Weather forecast: Swollen with a chance of hideous.

Hayfever, they said. Take these pills, they said. It will all go away, THEY SAID.

They being the doctor and the internet.

'You have what appears to be a severe case of hayfever my dear. Take these pills and use this cream and you'll be fine in a few days'. 

Three months down the line, a desperate phone call to NHS Direct and a trip to the emergency Out Of Hours Doctors later, we've established; this ain't no hayfever. It's extreme eczema caused by weather change. You heard. Weather change.

So basically, my face can be used in place of BBC Weather for real-time temperature and climate information. Talk about a red puffy silver lining!

I like to think that, just like Peter Parker, I have developed my own personal superpower overnight. Screw spidey sense, I can judge humidity. And that's not all. Using words to express information is for boring ordinary people. Get this. Instead, my face will do it for me in the form of puffiness and swelling. If that's not an enviable talent, I don't know what is. 

By now, you're probably shaking with jealousy. Well, let me tell you buddy, it's not a gift to be taken lightly. With great power comes great responsibility. People stop in supermarkets and stare in awe at me*. I'm basically a modern day Prophet. What can I say, I'm blessed.







*N.B. To the wanker in Tesco who asked if I'd 'had a late night', I hope you step on Lego.

Holey hell with a side of puffy.

Gally me, I'm gallbladder free!

So that's the good news. It was all good for the most part (with the odd complication - it just wouldn't have been right had it been as simple as planned), I won't bore you - or perhaps that should be gore you? - with the details. Simply put: doctors 1, gallbladder 0.

So now, three weeks on, we resume regular programming.

You may recall the filling fiasco I had a few posts back involving 8 injections. The one that scarred me for life. But you know that old saying 'face your fears'? Well, my face is about to. Holey hell, as the blog title describes. 20 days from today, just enough time to psych myself up into a frenzy. SUPER. I'm 80% sure that it's the most problematic filling from the trip just gone by that's fallen out. Damn you Uni dentist, damn you.

Anyway, onto the side of puffy.

Hayfever. Need I say more. Perhaps I should. This year, nature has conspired against me. At work on Thursday, my eyes started to feel sore and itchy. 'Get over it Thomo, that happens to us all!' I hear you cry.

Well, fast-forward approximately 12 hours until 3am, and cue waking up to the feeling of my face on fire, and my eyes swollen to double their normal size. And why stop there, the pollen army declared. My mouth and surrounding area transformed into a 'Why so serious' Joker image. If only it was Halloween.

First week of work, and I become Coco the Clown. They say first impressions never last. I bloody hope not.

What a prick.

Thursday:
Pre-op assessment.
Including:
- Health questionnaire (history, allergies, lifestyle etc.)
- Blood pressure and temperature
- B...b...blood tttest.... *sobs uncontrollably*

All for a good cause though. So everyone keeps reminding me, but they're not the one being injected with a sharp piece of metal to extract vials of my blood which should naturally stay inside me.

So after the pressure and temperature tests were done, my history and life assessed ('If you had to walk non-stop on a flat surface, how many miles could you walk?' 'erm...lots?'), the time had arrived.

Off the jumper came, flesh bared. Deep breath. Credit to the lovely nurse, trying to calm me down, but by this time, I was very much a lost cause.

Fast forward 30 minutes, and it was over. Not. 30 minutes later, there had been three different attempts to take blood (the best Doctor in the place called in to 'take a stab at it'), and no blood. Not a drop.

'You might be dehydrated, we can't seem to get any blood out of you. Can you come back Saturday? Make sure you drink a lot!'.

Superb.

Saturday:

2 litres of water inside me, and I was ready. Inject me Nursy Nurse!

Fast forward 20 minutes, three injections later, and we'd filled up half the vials necessary. 'You've got such tiny veins! Try and relax, you've got too much adrenaline and they keep hiding away, it's really difficult to do'.

25 minutes later, three more injections, and we'd filled 4 out of the 6 vials.

They gave up after that.

Given that a syringe had to be used to drag the ever so reluctant blood they did manage to get out of me, it was decided that it just weren't playin'. The last two vials were only needed as a back up anyway, so screw it, they said.

