Greetings from the wonderful world that is the CF ward, YAY!! I was transferred back over here yesterday, which is fantastic news. I was absolutely fine on the surgical ward, the staff are lovely and attentive and I was very comfortable, but the fact they felt I was ready to come back over, away from the building with the ICU in it shows that I am definitely making progress.

Whilst I remember, I must just clarify for people’s peace of mind that I am on the active transplant list at the moment. I was briefly taken off when I was too ill to undergo transplant, but am reinstated firmly on and have been for about a week now, so please don’t worry about that those of you who were.

After a complete whirlwind, things are slowly settling into a pattern, which considering it is a fairly stable one (touches all wood in the vicinity and more) is something of a relief to everyone. Obviously as things have improved physically it has hit me more and more mentally what I have just been through, but the only thing you should ever hang on to and savour from experiences like these is that ok yes I went through it but look I am still here, and that just reaffirms how tough my body is. I have been speaking loads to my family too, to fill in the gaps on the first few days which quite frankly were more unrealistic than neighbours in their drama filled capacity. Apparently there were nice glimpses of the real me even at the worst possible moments, when I would do or say something bossy/naughty/cheeky, which was reassuring to everyone. When they leaned over the bed and gently told me they were taking me briefly off suction to move me to a different room I removed my mask and firmly stated “you are NOT”. What a wonderful and cooperative patient I am.

According to Abby I also spent the afternoon in Epsom hospital smiling away confidently with my eyes closed saying “I’m fine now it’s all fine” caked in blood with chest drains and tubes everywhere yet due to the powers of morphine under the false impression I was convincing my friends and family who, credit to them, played along with good grace. They always do this bless them, as I tend to get a tad cross and irrational at monstrosities such as the straw being angled at a slightly awkward degree and therefore berate my mother with intense sulky facial expressions at which she hurriedly apologises over and over again. At least I wasn’t as rude this year as I was last year, when I had the ventilator in and was trying to spell out messages by drawing on my leg, and in my frustration at my mother not being able to comprehend the vague swirley motions wrote “and you call yourself a teacher”. How I earned the nickname “Angel” is quite beyond me, I believe I may have given it to myself at some point and then carried everyone else along in a wave of enthusiasm that perhaps I am some kind of angelic creature. Luckily only my family know better!

You can probably tell by the complete lack of direction in this blog that I am still on quite a lot of painkillers and also didn’t sleep much last night, but it feels good to “talk” as it were, as actual talking is still quite tiring and I am not managing to do quite as much of it as I would like. I have hopefully included a picture of what is obviously the key to my success and apparent 9-life ability – sweetiebobbles. Yay!

If it hasn't worked I think you can see it here: http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g134/Tinypoppet/sweetiebobbles.jpg