Nice Nails # 5 - Out With The Old, In With The New

A bit of trivia for you. In my pictures folder, there is a folder called "2013" were all the pictures for the blog our. Yup, I'm afraid for you that means I plan to continue blogging in 2014. Sorry peoples, this blog is no short term venture. In that folder, there are folders "September" through "December" where there is a folder for each blog post, but there are also folders for the blog's I've got pictures for but haven't written up yet. I just realized as I made a "December" folder, I have a Nice Nails 5-8 in my 2013 folder. And that doesn't include what I've got on at the minute. 

Oops. I think I'm a bit behind. 

Another bit of trivia for you. I have absolutely no idea which "alignment" I should write the blog in:

Left, or

center. 

At the moment, I seem to be doing a bit of both. This is not a chess worthy strategically planned move people, this is just how it is happening. I'm leaving it all up to the fate of Blogger. I mean, I can change the alignment, I can change it quite easily, I just don't, because I don't know which it should be. I've not read the blogging manual people. I'm winging it. But, it's time for some consistency. So, I ask you, which should it be? Which format do you prefer reading it in? Leave your answers in the comments below. 

Okay, so on to nail polish. 

Remember how last time I painted my nails a very pretty hot pink color, which alas, as I told you, had to be thrown out afterwards due to extreme gloopyness? (Don't you just hate it when nail polish goes old?)

Well, this is that polish. It's sad, it's got to go. I'm upset. I do have one really similar though, so I guess I'll get over it. (I just had to upload that photo twice. The first time it was upside down. I thought you'd appreciate it more if it was right way up.) 

These two also reached the end of their days. :( It just wasn't to be any longer. One was too used up, and the other just had to go. Not quite sure why, it just did. It needed to go to keep the others company.

Now I was in a predicament. I had no base coat and no top coat. And so, introducing, the wonderful, most practicle, most brilliant, 

Okay, I've got chemo brain, I can't actually think of any adjectives (they are adjectives, right?)

So, introducing my new dual purpose top and base coat:

It's by Barry M. My older cousin has assured my Mom that it's a good buy. So has my Aunt. So it should be good stuff. I can't tell you how good it is, because I haven't actually used it yet, but it's been used on me and it seems to make my nails last okay. As a general rule, they get changed too often to really find out. 

And then we were feeling a bit adventurous. We went for some colour. 

We stayed with Barry M, mainly because they had the colours I wanted, in the "Gelly" range. Again, I can't really comment on what it's like, because I'm not trusted to do my own nails, but I can say that it looks pretty good. 

I actually wanted a dark green, possibly a bit metallic, but we couldn't find a dark green, metallic or not, so we went with "Key Lime". It's the color of Mike in Monsters Inc. And dark green or not, it's a bit different to the other colours that I've got, and that's kind of what I wanted. And it will be a good seasonal colour come spring, espesially as I'm not big on wearing pale colours on my nails.

.

"Mango" (which is bright orange- although even with my appalling photography you can see it's bright orange) was brought purely with Halloween in mind. (The Halloween Nails are under #7. I'm thinking about having a jiggle around and saving the Halloween nails until next Halloween. Because at this rate, it's going to be January before we get to them.) It could just as well of been called "Pumpkin".

Now, the plan was to use the points on my 'Boots Advantage Card' to pay for the nail polish, but they have one of those barrier systems where you line up in a concertina before getting to the tills. And we just didn't think we could cope with that, a wheelchair, and those cardboard chocolate stands. So Dad went to buy the nail polishes and Mom took me to wait outside. Have you spotted the dilemma yet? Yup, guess who had the Boots card. Oops. 

And then here is a great example of "Great Minds Think Alike". The family friend who painted my nails last time also decided that I needed some new nail polish. And brought me a treat. (People keep doing that. Everyone seems to feel the need to give me stuff now that I'm ill.) And she treated me very well, and brought me very nice nail polish. Nail polish so nice (and so posh) that it came in a gift box, with shiney letters on the top. 

I told you she got me some very nice stuff. It's been decided that they're being saved until Christmas. Or saved for Christmas at any rate. They're very sparkley. The set of three nail polishes came in a very nice (actually very handy) little zippered pink bag, and were wrapped up in paper inside (and I will admit, I found this very exciting.)

Apparently, these are this year's winter colors. I have been told the names of the colors, but I can't remember. Chemo brain. It does that to you. They're very nice though. 

