Confusion about and questioning of your sense of identity is a common effect of strokes and the brain damage they ensue that may not be all that familiar to present society. Luckily for Miss Laird, my dear British students were quick to offer reassurance (whilst in hospital and post - still to this day!) of the impact I made on them with the most individual, kindest and cherished words an unwell little soul could ever receive. These were read every single day whilst in hospital (there for 5 weeks in total) - so much so, there were other patients who would tease/pity me. As you can see from the above supportive words, they gave me inspiration, hope and determination to fight the disease which caused the brain damage and its harsh effects (from two strokes) so that I could get back to pumping up the students (and their learning/attitude to learning).
Children = AMAZING.
Missing my students and processing all that I had lost in my professional life and its progression was why I cried in hospital every single day.
St George's Hospital, London
November 2012
During my month-long stay at St George’s Hospital/Hotel, I had a guest rota to ensure I didn’t think I was in a coma too often. One mate would entertain me endlessly by complaining about the few extra pounds it cost them to get to London's Zone 4 where the hospital was located and then they would insist he had any chocolate I was given as payment – and I always had a plentiful supply. When I did run out of chocolate (the heartbreak), other patients would kindly offer me theirs. I never gave them any of mine though (there’s that one-of-eight-children mantra for you!), but I guess they enjoyed my graphic tales (compensation). Quirky friends ensured 2012's strokes were made light of from the very start; drawing inappropriate (amusing) cartoon appendages on my body chart (even nurses appreciated such creative work), teasing the guys they were dating whilst my love life was lacking (‘Daryl’ only has to be said for me to instantly smile), even the pseudo broken heart eventually became entertaining. My dear work colleagues visited regularly with cards and goodies from my class and my head teacher even gave me a hug!
HOSPITAL LIVING - KITTY STYLE!
This dear friend would come in every couple of days purely to ensure NHS was serving quality meals. Quality Control Guy also paid all my bills, holiday payments and monthly rent (as when you're brain damaged, suffering from short term memory loss and afraid you're about to die/already dead, not only are pins/passwords et al incredibly taxing on your mind, but the least of your concern).
Just the 'bare essentials' - my potato-loving KTG's (as seen below - in the background, writing in the infamous Special K Notepad that every 'guest' kindly contributed to so that I could refer to as a memory prompt of the goings on in my life and I did refer, every couple of minutes given my memory loss!) idea of vegetables, fruit, 'protein' (she put those
inverted commas on purpose because she's a creep) and dairy.
What a truly extraordinary (and creative) soul!
Below is KG's supportive message (and other friiiiends) after checking in on my day's surgery, which involved having a 'little' ('twas not!) camera shoved down your throat (see images below for visuals). In the end, I had to be sedated because, although I couldn't care for myself, I still knew that this HUGE camera was trying to make its way down into my stomach via my mouth (they tried spraying my tense throat with a numbing agent too!) by a bunch of medical sorts!
Did the description above (regarding an endoscopy performed for goodness knows why! They even want to do another one for good measure!) make you picture this (above) kitty in some serious blood vessel footage?! Me too!
The diagram (below) is how the endoscopy actually involves.
Below: How supportive friends reacted to the many surgeries and procedures performed in late 2012. Just the way I want them to treat an unwell Kitty - normal and with plenty of humour!
Do take on board if you have someone in your life who is severely unwell - especially if they are young.
Do take on board if you have someone in your life who is severely unwell - especially if they are young.
Supportive words from friends during hospital living, procedures and anxiety.
November - December 2012
Would you believe that I was asked for 'urine samples' as often as I got hot meals, every bloody day. WHY?!?!
How about we turn this apple into a pudding?
Hospital food - UK Style
No complains from Kitty!
...Especially when friends would regularly bring in Happy Meals and more chocolate than Augustus Gloop could handle
November 2012
Some supportive words
from my dear British students
November 2012
Being in my twenties, I didn’t want others to feel sorry for me - perhaps the odd occasion when I needed a spoon – but for the most part, when I had visitors, I’d insist we spoke about anything but strokes. Just hearing one recite exactly what they did that day was enough for me to feel at ease (i.e.: ‘I hit the snooze button 3 times this morning, before getting ready in 8 minutes. Then when I got to the station, there were limited services, so I had to catch the 318 bus. You'll never guess who I saw on the bus...’ = music to my ears).
A little buddy making fun of the 'props' at St George's Hospital
December 2012
Although I had a fair amount of crying in hospital, there was ten times more laughing. It honestly was a lovely, warm and comfortable (except a few tests) experience – I would do it again (a few aspects exempt)! Friends would come straight from the airport to tell me all about their holidays abroad (with their luggage!), some came in on Saturday nights with their laptops for a Saturday night at the ‘movies’ date or we’d have a Happy Meal date (heaven!). One friend even missed out on a holiday to Amsterdam to spend the weekend with me (GREAT woman).
