This Sunday featured our 4th annual “Sing in a day” fundraiser. Every year so far has been a huge success, but we were detouring slightly this year as instead of a large classical piece such as Vivaldi’s Gloria, we decided to do a Gospel workshop. We had our largest ever turnout, with a grand total of 85 singers arriving eager to sing at 11am, ready to work (or rather being worked) very hard all day, and perform in a fantastic concert that evening to family and friends. I do quite a lot of fundraising, well as much as I can, and before anyone mistakenly thinks this is because I am some saintly being it is merely because I absolutely love it. I love everything about it, the huge variety of people you get to meet, the way it not only brings people together but brings out the best in them, the atmosphere and the spirit of the whole event. Plus of course that wonderful feeling at the end that something so fun you have raised lots of money for a good cause.
Because I love it so much this year also brought frustration. Part of the whole event is the preparation and setting up, but to ensure I had enough energy to attend on Sunday, I lay around like an extension of the sofa, whilst other people got busy cutting, sticking, filing and planning. In accordance with my ever logical and reasonable behaviour, I instantly became furious with my mother and A who were sitting in the other room completing one of the display boards, as clearly the fact they were continuing to work without me was a ploy to deprive me of part of the experience. I knew my fury was completely irrational and had an urge to just go out or do something to work off the frustration (I think this is fairly common; a few years ago when my mother and I had an argument, I staged my most unsuccessful storm out ever, wheezed my way about 150 yards down the road before surrendering to my lungs and returning home, then on arrival found my mother had inexplicably moved all the furniture into the centre of the lounge in a fit of rage and was hoovering manically round it). However this time I couldn’t even jump into the car and drive somewhere, and knowing this made me even more angry with anyone in the vicinity (if I haven’t said so before my family are so lucky to have me). I decided to do the next best thing and shut myself in the bathroom for a nice relaxing bath, realized I couldn’t even do that on my own as I needed help washing my hair and the tears of frustration started to show. A somehow knows exactly what to say and what not to say to help me snap out of these moments (as I want to I just need a bit of help sometimes) I am not quite sure how he does it, suppose it is years of practice.
Having thrown my toys out the pram satisfactorily, I was ready to put aside what I couldn’t do and get on enjoying what I am able to participate in. Sunday itself was just great, the atmosphere at these things is always so positive as everyone is there to pitch in, have a good time, with the end result raising lots of money for a good cause. The workshop went smoothly, with everyone seeming to have a good time. Once the initial admin was done I curled up on the sofa in the foyer, listening to the rehearsal progress and trying to resist the urge to rush in and start clapping and singing with everyone else (somehow my brain and lungs don’t really communicate on what is and is not feasible). The concert in the evening was fantastic, every year the quality surpasses what we expect and this year was no exception. I really want to get an audio clip of my favourite song on here but am not quite sure how; if I can find a technological genius to instruct me I do so. Most excitingly, it looks like we will have raised about £1000 for the CF Trust again so a big yay and thank you to everyone who participated for that!
Following the extreme busyness of the weekend, I donned my high-flow oxygen mask and slept on and off for the whole day yesterday. Consequently I still do not have all my blood results back as I was supposed to ring for the final few yesterday, but I am taking the splendid stamina my lungs showed on Sunday to be a rigorous medical test revealing there is currently no infection present. I am still planning on a pre-emptive IV attack before Christmas to ensure the best behaviour possible from my tiny breathers. Speaking of which (Christmas, not lungs) my mother and I received our Christmas cards which we had ordered in plenty of time this year and so were feeling rather smug. As we tore open the box to examine our purchases, it soon became apparent that we may not have been concentrating nicely. There were some of the ones I remember seeing and liking (“those are mine I chose those, mine” I believe I said in a nice sharing way as I grabbed them) and a great deal which we don’t seem to remember clicking on, although I do have hazy recollections so it is definitely due to our lack of focus. The damning evidence that we had clearly lost interest by the end is four tiny packs of blank cards depicting what appears to be a disgruntled looking otter sporting a Lilly leaf as a hat. Some of those amongst you can expect to receive them masquerading as quirky Christmas cards.
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