So Close

No non-cooter specific doctor

I am sitting here with a tissue paper plug up my nose as we speak.  My nose is sore from blowing it.  And if I don’t blow it, it drips. My head aches, my throat is sore and I have had enough.

 I don’t have a normal, every day doctor. What you call a ‘family doctor’ I think, and what we call a GP (general practitioner).  I am not normally a big doctor-goer, and for the last six years the only doctors I have ever seen have been cooter-related doctors. Infertility / pregnancy / etc. Anything else that was wrong with my body had to sort itself out. (The kids, of course, have every kind of specialist doctor under the sun: a Paed, a ENT, and OT etc etc.)  Today I had to shop around to find a doctor I could see.  I’d have gone to my cooter doctor if I could have, but even I have to admit it is a bit of a stretch from an out-of-order vagina to a sore throat. 

 The whole Albertyn family is sick. Took the kids to the Paed on Monday and now Marko and I have succumbed to the lurgey as well. Kind of a sinus infection / cold type thing. We are all on antibiotics. Blah. Sick kids no fun. Sick husband even less fun.

 On that note ….

 Why is it that if a husband and wife are suffering from the same ailment, the husband always seems to be sicker than the wife?

 And why is it that if a husband and wife are suffering from the same ailment, the husband is totally incapacitated while the wife still has to do all the normal household chores and kid stuff. What would the husband do if the wife wasn’t around? 

 I am so tired of snot, and coughing, and moaning. From everyone!

 Men! Can’t live with them; can’t kill the fuckers live without them.

 

Carte Blanche Viewers' Choice

The segment on my story has been chosen for the Carte Blanche Viewers' Choice slot this Thursday (30th Nov) at 22:30 on MNet! Cool huh.

tertia albertyn

Sensory sensitive

A few weeks ago I wrote about how I thought Adam might have sensory integration issues, and I ended by saying that I could understand a bit of where he came from because I thought I had some of those issues too. A few people got upset with that statement because I think they believed I was making light of what could be a serious diagnosis, and I do appreciate where they are coming from. I really wasn’t trying to minimize what is for some, a very serious condition.  I was merely trying to say that based on my own personal experiences with these issues, I have empathy and some understanding for my son. 

Sensory integration issues occur across a very broad spectrum, from very mild to very serious, and although I know I don’t have sensory modulation issues or sensory integration dysfunction, I do understand what it is like to be almost overly sensitive to one’s environment.

 I read an article a while back about being sensory sensitive and I thought ‘hey, that is me!’ I could relate to a lot of the behaviour they spoke about.

 I suppose if one looked at each of these little ‘quirks’ individually, or even grouped together, you could say that many people have them. That all of this is actually quite normal. And you will probably be right.

 My odd ‘quirks’ include the following:

 · Since I could, I have always cut out the labels of my clothes. I can not have labels in my clothes, it drives me crazy. I feel it all the time.
· I can’t sleep if my T-shirt is bunched up or if the sheet has folds. I can feel the folds.
· In fact, I can’t sleep in any thing other material than very soft, T-shirt type material.  And never anything on my legs, no matter what the weather.  I do not know you guys sleep in those lacey, frilly, strappy numbers.
· And yet, when I go to sleep, I must have the soft cotton duvet touching my lips.  It soothes me.
· My panties have to have soft seams and comfy elastics.  NO THONGS!! Granny pants rule!
· I never wear tight clothes
· I hate having my hair loose. The hairs touching my face irritate me terribly. I even sleep with my hair tied up.
· If a hair has fallen from my head and landed some where on my skin, I can feel it immediately.  I have to brush it off straight away.
· I hate noise. The first thing I do when I am alone is switch off the radio and / or TV.  I can’t stand loud TV or radio, it makes me completely anxious. And my family in law LOVE the TV, as does my husband.  The TV is always on. I can’t have a conversation with the TV on.  I have to tell them to turn it down.
· I can not study, or actually do any concentrating work if there is music / radio on in the background. I can’t filter out the noise.
· I hate bright lights. I am forever switching the lights off.
· I hate having ‘stuff’ on my hands.  When I make a sandwich, for example, I will wash my hands after each step, I just can’t handle the feeling of food on my hands. Pushing the shopping cart in the shop is a nightmare; my hands actually feel heavy from all the ‘stuff’ I imagine to be on my hands.

 But, my biggest quirk of all is that I hate to be touched unexpectedly.  When I did my Googling to read up about Adam’s potential things, I came across a sentence that described me to a T. It said that people who have sensory issues often “experience a feeling of being attacked upon being touched (especially from light touch or sudden touch)” and that their reaction is often an overreaction.  This is so me.

