That quick. The next half hour was spent lying on the floor, puking, shaking violently and moaning. During this, Jason was dressing me. Lets just say he learnt an important lesson in which type of knickers a lady needs to wear on a trip to hospital.
The ambulance came and they gave me morphine which I have to say was very disappointing. I always thought morphine was the utmost in pain relief. Well, it didn't relieve mine.
I spent seven hours in the foetal position in A&E waiting for tests and having silly questions asked. ''Can you tell me your name Emma?'' ''Do you live at home?''
First it was an appendicitis, (albeit in a very unusual location) then a waterworks infection. I looked at the doctor like she was mad, I mean this was worse than labour, so she went to get her boss. He decided it was my appendix after all and sent me to see the surgeon.
At this point, a miracle happened. As fast as the pain came on, it went. ''Im cured!'' I announced to the nurse. They sent me up to the surgery ward anyway where they told me I'd have to stay the night. Later that night I was visited by a very nice surgeon who diagnosed a kidney stone which I must have passed and said I could leave. I had to wait a few more hours for a prescription but I was glad to go home.
I thought kidney stones were something that happened to old men. Apparently not so. And it's the worst pain. I now need to change the habits of a lifetime, drink more and change my diet. Less salt is the hardest to bear as I'm addicted to crisps. Less protein; we shall go semi vegetarian. Reading the Internet, you can add just about every food group to the bad list, depending on what your stones are made from. I'll never know about mine, unless they can tell from a scan and I have more of the little buggers.
In case you're wondering where your appendix is...
Ta-daa! Nowhere near your kidneys. I hope we all learnt something important today. I also had no idea your liver is in your chest. Fancy that.
Our medical knowledge is somewhat lacking. Jason was convinced I'd caught something off some very dirty quilts I brought home from the flea market the day before as I writhed in agony.
Ridiculous! I've obviously built up total immunity to all flea market contagion.
Moving on... the vintage sledge!
The pink wasn't doing it for me. I painted it dark brown, rubbed it all over with a candle, painted it red (just emulsion tester pots) distressed it with sandpaper and Bob's your uncle...
A triumph among stair sledges...
We mustn't get too carried away, it's still not quite December and let's not forget...
Obviously stair sledges are allowed.
Join me next time when I shall be educating you all on the location of ones brain AND...
I shall be attempting to turn this crappy car booted louvred door...
...into a desirable piece of architectural salvage worth hundreds. It might even be considered forgery.
If it works.
Linking with...