And, my treat did not end there. She got freebies for buying stuff, and so not only did I get very nice nail polish, but I also got a very nice make up bag, a very nice blusher, and a very nice lip thingy. I'm not quite sure what it's called. 

So, how about that then. A 'Nice Nails' post were you've not had to look at my feet!

And What Would You Like With That...?

Edit: Reading back this post, it's a bit of a rant. Sorry.

How many of the general population get exactly 2000 calories I wonder?

How many of them get exactly 40g of protein?

And 24g of fiber?

And 90g of sugar?

And 20g of saturated fat?

To be honest, I doubt any one person does. Especially not when you put in vitamin C, calcium, vitamin K, vitamin D, iron, folic acid and selenium. 

So why am I expected to? 

Just wondering, because what makes me different to every single person on this universe? Apart from the general I'm unique, no one else is exactly like me yada yada yada. 

Thinking....

...

...

...

Giving you plenty of time to think...

...

...

...

...

...

...

Have you thought of anything yet? 

No, you haven't, have you?

That's because there is nothing.

There's no reason why I'm different to everyone else, why I should be expected to get every number right. I mean, how is that humanly possible anyway? It just isn't going to happen. Not ever. But I feel like the expectation for me to manage the impossible is there. 

And okay, so I've got cancer and I'm undergoing chemotherapy treatment. So I should be careful. So I should eat as well as I can. So I should think carefully about what I'm putting in my mouth. But within reason. Let's not go crazy people. You'll give me an eating disorder, make me a calorie counting maniac. 

My mom made me Google the amount of calories in a Fruity Pop lolly. No joke. I was trying to make a point, "Oh, and are you counting the 10 calories in my lolly" kinda thing, so she actually made me Google it. 

Cause that makes me feel like I'm a "normal" human being, whatever "normal" is. 

And that's where the problem is, it's not at hospital, when I'm all hooked up. It's at home. I'm not blaming Mom and Dad, it's just... yak.

At hospital, whatever I want to eat, that's fine, as long as I'm eating. They're big on cocoa pops. They have a cupboard full of Heinz tins. Soup, spaghetti, beans. They have ice cream in the freezer. They are big on toast. Very big on toast.

If it's cheese and onion tart for lunch (again) and I don't want it (I don't), that's fine and dandy, spaghetti on toast coming up. If the broccoli's a bit overdone, I can leave it, no griping about eating all my veggies. Who cares about broccoli, after all? If I don't fancy eating when the tea trolley comes round, sure thing, we'll get you some rice crispies in a couple of hours. If I snack on Starburst's all afternoon, no ones scared I'm going to ruin my tea. If I don't fancy the meal, they're happy to do combinations. It's cauliflower cheese and wedges. Have wedges and baked beans. And if you really don't fancy eating right now, oh well. Chemo, you'll have a better day tomorrow. 

And by the way, chips are better dipped in tomato sauce, not soup.

I mean, the dietitian is all for high protein foods, but kind of as long as I'm eating, it could be worse. She makes lots of suggestions, and she'd prefer it if this happened and this happened, but most of the time it doesn't, and she's not angry or annoyed. And as Dad's fond of saying...

"chocolates better than nothing"

Which is quite possibly a good thing. After (another) stressful visit from the district nurses, I pulled a face at Dad and declared that I wanted chocolate, so he brought me some Maltesers, and then I had some Celebrations that my brother got given for his birthday...

Sssh!! Don't tell.

But it's hard. Because at home, there's no bad hospital food as an excuse for eating a completely balanced diet. So.... What do I want with those potatoes? (Soup didn't cut it) What am I going to have with protein? I can't have more stuffing, because that will fill me up and then I won't eat the other stuff. No, noodles have no nutritional content. I have to have that much Quorn mince in that amount of sauce because of the protein, even though that is way too much mince in the mince sauce ratio (I always found Quorn portions a bit generous). No, I can't have frosted flakes for breakfast, I have to have porridge (my brother has frosted flakes and a chocolate cereal bar for breakfast Every. Single. Day. unless we have something more interesting like pancakes for a weekend treat).