 I’ve always been a little embarrassed at how I react when people touch me by surprise (tap / poke / prod / flick etc). I completely overreact, but it isn’t a conscious thing. I hit out. And sometimes with serious results. My husband loves to mess around with me by poking me in the ribs or teasingly flicking my butt or whatever, and I HATE IT. One time he did it I reacted by hitting out and I cracked two of his ribs, but it wasn’t on purpose, I swear!!!  I felt really bad afterwards.

 When I read that sentence on the net I felt such relief actually, because it shed some light on why I react the way I do, and it has also allowed me to tell Marko not to do it anymore.  I know he is doing it teasingly, out of love, but I really, really hate it.  He said he wouldn’t do it again. I think he thinks I am making this shit up, but he will respect my wishes.  Such a relief actually, I really hated that, and I always felt like I had to be on my guard., but it seemed so silly and petty to tell him not to do it. 

 Anyway, this has got long. And is further proof that I really am v odd.  Odd, and just a little sensitive to certain things in my environment. Just remember, whatever you do, do not come up to me and touch me unexpectedly.  I might just have to crack your ribs ;-)

 (And also, remember that I am not a big hugger. Nor do I like to shake your hand.  Let’s just wave politely at each other from afar. Hear that Melly and Melly – NO HUGGING!)

Tertia O’Hara

One of the things I am really good at, is “thinking about that tomorrow”.  I am a real Scarlet O’Hara. I can make myself not think about things. 

 I do that with my blog. I pretend that no one I actually know reads my blog. I have to do this or else I will be too self-conscious to say anything. 

 And then every now and then I get reminded that just about everyone in my life knows I have a blog. And might actually read it sometime.

 Boss: Excellent show last night, well done

 Tertia: Thanks. Went way better than expected. Was good closure for me.

 Boss: Yes, I saw on your blog

 Tertia: DON’T READ MY BLOG!!

 Boss: Why not? It’s the only way I can keep up with you

 Tertia: It makes me shy

 Boss: You shy? I don’t think so

 Boss: And anyway, I am basing your performance appraisal on your blog.

 

Last nights show

The TV show last night was absolutely amazing.  Way better than I hoped for.  I couldn’t sit still before the show, I was so nervous it would come across as naff or boring, but it was so tastefully done.  I am so chuffed.

 My mother came across brilliantly, as did my sister and best friend. But the real star of the show was Marko. He was outstanding.  No one is ever going to believe me again when I say that he is not a big chatter or a very emotional person.  He was so genuine and so wonderfully eloquent. And he looked DAMN HOT. 

 But the best thing about the show was that it was a beautifully moving tribute to Ben.  When Ben died, I was too distraught to have a memorial service.  I was barely able to put one foot in front of the other, and I knew I wouldn’t cope with having even one more ounce of emotion. And I didn’t want to be parted from his memory box and his ashes. It was the only thing I had left of him.

 And then, a few weeks later we did that last IVF and I got pregnant. And then it was the high risk pregnancy, the first hectic year of twins, the book and I never got to have that memorial service. Although it sounds strange if you haven’t seen the show, last nights programme felt like the perfect tribute to my son. It was so amazingly done. I am so pleased that the producer put this together, it is something I am going to treasure forever, and something I am going to show Adam and Kate when they are ready to see it.  So beautifully done.

 Thank you Carol, thank you thank you thank you.  You are brilliant. You did such a great job on the show.  Words just aren’t enough to thank you for what you did.  It was an excellent show.

 Phew. What an emotional time it has been.  We are all exhausted.

**For a full transcript of the show, see here.  I will also try get it uploaded to YouTube ASAP.

 In memory of Ben, 4 January 2004 – 14 January 2004

The Meaning of Life and World Peace.

Had fabulous time at do. Looked gorgeous, obviously. (No photos, Marko is a pathetic photographer. Never hiring him again.) Got home at 12:30am. Kate woke up at 5:10am. V tired.

Shite. I think I need to come up with some deep and meaning post.  I need to sound intelligent, mature and responsible and not like someone who drinks too much wine and says the occasional (ok, maybe more than occasional) swearword. 

 Thing is, there might just be a few people who will watch the TV show tonight. And perhaps they wonder over to my blog. Where they will find me talking about people poo’ing at work and about how fond I am of my wine. Yes, that should win over a few new readers. Am v tempted to delete poo post, but wont. (Was meant to be tongue in cheek, it really is fine with me if you poo at work. It’s ok, we can still be friends.)

 Perhaps I should do a quick blog post pontificating about what I really think about the war in Iraq, global warming and Africa’s debt issues etc, but I am too hung over and tired to string more than three words together. However, the fact that I just used “pontificate” in casual conversation should at least count for a few points. 

 PS: 38 years old today. TWO years till forty.  How the hell did that happen?

Julie. Chatty.

 

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Tertia: i miss you terribly

Tertia: and it is not because i am drunk

Tertia: ok, it is because i am drunk

Tertia: but seriously

Tertia: been thinking about you a lot

Tertia: can't believe C is almost two years old

Tertia: feel v nostalgic

Tertia: asshole

Tertia: (you, not me)

Tertia: how is your cycle going?

