whole thing. It was mad. There were so many similarities and much of what I read felt familiar. But it also made me feel uncomfortable, reading someone else's account. And I think I've figured out why.

Being a younger sibling, there has always been something to compare myself to, and a feeling of expectation to be met. It was much worse when I was growing up, in fact I don't think it applies anymore, but as a second child the bar has been set before you. To compare you to.

I think this is having a similar effect on me. I don't want the pressure of knowing where I should be in my recovery. To be comparing myself to other people's stories, and coming out worse. It seems ridiculous and petty now I've worked it out.

Also, I'm shy. I have to push myself to be sociable and I'll take any excuse not to meet people. Brain surgery is a great excuse to be antisocial.

At the moment it feels like I'm progressing well, but in my own little bubble. Even writing Henrietta is something I can safely do from the comfort of my preferred solitude. Maybe it's time to pop it and start engaging more. With the community of people who have been through something similar, as well as with everyday life. Something to think about anyway.

Morning has arrived.

I slept absolutely fine, was woken just before two for my obs which weren't at all intrusive, and was told I'm first on the operating list which is a massive relief for me. I just want this done now, the longer the wait the more my brain thinks and I have reached about saturation point for that now.

So here we are, it's 5:30am and I'm awake. I will be thrown in the shower at 6am with some special stuff I need to use for hygiene and infection prevention, pre surgery. I've also been supplied a gown for surgery, some optional plastic pants (thoughts anyone?) and some stockings. I will look forward to changing back into pyjamas, that will feel like a nice thing to do and a bit of a milestone I think. 

While I'm showering the nurses will change my bed to ensure everything is clean as possible and then this is where I'll be until they come for me between 8am and 8:30am. Olly and mum will hopefully will have made it down to say hello. And goodbye. I feel fine now, like I'm totally ready, but I know when I see them I'll cry. I don't really want to cry as it's pointless and I don't want to cause a fuss and upset everyone else but I can't help it. Always been a cryer it's irritating. Am actually having a little cry now too, just to myself. If this was a film then it would be a good time for a little cry.

For the first time last night I felt brave, but it was still a false feeling as I don't have any choice in this. Anyone in this situation would be doing what I'm doing. But I think it was because I was properly scared last night, such a strange experience. I really don't remember a time I have been truly scared before. Maybe after this I'll be able to watch zombie films with ghosts in. I'll be like whatever - that's not scared, I'm going to get a cup of tea. Hope that happens. (I bet it doesn't though I'll be behind the sofa with a cushion whimpering at triffids).

I'm quite thirsty but obviously can't drink anything now. I am a bit nervous feeling, like before an exam or something but my overwhelming thoughts now are phew. It's nearly over. And there are no more nights to get through.

I can't post this as the magic internet has disappeared. But it is here waiting to be logged.

[Jen wrote that last night and then lost her internet connection so I'm posting it now instead - Oliver]

And so here we are.

This is really what I was interested in, how on earth was this going to feel? And suddenly here I am. How did I get here?

Time has been elastic. It has moved so quickly and yet it feels like it's been forever. A day lasts a week and then a week flies by in a few hours. And now here I am, in hospital, waiting for brain surgery. Life is very strange.

Have I really got a tumour in my head? It just doesn't seem possible.

Right. Well, I better try and capture some sense as well. I am feeling ok now, quietly calm. The ward is nice and the nurses lovely. I've just taken some pills to knock me out but I'll be woken soon anyway for obs, and then again a few hours later for pre-surgery shower. So I'm actually not too worried about not sleeping, there won't be time to sleep.

After all that.

I also don't feel alone, I have the internet for one thing (no idea how, or why, but it's really improved the hospital experience). And it's good to be writing. I also have Luis. Will get a photo of Luis up on the photo page at some point, he is a felt turtle from my sister, to keep me company.

Up and down then I suppose. I was definitely in a panic before, but now I'm back on track. I'm hoping I just needed to get it out the way and realise the depth of the terror, so that it would lose it's power. That may have happened or it may have just abated and is lurking around the corner. I'll find out.

Thanks for all the messages. It's been a bit overwhelming today so I've been keeping a low profile but I really appreciate the kind thoughts everyone has been sending. Thank you.

I'm going to hope the pills work now. Night night all.

All becomes clear.

I can't remember the last time I was actually scared of something. It's not like starting a new job, or worrying where the cat's run off to. I'm actually, terrified. I'm not sure I have ever even been terrified before and it's a very strange feeling.

My heart is racing and has been for quite some time. I don't seem to be able to breathe properly. I keep bursting into tears. And it's annoying that I can't stop it. I think that's the difference - usually I can talk myself out of anxiety, or nervousness, or worry pretty easily - this is unstoppable.

