There’s No Charge In My Battery


So the LIVE BLOG FROM GLASTONBURY didn’t really work out, which is a shame, but I have a rubbish Blackberry battery to blame.  I took a spare, carefully charged, and put it in the lockups. When I swapped my first when the meter ran red … nothing.

Most frustrating.

However, it was – to put it mildly – one of the best four days of my life.  I’m going to do extensive blogging about each day, with gratuitous photos of varying poor quality, but I’ve been hampered by some bad times that have made my life decidedly emo, so first off I’ll talk about how the diabetes maintenance went.

It didn’t go well, hehe.

Clearly, I didn’t die, as this would make typing difficult.  But, oh my, I was hypo city.  My blood sugars were all over the place.  Largely this was due to me needing to massively scale down my insulin dose.  the scale of activity and constant exertion that the festival required, coupled with smaller meals, meant I needed far less.  Dinnertime meals, for example, are set around 14 units at home.  I was having 8 units at Glasto and still getting shakey and needing sugar tablets to ensure minimum fainting and maximum dancing. And there was a lot of dancing.

In retrospect, I should have had bigger meals, and should not have been reluctant to have more sugary treats, like the DELICIOUS crepe I had on the last day.  It wasn’t good maintenance, but it was a learning curve for future outings such as Reading.  Much less insulin needed, don’t be afraid to hang back and take it easy, and being a little too high across the weekend (hell a lot of people at festivals are, arfarf) is better than risking dropping too low.

As for the badtimes, they involve my father, who’s still in hospital.  I went in to see him the day after I got back and arrived just in time for him to be in the midst of some kind of panic attack.

He was anxious, pale, he couldn’t concentrate and seemed like a rabbit in headlights.  We didn’t know what to do but as soon as we got there they had just brought a wheelchair to take him outside for a breath of fresh air, so the orderly just motioned for us to take him without really saying anything.  Was it okay to take him outside??? Nevertheless we wheeled him out into the fresh air – there’s a pond outside with ducks and randy pigeons strutting around the place.  It didn’t really help.  He wanted to walk around and as soon as he did he wanted to sit down again, then stand.  He was out of sorts and I had no idea what to say to him.
I did my best trying to get him to focus on something else, but it didn’t really work.  After twenty minutes he was a little calmer but still not himself.
Back at his bedside he was still agitated, and the doctor he had asked for hadn’t turned up yet (That doctor didn’t turn up until long after I got home)  I’ve never seen him looking so frail.  His arm is still at an awkward angle and he still has trouble moving it, and he’s still waking up in pain.  I put on a good show of being a strong son, looking him in the eye and telling him that he’s read so many books and websites about such things so should know as well as I did (did I?) that most of it was in his head, that the agitation he was feeling has a snowballing effect.
That show had it’s curtain call two corridors away from the ward and I spent much of the next 24 hours as an utter wreck.  Though so many people have been wonderful in this situation – something I’ll never be able to express how thankful I am for – I no longer have anyone close enough for me to break in front of.  I only have one person I could call a best friend these days, and unfortunately he’s in a Cardiff hospital and the reason I was such a weak wreck.  You’d think at nearly thirty I’d be a bit tougher for this, but in this situation I’m seven again and need my dad to be made of iron.

I think his ‘panic attack’ stems from the combination of drugs they’re using on him, combining with the frustration of boredom and being plonked in a corner to run tests on him every now and again but generally give the impression he’s not important.  Nothing seems to be happening.  It is, but so slowly that having to sit in a bed gathering cobwebs makes it appear so.  He’s a very active man, and very impatient, so the inaction is driving him up the wall.  It’s also becoming increasingly clear how truly terrified he is of dying.  He has an interest in the mysteries of the universe, but he is not a religious man.  He has the same perpetual need to be doing something that I have (if only I could tailor that into something practical) and I get the feeling he has a need to get more done before his time is up, that he hasn’t done enough.

Thanks if you’ve read that far, it’s not the brightest of reading. But thank you intermanets for being a shoulder to cry on, I’m sure there’s plenty more emo sniffling coming your wat before Sufficeblog is done with.
Needless to say, reader, if you want to come round and give me a big hug I’d be more than grateful.

Now that’s over the way, I’ll be seeing him again this afternoon.
My following blogs will probably depend on how he is.
I have lots of cheery Glasto posts to do, and the second Videodrone blog has been waiting in my drafts f0lder for weeks.
Emotional yo-yo, that’s me.  I’m almost accustomed to life’s odd way of placing the best and worst days of my life startlingly close together

Fingers crossed for cheerier posts soon, yeah?


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