But it's inconsistent. I'm not aloud diced potatoes and soup, but then they offer me chippy chips a few days later. With what- tomato ketchup? No noodles because of minimal nutritional value- but then I'm offered toast as an alternative. Okay- brown bread, slight nutritional value, but what if I preferred white bread not brown? (which they started getting because I asked for it.) Why couldn't I have noodles then. Mom went through weeks when I was only allowed porridge for breakfast, then got me one of those variety packs, which included Coco Pops. It's from one extreme to the next.

And when we had pizza, I asked for salad to go with it, but my parents decided that they couldn't be bothered eating salad, and so didn't get any.

And it's hard to think of appetizing protein filled meals for one when you're a veggie. Or it's not- but it is when it's someone else cooking. My parents don't get the concept of scrambled tofu. Why would they? They've never had it. And it's not that I'm terrified of my Dad cooking me Quorn or anything, but I can't explain to him that Quorn is NOT TVP. He knows what he knows about cooking veggie alternatives. And most of that knowledge is outdated. The world's moved on. But he's been taught how to cook veggie alternatives to the best of their advantage. Hes right- what do I know about cooking? How do I explain that you can put dried fruit in a savory dish with this that and the other, and that in the end it comes out quite nice. But it's a weird combination, so they try and make it more "normal". And it just doesn't work.

And Mom doesn't fancy hummus, so hummus on toast is out. Yeah, it's just like hummus in pitta breads. But on toast. Yeah, I know, it's not "traditional". Yeah, it's not "normal". But it's protein, don't diss. But Mom doesn't fancy hummus, and I can't eat a whole tub to myself.

Don't get me wrong, I like food, I love cooking. I just like eating what I want to eat. Who goes into a restaurant and orders the food that they like, but like the least?

Looking right, looking left, no hands raised.

And the worse thing is, now I've got cancer, people assume I'm no longer veggie. Which just hurts. It's not because they're worried about protein intake (unlike Mom and Dad), but because why not? I'm ill. Why bother, don't I just fancy...

Yeah, now that I'm ill, I'll suddenly think that it's okay to kill animals for food. Because everyone knows veggies all eat bacon butties whenever they've got the flu. It's not a brain tumor, it's not effected my mind. I'm still me people.

You know - most people expect students (whether veggie or not) to live on beans on toast and cornflakes.
What makes me different again?

Oh yeah...

Nothing.

Blue Badge Girl

People keep telling us that I should get a blue badge. 

We keep telling people that we don't have a car.

No car = no need to park. 

Okay, okay. We know. The badge goes with the person and not with the car. So if I got a blue badge (is blue badge supposed to be capitalized by the way) when someone gives us a lift somewhere, they'll be able to park in the specially designated places. 

And at some point I'm supposed to be learning to drive. Ha, motorists of Britain, beware. Be afraid, be very afraid. You're nightmare is coming. But don't worry, it won't be for a year or longer. 

I must admit that it was a bit weird the first time I said that the "disabled" word out loud. I mean, it's not as if we weren't aware that I'd qualify for a blue badge. I've not been able to walk completely (as in not be able to put any weight on it at all) since the end of July. But to be honest, I've been limping since April/May. By this point, we're used to the fact that one of my legs is a bit dodgy. (Although Mom does still have moments when she forgets which leg is the bad one. Mom, try the one with the bright purple cast on). 

When this happened, the first thing people said to us was, "Do you have a downstairs loo?" as if that would suddenly make everything all okay. It wouldn't, but we do understand the sentiment. And my bed's upstairs anyway, so most of my time is spent upstairs anyway. Away from the tiring energy's of my often (playfully) argumentative family. And snuggled up in the warm. It's the best place to be really. 

So, we don't have a downstairs loo. We do have a very small bathroom choc a bloc full of mobility aids though. Actually, I think they're called "Aid's for independent living" or something similar. Basically, our bathroom is a disabled loo right now. And you have to be careful on the heated towel rail, it gets hot. Yes, I know. It's a dramatic concept. (There's more equipment behind the door, and a stool that doesn't fit in the bathroom at the same time as a person, so that lives elsewhere)

My brother is not impressed with out 'disabled loo' arrangement. I think he's getting used to it though. 

And there is our shower curtain. Which is a whole half a meter away from the shower (which is behind a very posh but currently very impractical glass screen.) It's my door. I don't like it. I'm not allowed to close out bathroom door, because if I do and I fell or something, our bathroom is a size and layout that there is a 95% chance that I would be in the way of the door. So whoever had come to help me would have problems. Big problems. So I get to pull the curtain instead. Naturally, because of all this, I've never fallen once. I know, but if I did...

