Okay so it doesn't take a genius to realise that things weren't quite right with my last post. I was really ill. I'd finished the medication that the useless doctor had given to me and the pain hadn't eased up at all. We decided not to go to the BlytheCon after party because I could hardly move in the bed, other than to sit on all fours because it felt like it was doing me more good than lying down. Eventually Sam had had enough of seeing me suffer and we piled into the car and back to the hospital.
It was a little after midnight when we got there so A&E was filled with the standard drunken fools that had fallen over or the odd one in cuffs with a split lip from fighting, which meant that I had to wait a bit longer to be seen this time. They shoved me straight into a bed though and then I was placed in a cubicle to wait. At about 2am I sent poor shattered Sam back to the hotel to get some sleep and tried to doze myself. Of course, that's when the nurses decide that they want to attend to you, naturally.
Numerous various tests and samples later, I was given a diagnosis of gall stones. It was now past 6am and I was wheeled onto a ward where the other patients were starting to wake up ready for breakfast. I, obviously, was nil by mouth. The caterer, clearly filled with compassion, set up her station at the foot of my bed to feed the other invalids. I felt like a baby tiger looking at all the people scoffing burgers outside the enclosure whilst I sat under a sign clearly marked; DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS.
The next couple of days blend into one constant loop of having my blood pressure checked and being wheeled off for various ultra-sounds and MRI scans. Poor Sam visited me for as long as he could but they would send him away at meal times, despite me usually not being allowed to eat and again at 10pm so I could sleep. Fat chance of that. I've never had a more uncomfortable night in my life. And I've slept on a conservatory room floor.
On Monday Sam had to check out of the hotel, so he spent the day with me in the hospital whilst I pestered the doctors to sort themselves out because we needed to get home. Not that they paid any attention. Maybe the accent barrier made things more complicated. You know how a doctor uses complicated medical terms that you don't really understand and you're forced to ask them to "speak English, Doc"? Well imagine that with a thick Scottish accent on top too. Conversations were a question of endurance of your mental capacity as you tried to decipher what the fuck was truly going on.
I was tired, I was ill, I was yellow from the jaundice and I was fed up. So I had no choice but to self discharge and return home.
Again I slept most of the way home as Sam drove us home and we had a night in our own bed, knowing that nothing productive would get done at that time of the morning in the hospital. When I woke up I got dressed in jogging bottoms and slippers because they'd clearly keep me in once we explained everything to them, and we headed to the Heath.
Eight hours later, I'd been poked with fingers and needles, had multiple tests and the final outcome was... they agreed. It was definitely gallstones. Hurrah.
The Glasgow hospital was refusing to send the results of their scans over so I was sent home with a goody bag of pills and told to return the next day for yet another ultrasound...
So I did something today I haven't done in a long time.
I went on a first date.
I've never really had many first dates. I tend to fall into relationships, without doing the whole dating business. I don't know whether that's better or not. Well, all those relationships ended so I guess not...
I felt sick with nerves to be honest as I got ready. I put on my 'Little Black Dress'. It's from H&M and has a zip right down the front. It also has 'Love is Hard' written all over it, which was going to be beautifully poetic or a disaster waiting to happen, I couldn't decide.
We were meeting at the pub that he worked in, where we first met a few weeks before. I'd gone down to visit my friend Jade who worked there too. He'd finished his shift and was having a drink so we chatted at the bar. I'd seen him occasionally since, when he'd serve me and my dad but not spoken too much.
It was Thursday when everything happened. I'd arranged a surprise birthday party for Jade in the pub. He was working the few hours while I set up, so I told him he had to come to the party, I was worried a lot of people weren't going to turn up as they hadn't messaged me back, so numbers counted. However, planning a party all day meant that I hadn't really eaten and I was on my second bottle of wine (sharing with one of the girls obviously!) by the time Jade came in for the 'surprise!' moment. It's safe to say my memory rapidly deteriorates from there on. I woke the next morning on the sofa to a text from Jade; "Do you remember kissing Sam?" Balls.
I remember him helping me to the car, and me asking if he had my number and to text me. Everything before that is a blur. So is everything after that. Anyway, he started texting me and asked me on a date. I thought he seemed nice, so what did I have to lose?
I got to the pub (in a taxi - didn't want to be all red-faced and sweaty!) and he was just finishing his shift so I sat and waited. We were making small talk because there were a few people around and obviously its first date nerves. It turned out that Jade was working the shift after him so she came in and broke the silence, chatting away and telling me that her ex boyfriend wasn't leaving her alone. The next thing I know, Sam and I are having our date in the pub, to make sure that Jade gets home okay!
Her ex-boyfriend was waiting outside the pub when we left and followed us up the road. We walked up a one way street so he sped off and met up with Jade further up the hill. He and Jade started having a huge argument whilst Sam and I watched at the bottom to make sure everything was allright. About half an hour later, Jade walked off and he got back into his car. We were glad that everything was okay and it had really broken the nerves as were both talking about how concerned we were for her.
We went to Wetherspoons to have a drink and get to know each other since they never play music in there that you have to shout over. He bought the drinks (bonus) and then sat next to me rather than opposite which I thought was really nice. After a while, we got a taxi to his house to watch a movie.
It was really nice and he made me feel comfortable, my nerves were completely forgotten. I walked home afterwards but we've set another date for tomorrow which can only be a good sign surely?
Wish me luck!
I am a woman perplexed. I don't understand people, or the way that their minds work. Or why they're so ridiculously stupid.
I'm sat at a bar with my workmate when she gets a phonecall from her boyfriend. I'm sat opposite her studying the menu, but I can clearly see something is wrong, she's frowning a lot and being really cautious.
"Okaaaay..." she drags out her words as if there's some doubt in them. It's weird, especially for her. She finally snaps as some information is told to her; "Right. Did you? Right. Mhmm. I'll call you later." The phone is slammed onto the table. (The only downside to a mobile; you can't just slam the receiver when you're done with the conversation. You've got to frantically press the end call button before dropping it to the table. Takes all the drama out of it.)
"He cheated," she tells me before I have chance to ask. I make her take a shot before telling me what happened.
Turns out, her devoted boyfriend who is always all over her, telling her how much he loves her and getting upset because she doesn't do the same back (she's not very lovey-dovey. Ever.) went on a night out with work and slept with some girl.
"I could deal with a kiss but that's too much." After some serious discussion, we reach the conclusion that if he wasn't so drunk that he could still get it up, it meant he was sober enough to know what he was doing, and therefore there was no excuse. Cheating is cheating.
To me, cheating is always cheating. Whether you're drunk, sober, bored, planned it or it was spur-of-the-moment. Cheating is cheating and there's just no need for it.
You're not happy in your relationship? End it. Not getting any at home? Talk about it or end it. She's coming onto you? Tell her to get lost, your woman is at home. There is simply no excuse.
Texting, picture messages and dirty messages count too. If there is intent it's cheating. I have no sympathy in this area.
Why do people do it? Why do they think they'll get away with it? And why do they always cry, apologise and beg for forgiveness? No. You chose to go there, you decided your relationship meant nothing and you threw it away. You deserve the unhappiness that follows, because the person that you cheated on feels a thousand times worse, and you had no right to make them feel that way at all.
So after 30 something more calls from her (now ex-) boyfriend, he seemed to finally get the hint that he should leave her alone, at least for the rest of the day. However, it was about 2am by this point (that boy is not bright at all.)
"There's no way I could forgive that. A few minutes worth of average sex was worth more to him that I was in that moment. That's a place I'm not prepared to be."
Hey guys, think about your woman, not your little man yeah?
