How good am I?

I just wanted to say to, well you know who you are, I'm always there for you.
And forever grateful that you're part of my life.

Hope we can help you put back the pieces, Hunni.

That's all for now, I guess...

I can't say exactly why.

But, I can tell you that I've been away from spaces for ages, and missed a lot of news, I know.
And for that, I'm truly sorry.

There have been enormous happenings in my life, lately.
At one point, the whole bottom fell out of my world, and yet, it's weird because right now, it wouldn't matter if there was a bottom to it or not, because I'm floating.

Flying, actually.
:)
I wish I could bottle this and sell it, because everyone deserves to feel this way.

And, I'm getting mushy now, so I'm not going to bore those who are already bored with SoppySam :P

Now, normally I would keep this sort of information to myself, but it's so bizarre that, oh I dunno, maybe someone might have an idea what the heck is going on, or else just have a good laugh at my expense (honestly, please go ahead, I insist ;)).

I went to bed last night (late), and was absolutely fine. Hadn't had any aches or pains all day, and was feeling very grateful for a "Good day" at last.
Woke up this morning, and I feel like I've taken a very fast-moving projectile to my bottom.

I have no idea what could have happened to cause the pain, and it certainly is a brand new one on me (not many more of those about, surely).
It feels like a bruised muscle, or bruised bone or something, but I have it on good authority that there's no mark to speak of in the area.

It hurts to move my leg, so I've been hobbling about all morning, clutching it! Must look very comical, a bit like Dr. Frankenstein's Igor, with an unscratchable itch.

Once again I have been away, and no it isn't all down to Neopets or Funkeys this time (Phoenix, I'll get to that too...in another entry).

We have had hi-jinx and shenanigans here this past week; everyone has been ill, and no one has had any sleep.

Started off on I-don't-know-what-day, Steve and his Dad decided to repair a hole in the kitchen ceiling, ever so kindly left there by some men who installed a boiler about a year ago.
I was in my room revising, when suddenly there came a huge crash from downstairs, followed by the sound of Steve's Dad going barmy.
I rushed as much as I could manage to the scene, to find Steve on the kitchen floor with a ladder underneath him. It had basically slipped out, and he'd landed knee first on a rung, and sent the impact up his spine.
He did the man thing, and insisted he was ok, all-the-while in obvious agony. Nothing his Mum or I could say would convince him to see the doctor, so I phoned NHS Direct. Rest and painkillers was their solution.

"Fair enough," we think.
Then comes the problem; to rest, or sleep, most people lie down, right? Yeah, except Steve can no longer lie down, due to the excruciating pain in his back, which only gets worse when he's horizontal.
Cue sleepless night for Steve, during which he wound up on the couch downstairs, wrapped in the quilt from the spare room.

Before this, however, I had rubbed some Ralgex into a sore shoulder, only to have to wash it off again, less than a minute later because his skin looked like it had sustained third degree burns. Strange because his back had been fine with it.

Next day, pain in his back was worse, and his knee had a big dent in it, so he agreed that perhaps the doctor was best. Well, we didn't see a doctor at the surgery, having gotten shunted to the nurse, instead.
She must have been having a bad morning herself, because she just couldn't get him out fast enough! "No swelling, soft tissue damage. Rest and pain killers."

Ah, there's that rest problem again.
Cue the pillows from the spare room all coming to visit our bed, so as to prop Steve in as much of a sitting position as was marginally comfortable.
And another yo-yo off a night for him.

Next day, he conceded that maybe an x-ray was in order.
Off to the hospital, it was then. And over to another one with, presumably, doctors better equipped for the situation.
After much prodding, hammering of joints and an uncomfortable x-ray, the doctor assured us that nothing was broken, and then asked Steve to diagnose himself "What do you think is wrong, sir?"
Say what, now?!? This man was supposed to have had however many years at med school, and he's asking us what the problem is??
"Pain killers, rest" We know the drill.

So, in for a weekend of fun we were, anyway, with Steve in pain and not being able to do much about it, let alone sleep.
Saturday morning, Steve's Dad, who is in very much less than perfect health, was ill and had to be taken to the hospital. Poor guy, so proud of himself for having not smoked in almost three weeks, and his body goes and rewards him with another case of cellulitis, and the day before the football too. There he is, wrapped in his duvet cocoon, shivering like he's wearing wet clothes in the Arctic, and his leg all gammy.
They let him home, though, but he stayed in bed for most of the day and hardly ate.

So we get to yesterday, seemed like everyone was getting better. Dad came down for a beer with his mate while they watched the footie, Steve went straight off to sleep as soon as his head hit the top of his pillow mountain, and although I'm nervous about my exam, and worrying about everyone, I'm off to sleep pretty early for me, and pretty quickly too.

Twenty to two, Steve and I were awake again, though. Seems his back was becoming unbearable again, but as far as I remember, we went back to bed shortly after.

Three-thirty then came along, and all hell broke loose.
Steve was actually sobbing the pain was so bad, and he couldn't move because it hurt. Managed to get him sat up, and practically ordered him to take some pain relief. Then I had a brainwave: the Ralgex had seemed to help his back, did he want me to take the chance and rub some in? He thought the risk would be worth it, as did I personally as his back hadn't been a problem last time.
So, dutiful partner that I am, I lovingly applied the muscle rub, and sat with him, on the edge of the bed, while waiting for the pain to ease.

Next second there's a horrid, awful, searing fire in my left eye!
Oh, Gods, it stung!
I'd only gone and rubbed my tired eyes with Ralgex-coated fingers, hadn't I?
Quick, run to the bathroom, and wash it out, hoping against hope that when I looked in the mirror, I didn't see a gaping, fizzing goo-filled hole where my eye used to be.
As it happens, it's not actually quite so reactive, and after a thorough rinse, all that was out of the ordinary was that my eye was abit red.

But, man, I could have done without that, not least because, I was obviously now wide awake!