I miss proper privacy. 

Now those, those our mobility aids. Bad picture though. Sorry. It was one I found for the purpose of showing you a mobility aid only. It's old (about 3 months old. I've improved a minuscule). Not purpose taken. And crutches are long. It's hard to take a good picture of them.  

That's another photo of a mobility aid. It's called a wheelchair. Yeah, I know. It's pretty obvious. "Wheelchair" is now one of my phone's predictive text facilities favorite words. Along with Birmingham, nurses and chemo. Don't try and write chocolate chips. If you're not careful you can end up with chemo chemo. Especially if you're tired. Trust me. 

By the way, does any one have any spare 'L' plates I can have? Any one just passed their test? If so well done to you- now plates please? You see, I can't really push the thing by myself yet. I mean, it can be a self propelling wheelchair, it just isn't. Not for more than a couple of meters in a straight line at any rate. (Okay, I can do a bit more than that in it, but I can't use it for any practical purpose. Basically, I just need help with it.)

A family friend who want's to go into engineering says it's because of the leg extension, it makes the balance wrong. Hear that people? It's not my fault. 

It would be fine, but when we said that my parents have had the crash course in wheelchair driving, we mean it. And they weren't the ones who were doing the crashing. Mom is.... mom is.... I'll stop in the interest of being polite. She's gotten better, we'll give her that (although as my friend said, that isn't actually saying anything, considering where she started.) My Dad is okay, sometimes. His main problem is when he goes to fast, or does weird things like move you from side to side. I think he thinks it makes the ride less boring.

He just shouldn't do it. Really. 

So they could be worse drivers, but then, there have also been several incidents. Like when Mom got distracted by biscuits, heard the lift doors open, and started pushing me on a collision course with two buggies, who couldn't move out the way, because they were backed into a lift. There have actually been way too many incidents like that. 

So, learner plates anyone?

Free Passage

I am telling myself that I am doing a public service by writing this post. Considering my blog readers are on the whole imaginary, it's not so much, but otherwise there's not much point me writing this post other than to make use of this iPad the Christies has kindly let me use.

I've never used an iPad before. I think I quite like it. It corrects my spellings for me.

Don't worry mostly imaginary blog readers, this will be a very short post. I am very near the point were I am falling asleep.

I feel it is my job to warn you about some fraudulent activity. Mainly I just want to complain about it, but oh well.

Me and my family were scammed out of the exact cost of £72.50, or, in other word, the exact cost of a passport.

Which is just rubbish. And the worst bit is, the passport people are fully aware of this, and can't do anything about it. As soon as Dad rang up, they knew exactly what had happened. We had paid £72.50 for the passport service. We paid £72.50 for someone to print my name on a form and send it out to us. We did not pay £72.50 for a passport.

Which is just rubbish. Just to let you know.

Some background information about me. I HATE FILLING IN FORMS!!!! This is not just I hate paperwork and I really would rather not fill out any unnecessary forms. It's that the thought of filling out forms makes me queasy. I am very bad at filling in for so, and very good at making mistakes,  so it's just so stressful. Like REALLY stressful. Like, immensely stressful. Filling in forms is no laughing matter. Some of my worst nightmares have evolved from the idea of filling in forms.

And after all that stress, and there was a lot of stress, I didn't get a passport. I know.

So there were lots of negotiations. Lot's of negotiations. And then more lots of negotiations. And consequently then lots of Dad getting annoyed at the passport office. And lots of me wishing I'd never applied for the STUPID passport. I don't even want to go anywhere (apart from Ikea, but you don't need a passport to get there). I just wanted it because you need an acceptable form of ID for when I apply to uni. And I didn't have a driving licence (provisional or not.)

But then hey ho- life goes on and you don't end up applying to uni this year- you'll be applying next year instead. So there is absolutely no pressing need for a passport. And the stupid thing is, next year when I do apply for uni, I will probably have a (at least provisional) drivers licence. So at the end of it all, I won't need the passport. 

I could always go to Ikea in Sweden. One day. When I'm 42 1/2. Then I'd need a passport. 

