Patient Diary -- Wendy Jones

Hi,

Well,  here goes. I suppose, to begin with, I should tell you a little about myself . I' m Wendy, I'm 61 and I have three grown up children - a daughter, Samantha, and twin sons, Tim and Dean. Samantha is married to Lyn and they have a beautiful 15 year-old daughter, Stephanie. Tim is married to Sue and they have two adorable little boys, Joel aged 4 and Liam aged 2. Sue also has five lovely children by a previous marriage, Adam 11, Jade 10, Leah 9, Sian 7 and Luke 6. They all live close to me in Cardiff so my life is full of beautiful children. Dean still lives at home with me. He has a really zany sense of humour and keeps me sane when things seem a bit low. I have been happily divorced for 17 years but my ex-husband continues to be a friend as does his mother and all his family.

I'm a high school English teacher, although I haven't been able to work for the past six months. I was still working in January and simply found it increasingly difficult to climb several flights of stairs, several times a day. Then one day I had a dizzy spell after climbing a flight of stairs, the school nurse was sent for and she insisted that I go to the doctor. I ended up in hospital where a whole range of unpleasant options was considered, from lung cancer to blood clots. All proved negative and eventually in February a diagnosis of Pulmonary Hypertension appeared on my sick note. It didn't sound very serious and I was quite pleased. I then looked it up on the internet and was I surprised - that was the first of a series of unpleasant surprises.

Another surprise was to discover that there was no specialist in Wales and I would have to travel to the North of England (Sheffield, in fact) for treatment. I know that those of you who live in the US and Canada have a diferent concept of distance to what we have in the UK but,  believe me,  to us the idea of travelling 250 miles to see a specialist is nothing short of astonishing. I still get odd looks from many people when I say I've been in hospital in Sheffield - I'm pretty sure they think I'm up to no good and this is just my cover story.

Anyway, I finally went to Sheffield and saw the PH specialist. I had to stay in hospital for two weeks and in that time they started me on Bosentan on JUly 4th. The specialist really wanted me to start on the sub-cutaneous pump right away but I was anxious to at least give the tablets a chance. He agreed and has started me on the full dose straight away and I have to go back in three months. If the tablets haven't had the desired effect by then I will have to go on the pump - so keep your fingers crossed for me.

Between January and when I saw the specialist, my condition deteriorated quite rapidly and I went from being breathless on the stairs to gasping for breath if i went from my lounge to the kitchen - WITH OXYGEN. While I was in hospital they sorted out my water retention (I lost 10 kilos in a week) so I feel better already and can move around better.

So how do I feel about all that has happened? Well, I think surprise is still my strongest feeling - I just can't believe that something I'd never even heard of a few months ago has taken over my life. I miss my job and I want to get back to work. I want to go shopping. I want to take the children to the park. I just want to do everyday things without having to think about oxygen and stairs and conserving energy.

I'd better sign off now. I've just realised how boring this will be for anyone else to read but at least I've got all the details out of the way so - who knows - I may be able to philosophise a bit next time.

my love and prayers are with you all everyday

Wendy

Sorry if you're feeling neglected, Diary, but I haven't really been able to concentrate much for the last few weeks. The trouble is I've been waiting to see some dramatic improvement from the Tracleer. Yes, I know everyone says it takes 2-3 months to have any effect but patience was never one of my more obvious attributes. Anyway, I've finally decided that like the watched pot that never boils, the Tracleer has no intention of working until I stop watching it.

My daughter Sam, and her family set off on holiday last night. They're driving to Dover, then taking the ferry to Calais and then driving to Paris. They'll stay 2 nights in Paris and visit Eurodisney then drive on into Switzerland for a short stay. After that they'll drive to the South of France, then on into Spain for two weeks. On the way back, they'll stay for a week in the South of France, returning just in time for Stephanie's 16th birthday on Sept. 4th. My feet itch just thinking about it. I would normally have gone with them but didn't feel settled enough with my medication to be away so long this year but, hopefully, next year.