Need(le)less to say, I was fairly delighted.

Superb. Superb times six. Actually superb times nine, including Thursday too. I'm fairly sure if I drank 2 litres of water now, I'd look like some sort of sprinkler given the amount of needle holes in me now.

I just can't wait for Tuesday's operation when they attempt to put the drip in my hand...

However, there is a silver lining to be found here. Heroine addict is off the cards. And I mean, that's always good right?

No doubt the next time I write I will be one organ lighter. So... till next time reader!



P.s. Oh, did I mention I graduated Uni? With a First. Say whatttttt.

Gally me, that's quite a stone!

If I was a top trump card, I think I would be the one people get and sigh.

Oh great, I got Miss. Sicky. You might as well just take her really.
*defeatedly hands over card* 

That being said, I'm not yet dead, so I'd have some pretty narly strength/deathproofability scores.
(Yes, I said narly, and I so pulled it off).

Anyway, several tests later and they have discovered a stowaway in my gallbladder in the form of a gallstone, which is taking up 25% of the space. Talk about greedy!

First it comes along uninvited and then has the nerve to take up a whole heap o' space without any permission at all. The rudeness of it!

So you know what they suggested to get even with the fucker? Remove it you say? No no. That would be tame. We want revenge damn it.

Instead, let's get the bailiffs in and take back it's stolen home by storm. I have termed it 'Operation retrieve gallbladder'. And by retrieve, I mean rip out and throw away. That'll teach the pesky stone once and for all.

Us against it.

And by us, I mean the surgeons who will be hacking me open like a dead animal operating on me in a few weeks time. I won't really have much participation in the whole ordeal other than lying there unconscious. Call me lazy.  

Am I scared? AS IF. I'm pumped to be sliced and diced, and wear that fetching hospital gown again. Blood tests?! GIVE ME TWO. Or not...

Actually, can someone please hold my hand?...

Well, it does keep me busy I suppose? There is also a 70-80% chance of no more excruciating pain after the op. Major plus!

And anyway, I always thought my body:organ ratio was just a tad unbalanced.

Note to self: wear sensible underwear.

Yesterday, I learnt how to make chicken curry, and how to make apple sauce (Not for the same dish I should point out).

After having a lie down to recover from all that excitement, I came to a realisation. Croydon is boring.

There, I said it.

Uni is over, and I'm home. Home, where there's nothing to do. Super duper.

Having ended a relationship with a guy who in all honestly was too good for me, I've realised there really isn't much back home for me. Growing up loving my small sleepy town, it turns out, as a Uni graduate, that really isn't too appealing. Whodaknown ey?

Well, I say nothing, that's a lie. Next week holds a heap of excitement for me. Hospital visits galore and tests a plenty. Welcome home to me...

I figured, go big or go home. From blood tests, to MRI's to ultrasounds, to some weird enzyme test, 'gimme the lot!' I said.

That's a lie. The doctor said 'give her the lot!', I whimpered and mentally broke down. Not that I'm not super excited. Bring on the tests!

Just one thing to remember: hospital gowns are backless... [see post title].

8 injections later...

You know what I love? The rush of adrenaline when a needle pierces through your skin and the intense surge of pain throughout your body that follows.

You know what I actually love? Sarcasm.

1460 days later, and I have now finished University. Woohoo. Well, somewhat premature woohoo because I have to have actually passed my final exams but that's a minor thing. I wanna woohoo and I'm gonna damnit. WOOHOO.

How did I celebrate? A trip to the dentist of course!

Normal celebrations are just so conventional. I love me some local anaesthetic and bright glaring overhead light for mine. Hell to the ye-ahhh. Or more helllb to thbe yebbah. My face is very numb, but I'll get to that.

Four fillings were to be had (what would the tooth-fairy think if she could see me now...).  Like the mature grown-up I have now become after four years at University, I calmly and collectedly walked to the dentist, went in, sat down, and awaited my death by needle and drill appointment entirely unfazed by the whole situation.

'Danielle, would you like to come in? Sorry for the wait'

'HELL FUCKING NO, I CAN THINK OF NOTHING WORSE ACTUALLY  Oh thanks, oh no, I wasn't waiting long at all actually'
*N.B. I may or may not arrived half an hour early which, coincidentally, may or may not be just enough time to completely psych yourself out about something you may or may not be terrified about. 