The passport office's next aggravation (after we hadn't paid - and Dad wasn't paying till this was all sorted) was that I was too pale in the photo, and they needed me to go out and have another picture taken. Now, the trouble with this is, it is not the picture's fault. We didn't even go to one of those little booths they have in the bus station and WHSmiths. We went to a little independent shop in town with a guarantee, if the picture ain't right, come back and they'll re-do it. So they were proper people. We paid extra for their service. And a) Mom and Dad can't really get me into town right now, and b) I'm now on chemo. I can look pretty terrible on any given day, and my hairs falling out. So any picture taken now is not going to be a true likeness of what I'll look like if I ever use the passport to go though customs and have the picture scrutinized by an official. So what's the point of having that picture? Plus, I don't want to be going bald in my passport picture in ten years time. Can you imagine that in ten years time- stood in line about to go on a hen party to Timbuktu - explaining you had cancer ten years ago - but that you're alright now. 

Nah thank you. 

Plus, as Dad told the manageress down the phone- I'm ginger and I'm good at it. Even if you retook the picture and I was well, I'd still be pale. 

So the passport office asked could I have a doctors note saying that I was pale. No, I am not joking. 

Which as Dad said, how's that going to work? I've never actually met my named GP doctor, and I'm too ill to go meet him now- so how is he going to sign a doctors note saying that I'm pale? 

At this point, we just wanted to say quit it, and give up. But if we went down that route, they would have destroyed my supporting documents. And at that point we thought they had my birth certificate, and we didn't really want that destroyed. Turns out they didn't, but that was just our bad organisational skills. 

This is a random picture of my old passport, in it's sad, stamp-less state. That's right, every single page is empty. Apart from the one with my picture on and all the fancy dancey ones about the queen. No stamps or visas. Not a single one. It could be because I only ever went to France on a school trip with it, but ho-hey. 

So, back to the actual story. To be honest, after the many phone calls back and forth between Dad and the passport office, I don't really know how my passport got sorted out. I just know that they rang up one day, and said ignore the letter telling us that we needed to do this that and the other, as soon as we paid they would send out my new passport. 

To be honest, I think they just got bored of seeing my name on the board. 

So, as I just read through that in preview it's actually quite long. Mainly because I gave up, went to sleep, and came back to it later. Sorry. 

P.S. You can leave comments now you know. Sorry. I just only have one so far. Feeling a bit lonely. 

In Other, Less Intersting, News # 1

Warning to readers. This next post is basically just a long(ish) list of photos that I have amassed and want to share with you. They have no connection to each other, apart from the fact that they occurred in my rather limited life. It's basically a bit like the last story on the news on a slow day - at best slightly noteworthy. 

To start it all off, this is the Royal Wedding commemorative mug that Mom had her tea (made for her by her favorite Healthcare Assistant) served to her one night in hospital. You can't really see in the bluzzy picture, and it was a while ago so I can't remember exactly what it said, so I won't try to re-write it. Basically, it confirms that the Queen uses Facebook. Now, we call Nana a silver surfer, but this is silver surfing to a whole new level. 

It was a very clever mug, and credit is due to whoever designed it, however I don't know where it came from. Apart from saying the ward kitchen. 

And this, my friends, is the first bowl of porridge of the porridge season (which, granted, is most year-round). When talking about hospital food and my then lack of appetite, my friend commented that the YOU would get on a lot better if they served porridge. When this comment was repeated to Dad, he agreed. The YOU are thanking you, dear friend. It's ended the discussions with the OT about how many calories are in a coco pop (I was going for a calorie a go, she however reckoned it was about ten coco pops per calorie). 

I even have a choice of porridge flavors some mornings. And they make it for me with my milk. They're nice like that.  

This is the pattern that can be found on a hospital nightgown. While I was wearing the monstrosity (it just generally not my usual style of nightie), Mom decided she liked the pattern and made me take a picture of it. And now I don't know what she expects me to do with it. 

Now what would you say this is? 

A sweet potato - yeah? Just an ordinary sweet potato you say? 

Well you be wrong. 

This is a Sainsbury's Taste the Difference Sweet Potato. 

And they're white in the middle. It surprised Dad when he peeled into it, and he bought it. 

And me and Mom are in agreement, we tasted the difference and preferred the original. Apparently the taste of a sweet potato lies in the color, although Mom put salt on hers and she said that vastly improved the slight blandness that existed without. I just resorted to tomato sauce. 

My solution also dealt with the color issue though. 