So how is my PH progressing? Well, I still get very short of breath after a few steps and also very dizzy. I still get incredibly tired doing absolutely nothing and I'm still confused by the whole thing. One major improvement is that the diuretics which the PH specialist prescribed have really done the trick - my feet and legs are back to normal. I've even found my ankles again - quite shapely for a 61 year old, if I do say so myself.

School has broken up for the Summer so I can, legitimally, feel that I'm on holiday at the moment rather than off sick and, strangely, that makes me feel rather better - how sad am I??

I've been on full pay until recently but now I'm down to half pay - for 6 months. My employer sent me a form to claim incapacity benefit to make up the difference -- A FORM! who are they kidding? - it was a 26 page booklet! Still, I've filled that in now so I feel quite triumphant.

The weather is gorgeous at the moment - not a feature people normally associate with Wales. We do, indeed, have rather more rain than sunshine, but when it's good, it's very, very good and we have some unbelievably beautiful beaches and mountains. I've been thinking recently ( too much time on my hands) about whether  being Welsh really matters to me and I've decided it does. I've spent a lot of my adult life out of Wales but now, now that I'm sick, I know I'm glad I'm here.

 I read Annette's letter,'The Wee Hours' in the 'features' section. It made me feel humble and rather ashamed of myself. I've been whingeing about the possibility of having to go on to Remodulin if the Tracleer doesn't work and now I realise that I'm lucky to have the chance. I hope things get better for Tim soon.

Well, I suppose I'd better go and do some work - I still do some marking for school - just to keep my hand in. By the way, Diary, I'm very grateful to you - through you I've made two new friends - Hi Marcine, Hi Terry.

Bye everyone and God Bless

Oops! I promised to be more philosophical this time and I forgot so here's my son's favourite bit of nonsensical philosophy - 'I'm pink therefore I'm Spam'.       That's Spam as in the meaty stuff not the computer stuff.

PHEW!! We're still sweltering through a most uncharacteristic heatwave. The UK actually hit its highest-ever, recorded temperature the other day. The last time I remember it being close to this hot for so long was in the summer of 1976 - and guess what - I was pregnant with the twins at the time. I didn't know I was having twins; I just knew I was hot and heavy. The fact that there were two of them remained a secret until Tim was born and the midwife said, "Oh, Doctor, there's another one here". Well that was a surprise as you can imagine.

I've been on Tracleer for about six weeks now and so far it doesn't seem to be making a difference but at least I'm not having any side-effects. I know I'm impatient but I'm really trying not to be.

I have had an interesting experience this week - my computer caught/developed/ acquired a virus. My son -in-law, who usually does anything clever that needs doing to the computer is away on holiday so I had to get someone in to do it. It was quite difficult to get anyone because this virus which had only been around for 48 hours had run riot through home and business computers and the repairers were all run off their feet. He came once and thought he'd cleared it but it came back so he had to come out and try something else. I'm a little annoyed because it cost me money but I'm also rather pleased because now I feel I'm a bona-fide member of the computer community and can nod wisely when people discuss their viruses. Somehow I feel that the plural of virus ought to be viri, but it sounds silly. On the same subject - what on earth do you call more than one computer mouse? I really missed the computer while it was out of action - I couldn't do my shopping or read my emails.

Two of my colleagues came for lunch today. That was really nice. It was very hot so we had all the windows open and all the fans on and we just sat in the cool breeze and chatted. They insisted on bringing food with them (baguettes and things) so that I wouldn't have to do much. We couldn't possibly eat it all as well as what I'd got, so now I wonder if I'm the only person to have visitors for lunch and end up with more food than she started with.

It's difficult for me to get out because I live in a first floor flat and I just can't manage the stairs - even with portable oxygen I end up gasping for air and it takes me quite a while to recover. As a result I do an awful lot of reading. I love legal and political and crime novels so in the past few months I've read through just about every John Grisham, Scott Turow, Richard North Patterson and Jeffrey Deaver novel on the market. I hope they're all feeling creative because I need them to keep providing me with fresh reading material.

Well, I've got an awful lot of emails to catch up on so I'd better finish now.