Tertia: my last cycle was 39 days long - am practically fertile

Tertia: not that i actually ovulated or even had sex

Tertia: but you know, if i did ovulate and if i happened to have sex that day, i could almost be pregnant

Tertia: pregnate

Tertia: happy thanksgiving

Tertia: i hate thanksgiving

Tertia: boring

Tertia: although last time i said that you went and had a baby

Tertia: very early

Tertia: which was really kind of you

Tertia: i know you did that just for me

Tertia: i do like you

Tertia: well, i am tired of your endless banter

Tertia: i'm off to get more wine

Tertia: asshole

Tertia: bye

 

Might be this Sunday after all!

Barring a world event / natural disaster / something more newsworthy..... the Carte Blanche show should maybe hopefully might go out this Sunday.  MNet 7pm.  Am v v nervous about it.  Will try and get it uploaded to YouTube.  But only after I've seen what it's like.

NERVOUS!

Have a big work do on tonight, am leaving early for root touch up and blow job.  Have new frock to wear.  Should look v gorgeous.  It better stop raining, or else blow job will be all for naught. 

PS  Happy Thanksgiving etc.

PPS  Have I mentioned how fucking nervous I am about appearing on national TV? I think I am going to go lie down for a while.

If possible, do you think you could you poo at home?

I work in an open plan office environment. It’s not quite the cubicle maze / Dilbert-type set-up, but it’s open.  And I share it with quite a few people.

Which causes me great amounts of distress at times. Like this morning. At 10am someone decided to have fish for breakfast / brunch / early lunch.  Fish! A big plate of stinky fish! I do not want to have to breathe in stinky fish fumes at 10am in the morning.  I know it’s selfish (shellfish – hahaha!) but I hate it when people eat stinky food at work.  And even worse! When they heat up their stinky food in the communal microwave and I have to put my food in there afterwards – fish flavoured warm milk! Gross.

 And while we are at it, how about stinky poos in the work loo?  I know that if you gotta go, you gotta go, but can’t we have an arrangement where as a rule, poos are done at home, unless there is an emergency?  Even worse than the fishy air pollution is being practically asphyxiated with someone else’s poo fumes while trying to pee.  I try not to breathe in, but it is damn difficult to pee and hold my breath at the same time. Please people, poo at home!

 It is hard enough to deal with rush hour traffic, noisy offices and work pressures, but it is the smell pollution that really spoils my day. 

22 months. Tough.

I must say, 22 months is not the best stage ever. I can’t believe that one can have so many opinions about so many things when you’ve been around for less than two years.

 I am living in the hope that it somehow gets easier after two.  Tell me it gets easier after 2.

 I do feel sorry for them, because it must be incredibly frustrating to know so clearly what you want, and yet your mother is unable / unwilling to follow your stridently expressed commands.

 And answering with a simple “hmm”, or “yes” is not good enough.  No, I have to repeat the exact word / instruction they’ve just said in order for them to double check my comprehension. Even when I have no idea what a “bskt” is.  Are you stupid, Mother?? I want the bskt!!!  Bskt bskt bskt bskt! (Oh, the BASKET! Sorry!)

 It must be damn tough to be 22 months old.

 Logic, it would appear, plays no role in your life. Neither does any sense of danger.  

 You can not understand why the round lid won’t fit on the square container and why your mother can’t “fixit” when you tell her to. It doesn’t matter if those shoes you found packed away in your cupboard are from last year and way too small, you want to wear them NOW.  “on on on on”. Apparently repeating your command until it wears your mother down is a foolproof way to get what you want. Once your mother has managed to squash your foot into the too-small shoes, you will grin broadly and hobble around the house in them.  

 You have absolutely no fear.  You can’t understand why you aren’t allowed to climb up on this thing, or rock on that or jump off there.  You’re apparently never allowed to have any fun. Mother = spoilsport

 When your brother or sister is given an instruction to DON’T TOUCH THAT, it apparently means you should do the exact opposite straight away. It clearly means ‘let me see what that thing is my brother / sister has just been instructed not to touch’ After all, your mother wasn’t talking to YOU, now was she?

 You already have a strongly defined dress sense. You know exactly what you want to wear and it doesn’t matter if it isn’t appropriate for the weather / occasion / coordination.  And beware if your mother or nanny attempts to dress you in something other than your choice.  

 The food that is on your parent’s plate is far more interesting than your own.  Even if it is the same thing you’ve got on yours. 

 You will not want a particular toy unless your sibling is playing with it.  Then only that toy will do. You will cry and scream for it, and when you do get it, you will play with it for less than 30 seconds and then toss it aside.  

 You insist on doing everything yourself.  Even when you can’t do it yourself, you will insist on trying anyway.

 It must be very tough to be 22 months.