I'm not scared of being alone, I think that must have been an easy cop out for me yesterday. It's pretty obvious now (duh, I feel like such an idiot). I'm scared of someone drilling open my head. They're going to actually open up my head - that is just. Ridiculous.

I bloody knew it would all come out now.

I had a shower earlier and thought I'd wash what hair I have left for the last time, with nice shampoo. Half way through I suddenly realised that my head is never going to be the same again. It will be different. Scarred. Bumpy. With metal in it. How on earth had I not realised this before? I felt really bad that I haven't taken more notice of the shape of my head, as now it's too late, it will be different. Sorry head.

I'm going to have a massive scar when I wake up and bandages and a drain coming out of my head. That's a terrifying thought. I wish my heart would slow down.

A bed for the night.

Right then, the bed manager has spoken and my bed awaits. It feels a bit too real now and I've got the shakes. Luckily Neville is lying so completely across my arms as I'm typing that I can only move the end of my fingers, so I can't actually shake.

I have been busy today, bought some new pyjama bottoms and a travel toothpaste for the occasion, and have been studiously ignoring my list of important things to do. Except the council tax bill, I did that.

But the time has come. I need to have a shower and pack. And then get myself to King's. Here we go.

I wish I didn't have to.

I have no free will.

The trouble with deciding not to worry is I don't actually have any free will so it isn't something I can control.

[I urge you to watch this, it took me a few goes to get but completely affected me, I loved it. I had always been a spot embarrassed about my taste in music / art / culture (I am not what you might call cool) but this whole lack of free will idea made so much sense to me and took away the responsibility I felt to like what everyone else likes. It was months ago now and I'd forgotten it's impact on me until yesterday, and seems just as appropriate now. This is the second Sam Harris plug I've done but I really recommend watching it.]

Random thoughts are popping into my brain, and it's not me who puts them there. What if this is the last time I can cut up my own food. Jesus. What did you think that for, dude? Stop crying already.

It's getting tedious.

But it's ok, it'll be daylight again in a bit and everyone else will soon wake up. My melodramatic what if's should recede to manageable levels once more as I get embroiled in last minute tasks I've saved up for today, to panic over specially.

• Pay the outstanding council tax bill. Probably should have fast tracked that one.
• Cut nails (What if.. SHUT UP BRAIN not listening)
• Buy dressing gown
• Pick up latest sick note from the doctor's
• Tidy bedroom just a little bit as its quite embarrassing and people might see it if I'm away for a while
• Decide on music and entertainment to take in with me
• Join library and get audiobooks out
• Pack hospital bag
• Practice drums
• Go to hospital

That's what my today looks like. Might just skip to the drums, that should wake everyone up. I can blame my unsociability on lack of free will.

Thinking about going under.

I feel like I've pretty much processed everything now except for one thing: the operation itself. And the timing is good as I'm going into hospital tomorrow. Now would be a good time to get this processed.

It's simple, really. I'm very scared. I haven't gone much beyond that in my thinking so I need to work out what I'm scared of so that I can just park it. That worked really well with thinking through the possible side effects and I think it'll work here too.

I am being admitted tomorrow (Tuesday), so they can monitor me overnight and do whatever it is they need to do, but the surgery itself will be on Wednesday (hopefully - there is a chance I will get bumped last minute for an emergency. I'm ignoring this just now as it's just a variable too far).

The anticipation of the operation will be the worst, and so I'm very worried about Tuesday night in hospital.

I don't want to spend the night awake in hospital, terrified, alone, with dark scary thoughts going round my head. I will be alone, and I hate that. Visiting hours must end at some point, and then I'll be alone. I know I'll be ok, it's just I don't want to be alone. But I have to be so... I'll just have to deal with it as there isn't anything else to do. (I fully plan on demanding drugs to knock me out).

What else?

I think once I've made it through Tuesday night, Wednesday will be fine. I'm pretty sure by then I'll be like, bring it on. It'll be daylight, there'll be people there and I'll just want to get it over and done with. Not actually too worried about Wednesday. Wheel me away, give me anaesthetic and then I just do a spot of time travel.

It will be strange to wake up, will I know what's happened? Will it hurt? Will I know if Oliver's there? Will I be able to move? What will it feel like?

Can't answer any of these, and nobody can. It feels like a useless exercise even thinking about it actually. I'm just going to have to wait and see. I don't want to be in lots of pain, but I know they can give me relief and I'll still be very sleepy so I think that's probably not worth getting too worried about.

So that's it. Turns out all I'm really scared about is being alone. It seems simultaneously a bit of an anticlimax, but understandable.

Right, I'll get back to building a drumkit then, that was easy.

Thunderbolt of panic.

Ah, and there it is.

Always expected but never anticipated, who knows where it comes from. I made a will today. I've been meaning to for absolutely years and this has just given me the motivation to finally get around to it but it does feel a bit morbid. And it's scary seeing your "last will and testament" bound on a table. Sheesh.