You know, Diary, one day I'm going to tell you how I really feel about this illness.

Simple things

Life has become very complicated in recent months. Until January, it all seemed so simple, so easy, so straightforward and so joyful. My children were all grown - all happy, healthy, well-adjusted - no problems there. My beautiful grandchildren were all happy, healthy, bright and loving - certainly no problems there. I loved my job and I had a warm and fulfilling relationship with my colleagues and pupils. I had a comfortable home and enough money for my needs with a bit left over to spoil the grandchildren. Despite a little brush with cancer a few years earlier which seemed to have cleared up nicely, I was generally very healthy - hardly ever missed a day from school and visited the doctor no more than a few times a year. I got a bit out of breath on the stairs but that was nothing to worry about - or so I thought. I loved my life and it seemed to stretch before me in a straight, simple line. Then things got complicated.

What would previously have been a simple shopping trip now requires planning of military proportions. Even walking from room to room involves playing hop, step and jump with my oxygen tubing. Where my school timetable used to be I now have an appointments timetable otherwise I woud never know which doctor or which test I have next. I have to remind myself from time to time that the most important things are still there - my children, my grandchildren and my home.

In a moment of madness, I tried to write a poem which would celebrate simplicity - simple pleasures, simple ideas, simple language. It's not very poetic but it's certainly very simple and I thought I'd share it just in case anyone else has the same need as I have for simple things.

SIMPLY

Evening fell.

Birds flew.

Sky darkened.

Shadows grew.

Stars shone.

Moon gleamed.

Lovers sighed.

Dreamers dreamed.

Night  paled.

Morning broke.

Sun rose.

Dreamers woke.

Blossoms opened

To greet the dawn.

A friend called.

A child was born.

Birds sang.

Day glowed.

Dreamers dreamed

And life flowed

Life flows

Though dreams lie,

Though schemes fail,

Though hopes die.

When mornings break,

When evenings fall,

Life flows - Life is all

Strange September

Yes, it's September and for the first time in longer than I care to remember I haven't started back to school. All my colleagues have been ringing me and telling me how awful it is to be back and how lucky I am to be at home - but I know where I'd rather be.

The grandchildren are all back in school after their holidays. For some of them this is a particularly important year. Four-year-old Joel is moving up from nursery school (mornings only) to infant school (full-day). He loves it because he gets to have lunch in school like his big brothers and sisters. Seven-year-old Sian is moving from infant school to junior school - this is really only a technical change because they both occupy the same site but the children see it as moving up into 'the big school' so they feel very grown up about it. Eleven-year-old Adam is moving from primary school (that's infant and junior combined) to secondary school (high school). This is a really big move because the two types of school are entirely different. In primary school, children have the same class teacher and the same classroom for the whole year. They may have some lessons such as music with another teacher but, for the most part, their class teacher teaches them all their subjects. In secondary school, on the other hand, they have a different specialist teacher for every subject and they move to a different classroom for each lesson. Secondary schools are also much larger than primary schools. The average primary school probably has about 200 -300 pupils whereas a secondary school may have anything from 1000 - 2000 pupils. The children have to become a lot more self-sufficient and independent in secondary school.

For sixteen-year-old Stephanie this is a crucial year. In June she will sit her GCSE exams. These are incredibly important and largely dictate what she will be able to do in the future. Unfortunately, at sixteen many youngsters (my granddaughter included) are more interested in pop-music and fashion than in English, and Maths so it's really hard work for parents to motivate them for their exams.

It's wonderful to see the children's lives developing and flourishing. I think when I was bringing up my own children I was often too caught up in the minutiae of day-to-day living to see the big picture. It's different with the grandchildren because someone else is responsible for feeding and clothing them and keeping a roof over their heads (to say nothing of ensuring they do their homework and imposing curfews). This means that as a grandmother I have the luxury of sitting back and just watching all my little rosebuds blossom into beautiful flowers.