So down I sat, terrified, on the verge of a breakdown with a happy and carefree heart, lay back and sighed a contented sigh. So this is how I die, I thought. Finally, my teeth would be hole-free.

Anyway, due to being hypermobile, apparently, anaesthetic doesn't always work as well. Turns out, this is not an urban myth, but entirely true.

At this point, I would very much like to thank my nerve endings for taking part in this experiment. However, next time,  it might be nice to be informed that this was taking place. Just an idea, not that I didn't love the unexpected excruciating pain surging through my mouth and face element of surprise.

After fearing the first injection more than just about any horror movie ever made just a tiny bit, by the sixth injection, I was well-versed in what to expect. By the eighth, I was pretty much ready to do them myself.

An hour later, and an extremely numb face, and my teeth are now holey brilliant. Well, unholey brilliant, but that doesn't really work as well...

Iam never ever returning to that sadistic hell-hole ever again t really wasn't as bad as I thought it would be to be fair. Here's hoping I don't give myself a fat lip like the first and only other time I've had a filling...

As I sit here doing goldfish impressions facial exercises to lessen the numbing of my face (Google says it works so it must be true), I have only 3 days left in Bath in the student lifestyle. The real world back at home beckons.

Oh gosh.

Four fillings and a dysfunctional family, please.

29 days to go.

Those four exams are approaching scarily fast, but what better break from revision than a lovely trip to the dentist?

Last night I discovered a hole in my bottom tooth, and today I visited the delightfully called 'surgery'.

20 minutes later I was informed I didn't just need one filling, I needed four. Four?! Who the hell has been sneaking into my room at night and sprinkling sugar over my teeth?!

'You need to cut down on sugar' the dentist said.

'Ok, I will!' I said, too mortified at the horrific state of my teeth to tell her I don't even eat that much sugar. Like, ever. Ma teef arr doomd. (Just practising what it'll sound like when I lose them all...).

That was shitty thing Number One in my day.

The second however, hit it out of the park.

Now picture this. Four years ago my parents got divorced. They now don't talk. At all. Ever. Never ever. You got that? They don't talk. So, upon receiving an email informing me I didn't get my three tickets to my graduation, but instead, two, I was thrilled as you can imagine.

Welcome to who do you like more, with your host Danielle! 

Time to choose between parents! Who should I travel with is always a fun decision to make. So pleased to be a part of this game.

Whilst my best friend did her best to console me ( in my 'I'M NOT GOING THIS IS RUBBISH' state you were wonderful, bravo to you), other people were less... helpful. Lovely how people can be so understanding... ahem. Given that stress makes me ill, I can now expect to be planking in my graduation gown, what's not to laugh about?! Thrilled. Simply...thrilled.

Silver lining? I'll be able to spot my parents a mile off. The ones throwing chairs at each other in the back row. Makes it far more memorable in my view!

Sigh.

Karma, I deserve some sorta miracle right about now!

Warm jelly and a sedentary life.

50 days to go. 50. Like, less than two months. Scary scary stuff.

Anyway, it's been manic and crazy and stressful and blegh. To use the technical term. These last few weeks have consisted of four courseworks and a dissertation in the form of a six-person group report of 25,000 words. S'not been calm to say the least.

So, the post title. Let me explain.

Part 1)
Today in International Marketing, we were asked,
'Who do Marks and Spencer target?'.
Older people, we replied.
'And what are they like? What sort of lifestyle do they lead?'.
Sedentary I said. Just me, no one else. Just me.
'Sedentary... what? How can you live a sedentary lifestyle? How can you live a slow lifestyle?'

*Laughing among my lecture and peers*

Should I have stopped there? Perhaps.

'Have you ever walked behind an old person? They're slow'.

*A pause. And then....bigger increased laughing from my peers AND my lecturer*

That's right guys, I actually won one for a change.
Danielle 1, Embarrassment 100000000. I got one, that's what matters. Small victory, but in the stressful rubbishness that is deadline period of the last semester of final year, it matters.

Part 2)
Warm jelly. Have you ever had it? I don't recommend it.

