Happy Birthday Dad

For your birthday you can have an extra dose of crazy, laced with low sugar levels and decorated with a buggered kidney. Awesome huh?? Now blow out those damn candles.

I know I only seem to write when things are bad; I must sound like a whinging old harpy. But, my blog is for me to say what I want how I want; and I don't really have many outlets except it.

The lactulose was causing too high sugar levels (for those playing at home, 28). So, off to the diabetic specialist we go. Who takes him off lactulose and gives him 2 pills to take once a day. Because 2 pills once a day is going to do exactly the same as 4 hourly doses of lactulose. I said then, that it would really fix him, or really fuck him - hello fucked.

Yesterday morning I called to say happy birthday. He answered the phone and was talking jibberish. Of course, I panicked and got him to get mum - you hear the phone fumble fumble drop - then mum picks up. 'Oh, you've just woken him up' she says and I heave a sigh of relief. Because, you know, imagine him getting sick on his birthday. 'happy birthday yada yada we'll see you tonight' - hang up and get on with everything else that has to be done today.

Riley had a birthday party so he went to that. No parents allowed, so we meandered up the road for a coffee and a yak. Party pickup - mum calls in a blithering mess; Dad is all over the shop.

Awesome.

Get there, try and get sugar into him; he can't even work out how to drink. Call the ambulance yada yada and spend 7 hours in emergency trying to work out WTF is going on here. Turns out now that something is causing a big issue with the kidney too - just to add to the fun. Sugar is 2 - but no one has told my mother what too low is. Fuckers.

They've gone back to lactulose.

I just keep hearing that jack in the box song - 'round and round the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel' - and it's our life story. Except when jack goes 'pop' - that will be my brain exploding.

We'll get there.

In other news - all is good. Boxes freaking everywhere and I am outright lying to my children - i.e. ' why don't we put this battered broken toy into the box to 'go to the new house'' (aka lets just chuck the freaking thing out and by the time we get to the new house you'll have forgotten about it). Only problem is, Connor wants to help so has chucked ALL toys into the box. So, now I have to go through it again. Lying to your children will always bite you on the ass.