On Friday I had an appointment with the consultant respiratory specialist at my local hospital. He's not a PH specialist but he's the one who initially diagnosed PH and referred me to the PH specialist. He's a lovely man with a beautiful, lilting, Irish accent. He's going to try to get me a better form of portable oxygen which isn't normally available on the NHS (National Health Service). The type I have at the moment is rather heavy and he tells me that the liquid oxygen would be much lighter but as I say it's not normally available on the NHS so I should have to pay for it but he seems to think that he may be able to get it for me free. The thing is, if I go back to work I'll be more than happy to pay for it but if not it would be a bit of a hardship - although, having said that, I don't actually know how much it would cost. He's promised to get back to me before the end of the week so I should know more soon.

Our incredibly hot and dry summer has finally subsided into a damp, though still quite warm, autumn. It makes life a bit easier but it was lovely to see the sun shining everyday.

Dean is back home. He lives at home but has been house-sitting, dog-sitting and hamster-sitting for his sister and her family while they were on holiday for four weeks. The house and the hamster were no trouble at all but the dog was a different story. Meg, a  normally well-behaved and house-trained cairn terrier, piddled on the carpet every single day that my daughter was away. Dean was not amused at having to mop up after her so often and, to add insult to injury, she hasn't had a single accident since my daughter came back. He now thinks that the dog is picking on him. He's not, however, getting a lot of sympathy from anyone because when my daughter got back, the dirty dishes were piled up practically to the ceiling. Last year he paid his brother's children to wash all the dishes the day before my daughter came home but they were on holiday as well this year so he got caught out. I think I failed somewhere in his up-bringing.

I've acquired a new and precious household appliance. I haven't been able to use my vacuum for some time because it made me so breathless I thought I was dying. Dean will vacuum for me if I remind him several times but if you've read the previous paragraph you'll have some idea of his housekeeping skills - or lack of them. What I certainly couldn't do was whip the vacuum round for a quick clean up if someone was calling round. So I've bought myself  stick-vac which is a very light-weight, easily manoeuvrable, vacuum. It's wonderful. It only weighs a couple of pounds and I can manage it very nicely. It's not as powerful as the big vac, of course, so Dean still has to spring into action once a week, but at least if someone phones to say they're coming over I can have a quick clean-up. Did I really say 'spring into action' - who am I kidding?

Well, I'm away now. Love to everyone and take good care of yourselves.

The Naked Panel

Years ago, when I was going for an interview about which I was very nervous, a friend advised me that the best way to avoid being intimidated by the interviewers was to walk into the room and picture them all in my mind - stark naked! The idea was that you couldn't possibly be intimidated by people in their birthday suits with all their personal bits dangling.  I didn't try it because I've been an incorrigible giggler all my life and I knew I would just collapse into giggles and be unable to answer a single question.

 Fortunately, I got the job without having to resort to that particular flight of fancy but I have never forgotten the advice and over the years have often put it to good use in a modified form. Please note, Diary, that I did say 'in a modified form' - I would hate you to think that I have gone round all my life visualising people in the nude. What I mean is that whenever anything has made me nervous or frightened I have tried to cut it down to size by making fun of it. Well this damn disease is scaring me so I've been trying to think of ways to throw a custard pie in its face, so to speak, just to stop it getting too big for its boots.

So I wrote it its own poem, just to let it know I can still laugh at it - if I try really hard that is. I feel a bit as though I've poked my tongue out at it behind its back

The Ballad of  PH

I’ll tell you a tale of a horrid disease

That makes me gasp and makes me wheeze.

It makes me weary, it makes me slow

And it stole every bit of my get-up-and-go.

If I stretch or I bend, my heart starts to pound.

My legs are swollen, my head’s spinning round.

I can’t run up stairs like I used to do

‘Cos I turn a peculiar shade of blue

It’s not a disease that many succumb to,

It‘s very particular who it will come to.

I’m one in a million – should I feel proud?

No, I think I’d rather be one of the crowd.

So what is the name of this horrid disease

That makes me gasp and makes me wheeze?

It must be the devil’s favourite invention

And its name is Pulmonary Hypertension.

Doctors have problems too.