Jelly was my evening treat to look forward to after working on my 3000 word essay on China and M&S. So I put it down, next to my laptop, to serve as a motivating force to power through. And power through I did. Two hours later and I'd finished my final version.

Success.

No, you know me better than that by now. Success is very much not my forte.

I reached out and grabbed the jelly pot (did I mention it was lidless?), and shook it lightly enjoy the little jiggle jelly does.

'Little jiggle' in this case is code for 'massive liquid explosion all over my floor, desk, clothes and laptop'. As it turns out, putting your jelly pot next to your laptops fan is a rookie error.

Heat + jelly = slop. Slop that is now decorating my floor in wonderful little slodges.

Brilliant.

Sigh. Back to my 3000 word essay. Turns out, China is quite a big complex place. Who'd have known?!

I am too busy to be ill.

In light of being full of a cold, I retract the previous statement. 

I'll live a life worth writing about next week. 

This week, I'll stay in bed, wrapped up in a blanket, drinking hot chocolate, watching endless Fresh Prince reruns. 

LOL JK.

87 days left of Uni. Ain't nobody got time for being ill. Time is irrelevant, s'always Coursework O'clock for me. 

However, it is Pancake Day! Am I having pancakes? YES. 

No, actually. I'm having pictures of pancakes. Sent to me by my Mum, from back home with my brother, while I sit here with my cupasoup. I can assure you, it's really really not the same. 

Sad face. Lonely ill sad face. Lonely ill sad unpancake-filled sad face. 

Whatever, I don't even like pancakes anyway. At all. Ever. Stupid tasty pancakes. 

Today's forecast: painful.

It hasn't rained all afternoon, and I've been inside a good few hours.

Screw it, I'm going to buy some Pepsi. Carpe diem and whatnot. It's on offer at Morrisons, so it's completely worth the 20 minute walk considering each can is the equivalent of 25p. Yeah. You heard, 25p. So you can understand where I'm coming from.

Warm coat or rain coat? There's a patch of blue sky. Warm coat. It ain't too toasty out there.

20 minutes later, I'm at Morrisons. I'M SORRY WHAT. No Pepsi. The sign is there. '1/2 price' in big, bold, boasty font. The shelf, however, bare, glowing with bitter-sweet disappointment.

Fine, I think, grumpily. Me and my half price cucumber and Morrison's value salsa will just leave then. Screw you all and your lack of Pepsi Max.

'I like your gloves' said some man by the door. 'Ha, thanks' I replied, and moved quickly on.

On, it soon became clear, to the Antarctic. Complete with a 'aha fuck you' from God in the shape of hailstorms.

Do you have any idea how much hailstones hurt your already numb fingers and face? No? I DO.

I made it home, just about, in my now wet  over-attached skinny jeans, sodden coat and once-white shoes.

Lesson learnt: Morrisons is rubbish. Oh, and always wear your raincoat.

Fuck off Flutey, I'm not in the mood.

Hey! It's been a while.

Oh wait. No, no it has not.

There was me, naively thinking that on Friday I should post the tiny amount of bad luck I'd had over Christmas because, weirdly, nothing big had happened, and maybe that was how things were going to continue to be. Oh boy, is my face red. Karma, you so funny. *enter a very unimpressed, slightly angry face here*

Bags packed, food slowly thawing, rain drizzling down and the two and a half hour journey back to Uni begins. My Dad offered to give me a lift (by offered, I mean, I asked and made it too uncomfortably awkward for him to say no...it's a fine line), so I could take a whole heap of stuff back in an attempt to make revision and exams that bit better. This week coming, and today (obviously), there's no one in my house but me. No distractions, let the learning commence! Means I have the house to myself. Great you think? I'm sorry have you met me?

With that idea in mind, on this 'tough luck Thomo' blog, let me continue. Unpacking all the bags from the car, my Dad states he needs to 'shoot back' so he arrives home a suitable time. Fair. 'Put the heating on Danielle, you'll freeze!'.

As I sit here with gloves on typing this, attempting to see passed the fog that appears every time I breathe, you'll realise, heat was not to be. Have a hot shower instead you say? No no, where's the fun of no heating if you can have a hot shower? If you're gonna go 18th century, do it properly!

