Getting better...it's a fairytale.

Second brain hemorrhage and the doctors have told me to be home as soon as possible. There's a possibility that she may not remember me if I delay. Leaving this Saturday. Thesis is not doing, nothing is packed yet and I've lost so much stress weight that I may blow away in a strong wind.

Home soon. Send happy thoughts.

A quick update.

With finishing my thesis of somewhat more vital importance than it seemed last week, this will be brief.

Mom appears to be getting better, although still no word on what the source is, and she'll be in the hospital for awhile yet.

She has a phone in her room, and so I can talk to her and hear that she's (reasonably) normal and that's making me feel better as well.

Will keep my nose to the grindstone for the next three weeks so I can hightail it of Dodge!

From bad to worse - a case of deja vu from three years ago.

Those of you who have known me for awhile know the first part of this story. Three years ago, I was happily ensconced in my life in London, working at a fantastic job in media at a TV station and settling into living in Europe (of the non-continental kind) and getting ready to travel around on weekends. I was over visiting my friend Emma in a nearby town when a phone call came - my Dad had lung cancer. He was comatose the whole time I was home while they used chemo to deal with the tumour, but it took, and when I left to return to work, was roundly assured that he would be fine and out of the hospital the next week, and went back to London, secure in the doctor's opinion. Would have been a happy ending. Except that he wasn't okay. Three days later, back in Europe, I got another call. The cancer had eaten away the lungs that opened and closed his diaphram, and he would never breathe again. And he was in the last bed in intensive care, and if someone needed it before I could get back from England again, they would shut down the ventilator. So he died five days before his birthday, the whole bottom of my world fell out, and I moved back to BC, executed the will, shut down the estate, made sure my Mom was functioning and tried not to curl up in a ball and die every single day for probably a good year.

Cue Wednesday. I'm over at Emma's, again, and my cell phone rings, again. Except this time, it's my mother in the hospital, five days before her birthday. Her brain is bleeding. And I'm in England, but not at home or at a computer. Anyone see parallels yet?

Waiting on MRI results to see when I need to fly back home. My thesis is half finished and I'm nowhere near ready to leave. This is all far overshadowed by the fact that I'm so terrified I can hardly breathe. She can't receive visitors yet and I haven't been able to talk to her but the nurses tell me she's improving. Other people have told me that she'll pull through and it will all be okay. I desperately want to believe them, but I bought that fairytale last time.

My sanity is hanging on by a thread, and I haven't slept in what seems like a thousand years. Send me happy thoughts - I accept all donations. I'll even pay shipping.

Exploring the inner workings of Liverpudlian hospitals.

So there I was, innocently having breakfast and playing on the Internet. I've had a cut on my arm that's infected and has been there for about a week, but until now, it had co-existed with reasonable friendliness with the rest of my body.

My arm (the infected one) was feeling kind of weird and numb and tingly, so I went to have a shower to see if that helped. Which is where I was when I got dizzy and my body gave out on me. I did actually stagger out the bathroom door and made it to my floor before I face-planted on my bed. But as we know, numb + tingly + fainting = bad things and time to get checked out. As well as the remote possibility that my arm infection had tried to hijack the rest of my body, fainting's not really my style...too 'damsel in distress-y'.

It took me awhile to be able to stand up without getting black sparkly things in front of my eyes, but I eventually called Jeannie, stood up AND got dressed, quite an achievement, and we headed to the nearest hospital. They don't really do walk-in clinics here, there are no doctors with hours on Sunday, and the last time I made an appointment, the earliest one I could get was almost two weeks later. So off to Emergency we trotted. I figured the fresh air might help, and it did. Liverpool Women's Hospital. It has 'Hospital' in the name. Lies, all lies. All of the entrances but one were closed because it was (gasp!) Sunday. And apparently they don't take patients unless they've been referred. And then only if they have gynacological issues. To me, a hospital that doesn't take patients should call themselves something else. Maybe "The House of Women's Reproductive Organs" or something equally catchy.

Still feeling a bit wobbly, we caught a cab to the Liverpool General, and finally found our way to Emergency where we sat for awhile and then I got sent into Cubicle 2. Number 3 held a screaming old man, swearing in Scouse and kicking at anything that passed. His day was far worse than mine - he had a broken hip. And he had dementia. And he was blind. There was much chaos and I felt awful for him.

The doctor came in at that point. He couldn't have been more than 26 or so, fresh out of med school, and so with the howls of pain and cursing from next door echoing in my ears, they gave me bunches of tests - ECG, temperature, blood sugar, blood pressure, etc.

He came back in a few minutes later. With perfectly accented Queen's English, he said, "Well, Miss Prinz, your blood pressure is really rather quite low." (Yes, he actually used 3 qualifiers in a row). "You're going to need to bring it up, as that's what seems to be causing your lightheadedness."

"I advise that you start including more salt in your diet." He paused before continuing in his posh British accent. "You know...like crisps."

Yes, that's right. Not only do I have the blood pressure of Casper the Friendly Ghost, but my prescription is potato chips. Sigh.

All of those Health Canada advisories on diet and nutrition that I listen to, and what do I get? Buying chips on doctor's orders. It's a strange world. Can't I be in the high blood pressure club with everybody else?

Anyways. I am duly eating more salt, and the world is a happy place. The inclusion of total junk-foody-crap is optional if I choose to put salt on more regular things that I eat, so that's fine as well. And I got some antibiotics for my arm.

I would like to send an official blog thank you to Jeannie for being my guardian-hospital-angel - you're a star :)

And no need to worry - apparently it was a one time thing and I am in tip-top shape.

(I can see those of you whom I scold about junk food consumption smirking from ear-to-ear, by the way).