Yes, doctors have problems too – some more than others. On Tuesday I met one of our more multi-challenged physicians. A little while ago, I applied for disability benefit. The Benefits Agency presumably works on the assumption that my local doctor, my heart specialist, my pulmonologist and the PH specialist, might all be involved in a conspiracy to help me defraud the National Health Service of a measly few pounds a week (to which I have over the years contributed handsomely). To allay their fears, I had to be examined and interviewed by a doctor of their choice. The NHS pays a fee for the services of a doctor employed by a private medical services agency. The sheer idiocy of this situation ( when the NHS itself employs almost all doctors and medical staff in Britain) is enhanced only by the fact that the NHS is bitterly opposed to private medical services, believing them to be an affront to the principles of the Welfare State..... Beats me!

Anyway, the doctor duly arrived on Tuesday morning and we spent the first ten minutes or so, most unprofitably failing to communicate, until I finally figured out the precise volume at which I had to yell my replies in order for him to hear a word I was saying. He was getting on a bit and couldn’t help being deaf -  but a hearing aid would have been nice.

We finally sorted out that problem and seated ourselves at my dining table on which he had spread the 25 pages of notes which I had already submitted on the disease and the way it affects me, and another 25 page form which we were to complete that day. I offered him a cup of tea or coffee. ‘I’d love one,’ he said, ‘but I’d just be peeing all the time.’ Well, I was a little taken aback – it wasn’t the response I would have expected from an ageing physician – and I certainly didn’t press him to have a drink.

I soon realised that he knew absolutely nothing about PH. I didn’t expect him to be an expert but I thought he would at least have read something about the disease, if only my notes. He clearly hadn’t! Worse still, he tried to pretend that he DID know. At one point he said, with an air of supreme confidence, ‘Well, of course, what you have is exactly the same as coalminers get – pneumoconiosis.’ Now I was brought up in a mining town and I know just what pneumoconiosis is – it’s a horrible disease but its only resemblance to PH is the breathing difficulties. I tried to point out that my lungs were not choked up with coal dust – but in view of the aforementioned hearing problem, I had to give up as I could feel a fit of the giggles coming on.

He then proceeded to question me about the first time I was hospitalised with breathing difficulties. This was in January at the University Hospital of Wales in Cardiff . This hospital is universally known as ‘The Heath’. I went through all the tests, the MRI scans , the echocardiogram, the lung biopsy and  the fact that at first they thought I had lung cancer. ‘Who was your consultant at the Heath?’  he then asked. ‘Dr. Johannsen’ I replied. ‘Ah yes ,’ he said in tones of the profoundest wisdom, ‘He’s a gynaecologist, isn’t he?’ I was dumbfounded!

A little later, when we had got on to the time I spent in the PH unit in Sheffield , he asked me why I was in hospital in Sheffield . He wondered if I was on holiday. When I explained that the nearest PH specialist was in Sheffield so I had been referred there, he was absolutely flabbergasted. All this, of course, was in the notes which he had in front of him. I couldn’t believe that he had arrived so totally unprepared. As a teacher for many years I have often had to teach things which were new to me but I never did so without doing some research first so that at least I knew more than the children.

At this point, he suddenly leapt up and said, ‘Got to go to pee. Just tell me where it is’ and scuttled off in the direction in which I pointed him. I had just about got my giggling under control by the time he returned. I seriously wondered whether he was assessing ME for disability or applying for it himself. In many ways he seemed to be in a worse state than I was.

The really crazy thing about all this is that if I could afford to bribe all the doctors I would have to bribe in order to defraud the NHS, I wouldn’t need the benefit. It’s not a king’s ransom, after all.

On a happier note, I saw Cheryl’s update on Tim in Australia . What good news that is.

Another happy note – a friend from school came round last night with a folder of photographs of the school prom arranged in collages by some of my pupils. It’s the first prom I’ve missed so I was really pleased to get the photos. I love to see the children all done up in their finery, looking so elegant and mature even though you know they’d be throwing paper aeroplanes around if they got half a chance, just like they did in Year 7.

Take care everyone.  

Don't judge a book by its cover...........