One of my darling British roomies, Oli, brushing my hair (to hide my recently shaved head and 'holy' skull)
November 2012
At St George's Hospital, I also was offered tea more often than if I were at a teahouse and the hospital staff loved me so much (don’t laugh – it’s true) they’d give me extra cookies and cuppas for my guests too. Due to my lack of short term memory, I would lose my toothbrush constantly and the nurses would give me a brand spanking new one every single time! If that was my mum (the mental health registered nurse), she’d tell me to use the bushman’s toothbrush (aka: index finger). As expected in hospital, monitors and drips were constantly attached to me, which would raise an alarm to get the attention of the nurses when finished, who weren’t always nearby, so I’d be quite distraught - all alone with an alarm going off - at 4 am. Despite such severe short term memory loss, I can recall one nurse not being able to come to my aid promptly, so when they eventually did, I was extremely relieved and they told me the next day, that I mumbled to them, ‘thanks for looking after me’ – I know what you’re thinking; a fiesty Kitty Kat being nice when barely conscious is a surprise to me too.
Whilst in hospital, I had to have many tests and operations for anything and everything with the most frightening one being the brain biopsy that had the risk of death. The medical pros even gave me a free massage to ‘check’ that my veins weren’t clogged (thanks mate), threw a camera down my throat to be sure everything looked healthy inside (I had to be sedated for that one), made me wear a heart monitor for several days (FYI heart’s perfect. No surprises there), placed sticky electrodes on my scalp to check my mind's electrical activity (EEG - head massage = so lovely) and one naive nurse even gave me a pregnancy test (that lucky kid would be getting fed every two minutes from this Dory!) when I first was admitted (more as a precaution for upcoming tests). While the brain biopsy gave me the cute hole in the skull and a blatant shaved spot (/sexy shaved spot), the most interesting test was done by a Spanish doctor who insisted I called him Angelo (you've probably noticed I talk about him countless times - get used to it). Angelo’s job was to ‘massage my heart’ (/bare chest) to check it was as incompetent as little ole brain (a dodgy heart - that you may not even realise you have beforehand - can and does cause strokes).
Because I had to have an excessive amount of tests, including a daily blood sugar level one where a nurse would first prick my finger to check (which I basically had nightmares about, so gave me a newfound respect for people who require daily needles) and blood tests for whatever they felt like testing that day, I made light of the dismal situation, by insisting the nurses met me half way. That 'half way' was to entertain me in the midst of taking my sacred blood by saying in a Dracula-influenced accent 'I want/vant to take your blood'. One rather coy nurse was unsure, but when he eventually said it, he enjoyed it. I swear - he told me (you would too)! I’m no medical expert, but I feel it was a far better way to prepare patients for a needle without any jelly beans as a reward like in Australia.
It may be extremely surprising to hear that hospital can be a nice place, but it honestly was such a lovely, warm experience in London (for 5-6 weeks with short term memory loss, at least). The caring staff; the little old senile ladies with hearts of gold; spoons with beautiful fellow patients and mates; dear loved ones constantly visiting (some wonderful ones even came straight from the airport and brought their laptops for movie dates during their weekends) and being spoiled with Happy Meals, Twirls (as well as the hospital's decent meals, cuppas, bickies and puddings!) + entertaining anecdotes from the outside world, all made me feel rather jolly (for the most part). When it was a special occasion (i.e.: a little visit to the shops across the road from the hospital with mates or therapists or my birthday, two weeks into the vacation), I’d wear the exact outfit I wore when I had Stroke #2 (all other clothing items whilst in hospital were pyjamas) which made for a kind of Groundhog Day vibe, but Klubbers didn’t care; they simply wanted to be in my company and support their Special K through such a life-changing event (or come to eat my chocolate treats ala Patrick) and I couldn’t have been more humbled and grateful to have such beautiful people in my world. Lucky I reciprocated all their hard work and dedication with jokes and Kitty anecdotes. Even Steven!
How most of my (and many dear mates') evenings looked for 1.5 months.
Above, two friends are helping to create a memory polaroid photo collage of my birthday celebrations to ensure I didn't get upset due to memory loss that no one had celebrated my birthday (that was meant to be living the high life in 'Dam).
What innovative, considerate PUMPS!
St George's Hospital (+ little Kitty party with favourites at the café across the road - boom!).
November 2012
A HUMONGOUS Kitty Kat hug that hurts and thank you tickle to all the Kitty Klubbers who spooned me, brought in chocolate + Happy Meals + PJs/undies/toiletries & shared their recent colourful anecdotes of life out of hospital during my 'birthmonth'. You are the Kitty Kat’s Meowwww ow ow.
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