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The tigers come at night

September 7, 2011


… With their voices loud as thunder.

Bloody tigers have woken me up… Them and a whole horde of gremlins…

“is The Spaniard still alive?”
“was there some weird after effect to stopping the pessaries and progynova tablets?”
“should the doctor have seen me more after all the fainting and blood scares earlier in August?”
“did my work trip, my one wretched work trip to London cause damage?”
“is my tummy smaller suddenly?”
“why is there more discharge? Is it fluid leaking out”
“has my placenta failed?”


The hospital MFAU opens at 8am in under 5 hours… I shall be checked then.

In the meantime go away tigers. Gremlins be gone. Vivid nightmares away with you and brain please stop all this… And Spaniard please please be alright.

Hot milk might help… that and feeling my Spaniard move. Oh I hope and pray that I have that privilege. Please.

As I said earlier, ” Aaagggh”.

I did warn you right at the beginning that this blog would be everything from joy to sorrow to funny to angst and now fear.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. September 7, 2011 4:29 am

    When I was little, and my gremlins came, they were all held at bay by Fluffy. Sounds innocuous huh? But, it wasn’t. Fluffy fought my corner for years and years.

    I’m wondering now, late at night, if Fluffy was male or female. As a child, it just was. My protection against the world. My knight in shining armour. My shield and my defender. Against everything. And weirdly, it’s in my throw away pile as I clear my house right now, and I think Fluffy (M or F) may just have got a reprieve.

    Fluffy fought everything. My dad’s cancer. My childhood fears. The nursery nightmare, aged 3 or 4, when you were abstracted from home whilst your parents went to “work” and you found yourself in a deeply strange environment. With a tortoise in a tyre, as I recall. And bullies. Fluffy took everyone on. Even washing machines.

    My strongest memory of the lot is being told that Fluffy was “too big” to come to nursery. Looking at it/she/he in the sad heap in the corner of the bedroom, I wonder whether nursery was run by pygmies or something. But, my protector had to stay home.

    I pilfered small bits of my best mate – the odd kidney, an ear, etc, or maybe just small bits of fluff – and tucked them into the waistband of my Ladybird skirt to go to nursery. (This should trash my LinkedIn profile and street cred when it becomes known – I was 3 or 4 years old so I am going to plead for clemency as far as family fashion value goes.) But I hoped that this would get me through the day until the full Fluffy experience was once again permitted.

    I remember hanging onto the bits of my saviour through an enforced afternoon kip. Now, I would give anything for a siesta, but back then I remember it being just another trial. I probably fed them to the tortoise, who knows?

    So, Ellie, here I sit, with Fluffy, fighting your demons at oh dark 30 and making them leave you well alone. Count us both on your side at all hours xx

    • September 7, 2011 6:29 pm

      Thank you so much for this lovely, open and thoughtful post my friend … meant alot … and good to have you (both) on our side xx

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