.........or a doctor by his bladder! My doctor with all the problems, did well by me - I've been awarded disability benefit for mobility. It's not huge - just under £40 a week but it's not means-tested so I still get it when I go back to work.

The physiotherapists at Sheffield have also been busy and I've been supplied with a shower-stool (sheer luxury) and a perching stool for when I get dizzy in the kitchen. I was going to get myself a bar-stool but I was a bit worried because I've always had trouble getting up onto them - short legs, I suppose (that's me not the stool).

I've been a bit of a misery for the past week or so. My three month appointment with the PH specialist was coming up and there was no sign of the Tracleer working so I knew I would have to go onto Remodulin which I really didn't want to do. When I started taking the Tracleer I was so sure they were going to work for me and I felt last week as though time was runnung out for them to do anything. On Thursday I had my appointment in Sheffield and, sure enough, I have to go onto Remodulin. I know lots of people are on it and they don't complain but I'm such a coward, I've never even had my ears pierced! The specialist has to arrange funding which wil take about 4 weeks so I have a bit of a reprieve until then. He's promised that if I find it very painful he will put me on inhaled Iloprost instead. Now that it's all settled I feel much happier - it was just the bit when I kept hoping to see an improvement that was so miserable.

There has been some improvement - I'm a lot less dizzy than I was and my shuttle walk had improved from 30 yards to 80 yards - but it just wasn't good enough because my pressures are high, my oxygen levels are very low and my blood presure is very low - I feel such a failure! lol

I'm definitely going to move. The steps up to my flat are just an unnecessary hardship so I'm going to look for a ground floor flat or a bungalow. Tim is doing some minor repairs for me just to show the place off at its best and once those are done I'll be putting it up for sale. I'm told this isn't a good time of year to sell but I don't feel like waiting until after Christmas.

I'm going into school next week for a meeting with my headteacher and my union rep. to sort out my return to work. My PH specialist doesn't want me to do more than a couple of mornings a week to begin with - he says it's better to start small and build up from there. I'm sure he's right - it would be very frustrating to start with a full timetable and then find that I couldn't keep it up.

So.....lots of things going on and lots to sort out - well, at least life doesn't get boring.

I went into school yesterday - partly because I've been promising to go in and see my colleagues and partly to speak to my headmistress as a preliminary to returning to work. I will need certain concessions -  like my PH specialist does not want me to climb stairs (I'm with him on that one) and he wants me to start back part-time and work my way up from there.  The school and the county ( this is the local education authority which actually employs teachers) are broadly in agreement with these requirements but I will have to undergo a medical review and risk- assessment to ensure that my presence in the school is not a potential danger to myself  OR OTHERS. Exactly what risk they think I may pose to others is a mystery to me and I have only known this type of assessment to occur in cases of mental illness - but there you go.

I spent a very enjoyable morning in school just sitting in the staff-room while everyone came to see me when they were free. I picked a good day to go in because it was the Harvest Festival when the Food Technology Dept. (I remember when they were called the Cookery Dept.) makes home-made soup and serves it in the staff-room at break-time. Everyone makes a contribution to charity. So I had a cup of absolutely delicious home-made tomato soup as well as a very dubious cup of school coffee. Of course, I talked and laughed non-stop for three hours while I was there, then Dean picked me up and we went to a local pub for lunch and I alternated between eating and talking for another hour - as a result I was totally knackered when I got home and seriously wondered whether I was fit enough for work - but I think I just got over-excited at seeing everyone.

Anyway this morning's post brought a letter from the local authority and a form which I have to sign giving  permission for my doctors to supply  medical details to my employers - so at least they are not dragging their feet. I know I could retire now on grounds of ill-health or disability but , somehow, I'm not ready yet to think of myself as someone who doesn't work anymore. I thought I had come to terms with this disease months ago but now I'm not so sure. I think that somewhere, deep in my subconscious, is a belief that one day I'll be better. Knowing the facts doesn't help because I think it's the difference between what I know in my head - and what I believe in my heart.Maybe it's got somehing to do with all the fairy stories I've ever read - the prince kisses Snow White and she wakes up; the princess kisses the frog and he turns into a handsome prince; the doctor prescribes the right drug and Wendy is cured. Childish I know, but somehow so deeply ingrained in my psyche that it wont go away. Oh well!