After a three hour fight with the boiler push-buttons, slidey-buttons, hidden-under-flap-buttons and the power switch, defeated, I called my landlord. He then did the same things as me, with the added benefit of actually knowing what he was doing, and then declared 'you're fucked mate'. Okay, it was more 'I think the fans broken, I'll call British Gas but for tonight it might be a bit cold, I'm really sorry', but my version allows for greater dramatic effect. Poetic licence we'll call it.

In this time, I'd also discovered the WiFi wasn't working. An hour of searching in the front room for the 'god damn bloody router' (such foul language is excusable when home alone) where it used to be, I messaged my house-mate in a moment of desperation. It was under her bed, just unplugged. Plug in socket, switch turned on. And they say this technology business is difficult. Pssh. As if.

HELLO WORLD.

Mission internet: accomplished.

Luckily though, this ordeal was drastically improved through the DO DO D..O.. DDDD..OO tune invading my bedroom through the walls of our house. My neighbour has a flute, who'd have known! I'd say 'plays' the flute, but I'm not sure that would quite convey the sound I want you too to experience. Is there a helpline for flutes? NSPCF perhaps? I might slip the number under the door when she's out. Not that I'm bitter or anything. But hey, it's no longer the season to be jolly. Fa la la la NA. Though, she wasn't to know the situation I was in. Or maybe she did, and was trying to cheer me up? Bless her.

And so ends my first day back in Bath of 2014.

Mission slowly freeze to death overnight: in progress.

Off to Google ways to keep warm. Stay safe in the storms! x

It's a New Year, in case you missed that.

Fireworks and alcohol? Screw that! How about a candlelit home-cooked meal for two and a movie in front of a log fire?

No, I did not spend New Years watching a cheesy romantic film, I actually had my own romantic evening. Genuinely. That happened. Special ain't even the word. Amazing. Truly amazing.

Anyway, Happy New Year and whatnot. Time to make a New Years resolution and then forget it in a few weeks and carry on living life as normal. 'So, come on Thomo, it's called 'tough luck', where's the tough luck?!' I hear you say. You did. Shut up. Alright, I'll feed your sick desire.

This New Years break I spent a few days away down South, near the sea, in the beautiful countryside. Sounds like the start to a really bad old novel, it's not. Bear with me.

Scenic, beautiful and idyllic. For someone from grimy old Croydon, it was like Wonderland. An old-fashioned house with log fires surrounded by the country. I can't really do it justice, despite being the word-smith I am. You get the idea though, it was wonderful.

I had an amazing time, and then God was like 'screw you, I'ma fuck you up'. If I believed in God, that would be true. After 3 amazing days, *the night* came. Two chocolate fingers. TWO. And the world hates me. Slight exaggeration, okay, but it wasn't great, is my point.

Why have a perfectly lovely time, when you can add in a night of excruciating pain? HELL YEAH. Sign me UP! Well, I don't recall ever signing anything, but apparently I was signed up anyway. After a restless night of seemingly endless pain and ineffective painkillers, the morning came. Spoiler alert: wonderfulness coming.

There I am, crippled at the end of the bed, scrunched into a pain-induced ball, and something wonderful happened. A special person, who will not be named for legal* reasons, came and slept next to me, on the floor, because I wouldn't move from my ball of pain on the floor. If that's not amazing, I don't know what is. So I would almost say I was glad I had a night in pain, just for that moment. But I won't, so I don't sound clingy and pathetic. #HopelessRomantic.

And now, as Eminem sang, 'Snap back to reality'. In two days I go back to Bath for my exams. Three of the buggers. As the Pointer Sisters sang, 'Fuck you exams'** (I may have made those lyrics up).  Wish me luck! Or don't, whatever. I don't want to seem needy.

146 days of Uni left. And then I'm free! London, watch out. I'ma be back before you know it. Off to watch TV and eat sweets revise. Enjoy the last week of eating junk food before the self loathing and guilt exercise begins! x




*By legal I mean I don't want to embarrass the hell out of him
**N.B. This joke only makes sense if you know that The Pointer Sisters sung the song 'I'm So Excited'