These (the grey thing and the red thing at the end of my bed - sorry, I couldn't move to get a better picture) are my new nighties from Marks and Spencer's. Mom has had my hospital bag all ready to go at a moments notice, just in case I get a temperature. However, that meant that I ran out of nightwear (which in my case is most often day wear to), and so we had to resort to buying more. 

This yellow and purple thing in this photo (okay, so I got the zoom a bit messed up in this one), is a sharps bin. More specifically, this is a full and sealed sharps bin. Technically, it's an overfull sharps bin, because Mom ignored the clear instructions not to fill above this line. It meant she struggled to close it, but it closed eventually. This means that I've had more than enough injections to fill a sharps bin on my own. Not counting all the ones I've had in hospital. Trust me, this is a lot of injections. 

This is exactly what it looks like. It's a birthday present. I think this is the earliest I've ever given anyone a birthday present, considering that it's over a month away, but you just know that if you don't give it early, I won't see her, and she IS NOT getting it late. I'm a pretty bad friend most of the time, but not quite that bad.

And this is the final item on the agenda. This is the box of syringes the district nurse dropped off. Its full. I wish it was pictured next to something, so that you could see just how big it is, but it's not. Let me tell you, it's big. And we may never get through them all. There's fifty in there people. We were expecting something in the 6-14 kind of category. Well, we are now well prepared for a hard winter of being snowed in. Tin cans: not check. Electricity generator: not check. Syringes: check. 

You know, one day I will actually find something not boring for you to read about, but until that day comes, you're stuck with my eternal waffle. Well, if nothing else, you have a surefire way to cure a sleepless night. 

Nice Nails # 4

Can you tell I'm backtracking? 

What gave me away? 

Is it the fact that I'm writing another blog post about my nails about 30 seconds after publishing the last one? Yeah- that might be it. I can't paint my nails that fast.

Actually, I can't apparently paint my nails at all. For some reason Mom has got it in her head that I need someone else to paint them for me. I must admit, I need someone else to paint my toes (full length plaster of paris casts kind of have a habit of getting in the way a bit) - but no, Mom, I am perfectly capable of painting my own finger nails. 

Well, maybe not perfectly capable, but I'm okay at it. We'll go with adequately capable. However, I can't do them apparently, and as Mom didn't want to do them, she looked around for someone else, and stumbled open a poor family friend who was visiting. Surprisingly she has actually been back since. I know- I'm shocked too. 

She did a very good job, despite the fact that the nail polish was very bad. It got thrown out afterwards. It's sad, it was a pretty color, but alas, it had been opened to long, and it had gone gloopy. And gloopy nail polish is just not worth the headache. I mean- it's not like the world is going to run out of pink nail polish any time soon. 

I decided to go with a 'plain' look this time (can hot pink ever really be called plain?). They've been all jazzed up good and proper the last couple of weeks, but this time we were going for the classic(ish) look- no glitter top coat, no stickers and no feature nail. Just good old pure block color. 

Now, I appreciate that these pictures are bad. Even by the normal bad standard of my photos, these are bad. Me and Mom (it's slightly impossible to take a picture of your fingers if they're busy holding the camera and pressing the button) were just having a bad picture taking day. You've heard of the bad hair day- this is it's photographic equivalent. 

So, the classic hot pink very gloopy nail polish on all nails (fingers and toes) looks like this:

Are you impressed? No? Didn't think you would be, but I thought I'd ask any way. It was worth a try. 

Maybe. 

Nice Nails # 3

Remember how last time I'd had my nails done they were done by my Auntie and that's why they looked so good?

Yeah, well they were done by her again. You can tell. They don't look slightly dodgy.

Well, they do, but that's only because of my photography efforts. One day, now not actually imaginary blog readers, they will get better. One day, you might actually be able to see what I am showing you. As it is, you can't really, so I will explain.

Toes: Dark pinky-red on all toes apart from my big toe, which is pink with a yellow and white flower on it. 

Fingers: Dark pinky-red on all fingers apart from my ring finger, which is pink. All nails covered in glitter. 

I've tried to keep this short and sweet- because I am very proud of my nails and want to tell everyone all about them (they're still getting lots of compliments in hospital) but now people are actually reading my blog, I have to be careful. I don't want to put any one into a sleeping beauty like slumber. 

So on that note, see ya!