Asthma is *so* last season.

I've decided I'm bored of asthma now, so that topic is finished. I don't want to get all drama-queeny and boring about it and, really, there's only so much to say.


Sooooooooo.... what's new with you?

What - nothing?


Fair enough - I'll tell you what's new with me instead, because it's my blog and I'll randomly change the subject if I want to.

Firstly, teaching.

Fucksake. Kids these days.

To cut a long story short, and save you from excessive woe, the job's been a nightmare. The staff have been great and how they drag themselves in day after day and maintain any semblance of positivity is beyond me. The only thing keeping me going is the knowledge I'm moving on somewhere hopefully more inspiring at the end of this academic year. The upshot of it all is that the appalling behaviour, constant abuse and aggro and high-stress levels have driven me to drugs, and not even fun ones: boring anti-depressants. They don't even make you hallucinate or anything. Boo.

Interview time is, however, upon us, so I'm trying to be positive. I've applied for 3 jobs so far at lovely, lovely schools with children who have a whole range of different issues, but who are at least not likely to swear at me, run away, throw furniture, threaten violence or damage property on a regular basis. I'm trying for optimism and have started putting together an interview outfit which is actually proving more stressful than the application process. Honestly, what a girl.


In other news it is only 4 meagre days until the fight. FOUR.

SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.

Nah, it'll be fine. Honest. (shitshitshitshitshit...)

I've trained as hard as I can: running, swimming, cycling, sparring, double pads with Ally and Ann, and I've cut a ridiculous amount of weight, going from 70kg to 62.3kg in 7 weeks. I've got an entire cupboard full of treats for the weekend of the fight, but I'm not going to go crazy with the food, I've got a fight a month after this for a few months so I need to keep my weight stable and I have no desire to go through this stupid weight thing again.

That said, here's my list of yummy food I currently crave:

- Thai barbeque ribs and chicken wings
- Dominoes BBQ pizza
- Burger King Bacon double cheese burger
- Snickers bar
- Croissant with raspberry jam or nutella
- Galaxy chocolate of any variety
- Toasted bagel with cream cheese and crispy bacon
- Oodles of toast
- Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Therapy icecream
- Fish and Chips
- Roast chicken & chunky home made chips

But I promise not to actually eat all those things - the last thing I want to do is but 8 kilos back on again and have to lose it by the 15th March...


I'm pretty much organised for Saturday. I'll be out of school like a bat out of hell when the bell rings at 12.35 on Friday, up to the Commonwealth Pool for a sauna, down to Tollcross to get my hair braided, maybe a sneaky massage in Stockbridge and back home for a salt bath to get this last 2 kilos off. I've got my kit washed and ready and I've stocked up on ibuprofen, thai oil, baby oil and vaseline. I've decided what I'm eating before and after the fight and bought as much of it as I can, with a list of what else is needed and what needs to be packed in my bag on the day.

I'm excited but not scared, I think I can make a decent go of this fight and maybe layeth the smacketh down.


Now, because I'm an honest girl and I think this is pretty funny (and I finally told Paul, so I can tell you), I'm going to share with you an embarassing example of how much of an idiot I am.

John, chief instructor at the gym, suggested Ann and I go and get a tan. We're both very pale - Ann's allowed because she's Swedish, I'm just pale... because.

I wasn't going to bother because, frankly, it's ridiculous, but I was a bit miserable today so I thought "What the hell, why not, treat yourself."

So I did.

Now I have sunburnt boobs.



Idiot.

Thank you.

Thank you, lovely Asthma Nurse. Thank you for taking me seriously, thank you for seeing me at short notice, thank you for being concerned, and thank you for prescribing me a brown inhaler and telling me to come back ASAP if it gets any worse.

Thank you thank you thank you.

Dr Cock-Jockey could learn alot from you

As much use as a chocolate fish on a bicycle made of tea pots.

That's what my verdict is of my salbutamol inhaler so far.

Next?

Worst week ever?

Oh Lordy, troubles so hard.

It's been one of those weeks where the bad news just keeps on coming, really. All of it minor, but when you put it all together it makes for a sucky week, especially when you're fighting in a week.

Sunday - Couldn't train because I hurt my calf muscle
Monday - Still couldn't train because of the calf
Tuesday - Back to training - Hurrah!
Wednesday - Tooth got infected and had to be fixed - no training.
Thursday - Off work, still sick from the tooth, but managed a wee bit exercise
Friday - Back to training - Hurrah!
Saturday - Visiting granny. No training.
Sunday - Training, but not as much as usual. Diagnosed with asthma.

Harsh. Particularly the last one.

I've had the problem a few times that when I'm hitting the pads and I'm really pushing myself I get an audible wheeze and can't breathe - not like being out of breath, much worse. It's been happening more and more after first happening in October and last night I was still feeling tight in the chest so eventually I rang NHS24 and ended up with an appointment at the our of hours clinic.

Now, I've previously had an excellent experience of the out of hours clinic, when I got cellulitis last year, so it's a bit of a shame that I was seen by such an utter cock-jockey last night.

He diagnosed exercised-induced asthma with an oh-so-thorough examination. Involving listening to my lungs with a steth, ...., ...., ....., Oh. Yeah. That was all. he didn't do a peak flow, didn't take my blood pressure, take my pulse, even listen to my heart. He didn't even ask how I felt. He quite clearly desperately wanted to be somewhere else, and oh Lordy it showed.

Dr Cock-Jockey (as I fondly call him) prescribed a Salbutamol inhaler with the following stunningly helpful advice: "I don't know if it'll help, but it can't hurt. My advice would be to exercise less hard". When I explained I compete and I can't just stop if I'm tired, he said he didn't know what else to suggest. I asked him about preventative treatment and he denied any such thing existed when, clearly, it does. Here.

What a wank.

So, this morning I went to see my own G.P. armed with a wealth of information in the hope I'd get a more thorough diagnosis and treatment plan. She was much more helpful, (possibly partly because she had a student), and prescribed a peak flow meter to record how it changes when I've got the wheeze. She also confirmed that there are other drugs I can take if the salbutamol doesn't do the trick and recommended taking it 10 minutes before training as a preventative measure.

I must say, I'm rather chuffed with the Peak Flow thingy, because for a ridiculously competetive person like me, there is nothing like discovering your resting peak flow is off the chart :)

*smugsmugsmugsmugsmug*


Smug.