 I'm having difficulty typing now because I'm giggling so much at the thought of my PH specialist in tights riding a white pony to the rescue. Oh dear - I think it's time to go.

Take care every one

A month already

I can't believe it's almost a month since my last entry - only seems like a few weeks!!!!!

For the first couple of weeks there was just nothing to write about. My life had become a stagnant pool. Nothing was happening, or, at least, nothing was moving forward as I wanted  it to. I have already admitted to a chronic lack of patience so I wont go into that again but having been in to see my headmistress, I felt that I had set things in motion and all I had to do was wait for the results. So with a lot of foot-tapping and finger-drumming, I waited  --  and waited. Lots of time but nothing to write about.

Eventually I decided that, in the interests of sanity, I'd better get my mind onto a different track so I decided to put my return to school out of my mind and go back to thinking about moving house. I had a good look round the flat and decided that not much needed doing to get it ready for the estate agent. In the last few years I've put in a new heating system and boiler, new windows and it has all been fairly recently decorated. Since I've given up smoking, the paintwork and ceilings stay clean and fresh longer. So - I thought it just needed a dab of paint here and there. Oh, foolish me! Is there anyone else out there who doesn't know that theres's no such thing as 'just a dab of paint'. Once you start, you just can't stop because each bit you paint makes another bit look bad so you paint that which makes another bit look bad so you paint that....................................................and so it goes. So for the next two weeks I had plenty to write about but no time to write it.

That's where I am now - in a totally redecorated home which looks so nice I don't want to leave it. The decorating was actually fun because my sister and the kids all lent a hand so it was a bit like having a family party every day.

One nice thing that happened to me as a direct result of belonging to this website was that I received my first ever Thanksgiving cards. Thanks girls.

Lots of other things have been happening too. As soon as I started decorating, my local authority (my employers) sprang into action and aranged for me to attend a medical with their doctor to assess my fitness to return to work taking into account any risks to myself or others. That went well. The doctor was very supportive and after a lengthy examination (oral not physical) he let me listen to the letter he dictated to the local authority. He said that given certain concessions on the part of the school, he was in favour of me returning to work in January. The concessions were the ones my PH specialist had already stipulated - no stairs to climb and a staggered return to full-time work. He added in 'no playground duty' which will make me the envy of every teacher in the country. Since he is their doctor rather than mine it's difficult to see how they can do anything but go along with what he says. I now have to get into school to sort out a timetable - for two or three days a week to begin with. I'm really excited - and my bank manager will be over the moon!!!

Yesterday was the boys' birthday. It's so hard to believe my babies are twenty-seven. To be honest the way they fool around, it's sometimes hard to believe they're SEVEN. Sorry lads - just joking. Tim and Sue came up last night and they, Dean and I spent some time together before the three of them went out for a drink. I love to see the boys together on their birthday.

Last Friday was my school's staff Christmas party. It was held at a local rugby club and was great fun. I intended to stay until about 10.00pm but was still going strong at midnight. This was particularly surprising since it was the same day as my medical so I'd already had quite an active day before setting out on the evening's entertainment. I guess I have more stamina than I thought. It was a really great night and reminded me of how much I miss everyone. Next Friday is the last day of term so school finishes early and the staff go off to yet another rugby club for yet another Xmas party - so that's something else to look forward to. I LOVE Christmas!

Final Entry

On 11/29/04 PHC received the following email message, a notification that Wendy had died.

It read:

Sad News

Hi, my name is lyn, i am wendy's son in law, i am sorry to have inform you that wendy has passed away. she signed herself out of hospital on thursday after 3 months and died late on friday evening. she had gone onto the iloprost treatment which didn't do a lot so they put her on viagra tablets along with the iloprost and she really did respond for 2 weeks and then it was all down hill again. we think she knew what was happening and that was why she wasn't prepared to wait until saturday to be brought home.

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