Hospital bound in isolation room, six levels up.

What a whirler this little hospital stint has been. I thought detoxing out all these meds will have me bouncing out the doors but it seems it aint that simple. Flush out for one thing and something else ugly wants to play up. Bloody bodies. Seriously got me flickering through all sorts of intense feels but I am getting better at embracing vulnerability. i am learning to honour myself as a whole, not pick my qualities i wish to acknowledge and hide or ignore all the other significant parts. These bits also make me unique in who i am, as a complete being.


These moments of solidarity have me really reflect or question myself as a conscious, emotional person. and like, really check hard over my entire existence. it seems the more I struggled with trying to identify who I am, the more fragile i am becoming. I’m not seeing fragility in a negative light which is a good shift for a stubborn assed person like me. It’s like I am being properly reintroduced with myself, and I see that the healthier my self-love is, the more in aligned and authentic I am with my self. (Love Craig Harper)

I allowed myself to be sad today when they told me i had diabetes this afternoon. I let myself sob a bit when an occupational therapist came and spoke to me about the way the house is set up incase these fainty episodes and body tremors don’t settle. I am afraid being seen and touched by these teams of neurologists and oncologists.  Ive been a haematology patient for 17 years thats my familiar space. So many tests and questions and all-sorts. Double vision, check. Can you read this? No. Reflex bounce, non-responsive. They throw around previous trial medications and chemo history and bone marrow transplant matches and brush over that donor thing. “Have you any donors lined up?” I do. My one and only handsome brother Dylan who is getting busy preparing to get married in February. We have been tested and we match 100%. My heart jolts and then shatters to a trillion pieces and my soul screams so loud in my head that i get that pulsing icicle stabbing migraine that feels like an icy knife shaving over my water-lobbed skull. my shoulders drop and i weep heavy. Because i see i am not strong and i cant ride it out solo (Mum and Dad are here solid.)

I like to think he felt my agony and heartache from across the ocean because he called me this afternoon. Bang on solitary sob o’clock. To shakily whisper to him what they said and he, without missing a beat declare he’s got me and be will be on the next plane whenever I need had me at ease and i felt safe. and then phlegmy snotty coz infection. Since this very conversation with my brother I am in such a better place comprehending i cannot control everything. So whatever the healing regime will be, bring it. Crossing fingers paracetamol every four hours haha but no seriously i’m ready to do anything and Im good with whatever cocktails they see most beneficial for my health.

The way i treat people, the way i response to various situations is real and so honest. My outlook is real. I see. My care factor is authentic and i know this to be true. My credibility starts with me. My role as a PT/Coach whatever means the world to me. It’s what i choose to continue to study. Fill my brain with. Understand. Exc. Sci, human movement, psychology, strength and conditioning.  I am not here to be pretty or insta-famous. Fuck pretty. too hard.  I have had my hair tied in the same braid since Friday, its Wednesday 1am. I know that what comes out of my mouth is in alignment with who i am. Are my behaviours telling? Am i walking the talk? Yes. from a different angle now. But Im still gonna love me up right. And document the whole way and i’m excited to share my journey. If the lights in my rooms ensuite were stronger id be in there with my compression sox taking before pics and loving myself. Actually that sounds pretty tiring i take it back. It can wait till i’m home tomorrow. Yep, Im pretty beat-up at the minute, in my person. But i see my swollen inflamed body with real kindness and gratitude and i respect my bigger misshaped bumpy lumpy body and belly and i am thankful that it’s working so hard to get me through to maintain homeostasis. My skin is shocking and i am grateful it is ridding of all the toxic poison in me. I’ve prebooked a haircut and style session in a real salon again. Thats been a while. With all my alopecia spots i been begging my mum to save me the anxiety and DIY chops at home. Imma own up and just be.

I am excited to get into the kitchen and see food for nourishment. Eat all the rainbow colours, all the anti-inflammatory things all the antioxidants, minerals as food is medicine. Put some effort into my breakfast and lunch-bowls and be excited to inhale them. Im not going to prep them i will make each one with care and love. I am very fortunate that my great friend Jason is the chef behind https://flyingfitfood.com.au so i’m all on board to utilise his food prep service for my dinners this coming week while i’m low on energy.

They have set an appt with psychosocial worker here at the hospital and i see real value in this. But the timing does not work for my schedule/stress levels so i will because i am prioritising saying NO. A few scans and appts on the horizon but i’m going home to heal baby. 

  • Prune juice and soda water is a pretty good combo.
  • Sitting in the shower is the best.
  • Theres an alternate menu where you can just get dbl grilled chicken/fish portions and load up the veg combo.
  • And there’s a protein shake section too.
  • Hospital PJ pants are the most comfiest thing.
  • Body origami is great i been twisting myself up in weird combos just moving in ways i dont usually move.
  • I just took a protein drink (theres a help yourself vibe going) from patient kitchen and just realised its someones hang feed for tomorrow.

Trying to rock through all of this solo has been exhausting to myself and no doubt my parents. They have been so gentle and nurturing and in and out my face the perfect amount. it would be hard for them. Thanks Mum and Dad. And Dylan, Shiloh, Kimiora and Jack for welcoming my boy Pepper into their home with open arms oh my heart bursts with gratitude. i am proud of myself for recognising my max. limit and being admitted into Peter Mac and i am proud i am venting in a made up space like this. I can speak. Theres prob a milli typos and stuff but ah well.

I need to say again. No pity party. Im not asking you to read this. Ask me how i am, i’ll say “Im not too shabby”. If im looking imbalanced or shaky, nod with me and remind me i’m gangsta and that my haircut is nice 🙂 i will allow it.

Better start on sneaking back Miss Lindsay Moore external gravity feed back to the patient kitchen. DOB 12/04/1933. FUCK lol. I got two boxes hahaha.

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