I think that probably didn't help.

But the panic just hit out of the blue. One minute I'm on the sofa, niece playing on the floor, really lovely day and suddenly I'm in tears, imagining I'm dead and everyone's just having to deal with it. It comes on so fast that I couldn't explain it if I wanted to and I have no idea if anyone's even noticed that I'm crying. I'm not even crying for me, it's like it's a film and it's really sad.

All the stuff I've been through and the crap and the misery and the growing up. It would be sad to die now that I'm in this awesome place and not have the opportunity to enjoy it for longer. Now I've finally got here.

I am actually thinking of my life in terms of a film. I should really stop doing that because its the chick flicks making me cry, not reality. It's your fault Kate Hudson.

A funny old day.

I had a really good chat with Oliver tonight before he went to chestershire club, and it just reminded me how incredibly lucky I am to be surrounded by brilliant people. Talking, honestly, can solve anything.

Anyway, in this really good chat, I was explaining to Oliver how I have been so up and down all day. About three times each I think, really quite a yoyo. I started off feeling this was totally unreasonable, as well as annoying as I just can't keep track of myself and control it. But then I realised actually that today has been a really big day in terms of news. And I think that it's all coming out now. I am panicking, big time. And that's a good thing.

I'm really glad Olly was at the hospital with me. It was useful to get his opinion of what happened this morning to overlay on my own thoughts. It turns out we were both quite shocked at how negative the news was, when we'd been really led to believe so far that it wasn't so bad. Now I know the worst, nothing has changed in reality, but it seems much more real. I am really very scared now.

I have been thinking a lot about how the next week will be and I think the panic will now grow right up until surgery. There is just too much to think about. I think I am more worried about how worried I will be in the run up, and how that will manifest itself.

So the learning for today is that it's ok to have an up and down day, when I've been dealing with new information and shock.  But tomorrow I would like to be a bit more stable (less panic, less crying) and more calm.

Also - unconnected - I've been reading some Sam Harris about lying which is really good. But hard to implement. Love it though.

Early morning jitters.

I'm attempting this from my phone for the first time. Not sure if it's really a good idea not to have a little censor later, as it is predictably five in the morning again.

I knew I'd have a spot of trouble sleeping last night. I felt much much better when I went to bed than I had during the day. We had a really quiet companionable day. I managed to cook which I hadn't for a while and I love cooking. And Neville was being brilliant.

But this morning is my hospital appointment, and although I'll probably only be meeting a nurse and talking about the medication I'm on, it has been playing in my mind.

It's going to be more real. The surgery. I mean, there's no messing around now. This time next week I'll be being admitted tomorrow. So really it's time to start asking questions and preparing, and I'm looking forward to getting information on it so I can prepare, but it's still daunting and scary. And it doesn't take much right now for anything daunting and scary to just go round and round for hours.

I want to make sure I ask all the questions while I have chance. But I don't really want to know the answers. Except I do want to know as long as I have option to say nahhh, yer ok thanks. Which I don't. That might be the best paragraph I have ever written.

So I've been awake trying to work out what I'm worried about the most and why to remember to ask. It's actually hard to decipher specific things I'm worried about instead of the big whole so I think it's been a useful exercise:


Side effects

• Long term memory problems / lack of ability to concentrate or multitask (I love my job but it is busy and manic in periods and I need to rely on these previous skills).
• Temporary loss or impairment to speech / sight / movement obviously. Just interested in what they are expecting.

Recovery

• Getting back on my feet, most importantly how long until I can get home.
• Independence during recovery. Ok I'll cut to the chase, bedpans and commodes are plaguing my thoughts. I just want to be able to use the the bloody toilet on my own. If possible.
• Pain. How much will it hurt? (I really don't want it to hurt).
• What drugs will they expect to give me and for how long and what are the side effects.
• What's the ward like (can I see it?)
• When do they expect I'll be able to start running again? Fly again? Be me again.
• Are there any provisions for counselling and / or support during recovery?
• Can I bring my laptop into hospital?

Surgery itself

• What's the deal with the head shaving, or any other prep I might need to do.
• What is the procedure. I want to know logistics and details. What do they screw my skull back in to? What position will I be in? How long... What's all this about a gamma knife?
• Do I need the groin thing. Yeesh. If so, when, because I have some serious maintenance to do. Which actually to be fair should be done before surgery anyway. And let's be honest, it's not the maintenance that's bothering me its the I getting injected into a groin artery. But still.
• Waking up post surgery, if at all possible, what the hell should I expect please?

There are some glaring omissions of course. But thought I better stick to questions I can realistically expect some kind of meaningful answer to. And I'm going to try really hard not to cry until I'm on the way home.

Ok. Brain dump over, should have don't this earlier I might have a little snooze now.