Progress report

So following last weekend's events, I finally feel up to a progress report. Sunday night we had dinner with my in-laws and Mr SC's in-laws for the first time. Yes, in three years of relationship, we finally got our parents together to meet almost two months before our wedding. However, Saturday morning's events were taboo, as Mr SC does not want his family to worry. Great.

On Tuesday, a last minute appointment at the Docs had him sent home with promises of a referral to a headache clinic, a second appointment for Friday, some hefty painkillers and advice to avoid codeine based painkillers. Friday rolled around, with exertion based headaches still happening, but the hefty painkillers being pretty rapid to help. This time he has been sent home with beta-blockers and an appointment for next Friday again. I won't say I am not concerned still, but at least both Mr SC and the medical profession are taking it seriously.

At work, it seems that we are about to enter another slow period. I have not got much sitting on my desk, and even less in the way of prospective work. I really want to look into building up some sort of business from home, but can never decide what would suit me. I guess the joy of working for myself would be that I wouldn't have to pick just one route to go down. As soon as I get my wedding invites finished, I am going to throw myself into some etsy projects. Remind me of that please!

In the last week, Mr SC has really knuckled down and sorted out the house. The bathroom and kitchen are clean, the spare room is ready for my parents to come and stay, the lounge is tidy, and the washing pile isn't out of control. Wow!

I don't like this room.

This morning I write to you from a room in my favourite hotel. Mr SC and I are having a long weekend break. We came down Thursday afternoon after I took a half day at work, settled into our room and then went out for dinner at an Indian restaurant. He had chicken rogan josh to my veggie spinach curry that I cannot remember the name of, and we shared a rice. Back at the hotel we had a spa bath, and then watched a movie in our room. (Or Mr SC watched it while I fell asleep half way through.) Our room is lovely, with great views over the valley, a comfy bed, lots of space to walk about in and a supply of chocolate should it ever be needed.

On Friday we tackled the huge cooked breakfast you get here. I was defeated for the first time and couldn't eat more than two thirds of it. I love how they don't rely on veggie bacon and baked beans in their breakfasts here. You get a full plate with a lot of different flavours and not a lot of soya. The coffee is great too, and we felt properly set up for a day of walking along the river. After our ramble, we came back for a movie, scrabble and a couple of bottles of local cider. Lovely.

Yesterday morning, Mr SC didn't feel up to eating breakfast, but came and sat with me. Stomach problems, but he managed some coffee and juice. Afterwards, we went back upstairs to see if I could make him feel better. I'm sure you know where this is going. To cut to the chase, just as we reach the grand finale, Mr SC starts screaming in pain. He can barely articulate through the agony that he feels pressure in head like it is going to explode. It doesn't ease, and he is rolling on the bed in agony. I am scared witless, and want to take him to hospital. The pressure is making him cry in pain, and I decide to call an ambulance.

Mr SC is having trouble breathing, and feels his fingers get pins and needles, as well as his face while I stay on the phone to the emergency services. Another guest at the hotel stays with us, while her friend goes to the front door to wait for the ambulance. Mr SC keeps turning and rolling, holding his head and hyperventilating; we hear the siren of the ambulance in the distance, knowing it must come up the hill and along the single track lane before it reaches us. I have never been so terrified in my entire life. I just need Mr SC to hang on until someone who knows how to help gets here.

Minutes drag until finally the crew arrive, and panic can ebb into concern. Hyperventilation is calmed, and my worst fears change. It isn't a heart attack. It might be a small brain hemorrhage. We must go to hospital and he may need a CAT scan. As I follow the ambulance to A&E, I must reassure myself constantly that if it took a turn that they would have the sirens on and leave me to find my way in the car behind.

Parked up, I run across the car park to find that he has slept most of the journey. Light hurts, he is vacant, shocked and in pain, but he is in good hands. Finally, in a cubicle in A&E after paracetemol and with blood pressure returning to normal, he starts to come around. Stupid arsehole feels better and wants to leave before the doctor even checks him out. Mention of CAT scans, hemorrhaging and what I will do if he tries changes his mind.

The Doctor finally comes in, and after some tests agrees that he should be OK, but I must keep an eye over the next few days. Any sudden headache, headache not eased by paracetemol, vacancy or loss of consciousness must take him back to the hospital. I live in fear of being stranded for the next few days, but thanking my lucky stars that he is still here to scare the shit out of me.

Resolution

Finally, after a couple of weeks of going round in circles about the issue, we have decided what names we will each use when we get married. I guess first I have to reveal that the whole issue of marriage is something that has really made me think about feminism, tradition and what the whole institution means to me. I had never really thought about marriage, except as a way of committing to a partner for life until about six months ago. I had never considered myself feminist, until a couple of months ago.

As it turns out, I feel quite strongly that we really do need to update the marriage act. Why should they ask for my father's trade, but not my mother's? What if she is the breadwinner, as I am in my own household? What does it matter anyway, since I moved out and have been living as an independent adult for eighteen months?

Aside from a few jokes, Mr SC would never dare ask that I vow to obey him. On the odd occasion that it does get raised, I usually agree, hand him my shoes and go stand by the sink ready to wash up. Then we crease up and get on with our lives in the 21st century. Don't even get me started on veils, flowers or white dresses.....

So I was altogether against taking Mr SC's last name, as I feel that the historical roots to this (of women as possessions and devoid of rights or belongings) deserve no respect whatsoever. I have been determined for some time, that I would not change my name if Mr SC would not change his. We have cycled through meshing our names into one, taking a name from our family tree, taking a name that means something to us, each keeping our own names or even hyphenating, and just were not able to agree. 

Today we have finally agreed that we will hyphenate without the hyphen. I have never liked double-barrelled last names, but I have to admit that I do want to share a name with Mr SC, and this is the only option that we can both live with, other than keeping our existing names.

Now I just have to decide between Ms and Mrs.....

The Time-Traveler's Wife

Just finished reading this book, and it made me cry. Several times.

I can't help but think how awful it would be to lose the one you love. I don't know how I would possibly cope without Mr SC, now that I've tried life with him. He is out taking a spin on his motorbike at the moment, and even knowing he will be home soon I miss him. In fact, that is his bike I can hear now.

Out to dinner tonight with S and J, to say thank you for their help with the car yesterday.  Got to go get washed and ready.

The car blew up....

but thanks to a bit of bodging by Mr SC and our lovely neighbours S and J, it is at least back home. It remains to be decided whether we will replace the engine or just scrap it. The main thing is that I got himself back home safely after the almighty implosion/oil fountain on the motorway.

Last night we had a fairly big house spider on the fireplace. I wish they didn't like living in houses so much, as I would happily evict them all if it was possible. They certainly don't pay rent, and some of them are definitely big enough to! I hate spider season.

In other news, I must must must finish our wedding invites this weekend, then I can print the innards and send them out. My friends are asking for details.

Finally, I need to find out why food supposedly reaches your stomach in seven seconds, but the feedback response of fullness takes twenty minutes. Hhhhmmmm.

Camp

I spent this weekend at camp some of my friends. It is so lovely to just chill out and not worry about anything for 48 hours. At the site we had a stilling for a friend who passed on over the Christmas period. It was a lovely ceremony, followed by a good amount of toasts in his name. What better way to honour someone's life than to have a party in their name.