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#55 Feeling ok

Time for an update. I know it’s time for an update when y’all start inundating me with messages asking for updates on the cook. So yeah, guess it’s time.

First up and quite importantly, nobody dead around here. Life is good.

Marjana’s latest hospital visit was heaps different to all others though. Mostly ’cause she was in that negative pressure room where I wasn’t allowed to visit. Just to clarify why though, she had some funky infection that needed sorting and even when that was done and dusted, they wanted her to finish a full week in isolation for being deemed a close contact.

Think I already mentioned that she came back COVID negative but hadn’t touched on the infection. There’s this thing called Escherichia coli which I think they shorten to call E. coli. If I understood correctly, it’s a bacteria that’s usually in the guts (small intestine) and my first wife’s defensive mechanisms were a bit like some recent All Black defence giving up soft points unfortunately. That E. coli shit snuck through a gap and all the way into the ol’ girl’s blood. But, all sorted now though… hopefully.

Our squirrel was released from custody on Tuesday evening and came home to slow cooked lamb shanks for dinner. She loves her comfort food aye, even if she does eat like a fantail now. Like a good Croatian mama I need to try and fatten up my good Croatian wife.

Quite possibly a squirrel’s secret hoard

In all honesty though, she’s actually feeling pretty good, considering. There’s two main things that are always forefront in every part of our life now and that’s pain management and fatigue. Trepidation too I ‘spose, but we’re going ok.

On that note, she’s laying beside me on the couch and if anyone doesn’t believe the google results if you type in ‘Do squirrels snore’, I can vouch for the fact they do.

The ol’ Brisbane roads did the trick again, as after driving her home from hospital she needed another shit. Although that little crucial action takes heaps of her energy, she found another gear when she saw three gift baskets with heaps of goodies waiting for her. Oh man, it was like watching a kid open early morning Christmas presents. Was nice to see.

On top of that, one of me good mates from way back called Butbut, spent many an hour in her garage painting a gift. Something very cool and unique; a painting of one of my Dalmatinka’s favourite place, our local dog beach. Taken from a photo. If ya gotta have a first wife whose a little bit fucked up from cancer, it’s good to have one that appreciates these things and it’s equally as important to have people in ya life that are just real good cunts.

We got to see our surgeon Peter on Wednesday. He really is a good cunt, man. The three of us have built a pretty good partnership/friendship over the last 18 months that helped get us this far. Just a bloody good bastard who we could rely on from day one and fuck man, did it make a difference. Of all our medical team, it’s he who shines like my bald head in the sun.

He was actually surprised at how good li’l miss squirrel looked. Skinnier than when he last saw her but it was a nice to see his surprise as he last saw her pre liver stent procedure.

He gets a quote of the day but. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s a fucking good point.

Peter: Well, we did manage to get you through to enjoy two Christmases.

Finally managed to get some home improvements done again, although this time I got someone in as been a little bit busy. Just hoping the neighbours do the right thing now.

Shout out to Mel and her team at Stratco Capalaba. Fuck yeah.

After my last blog, I’m sure there’s a few of ya wondering if my first wife is on her deathbed yet. That’d be a big fat no. In fact, in my opinion she’s got a bit to go yet. As touched on before, she’s losing weight but with pain killers and decent comfort food, things could be heaps worse.

Although I’d feel a little bad ’cause I’d feel like a Nigerian scammer, I actually hope she lives heaps more years yet. So much so that y’all start questioning if in fact these blogs are just a modern day unethical scam for mercy, coin and care. Fuck, if only right…

Sleeping Beauty just woke up and is now going through her phone to sort photos. The speed she’s working at though, she’s better pray she lives forever like Elvis as gunna need heaps of time. There’s thousands of ’em.

More enjoyable than sorting photos though, is praying a rosary every morning with our Croatian family. We’d like to think it’s helped with our cause and know it has too. Spare a thought for Marjana’s mama, brothers and their families back in The Old Country as they also try to come to terms with our stark reality in this COVID affected world. Obviously Marjana ain’t alone with us here and also y’all who continually shine the love. Technology is amazing nowadays and times like this, at least for us, are not taken for granted when you can chat live via video. It’s like magic aye. Flash as witchcraft even.

And news on my side of the family is that my ol’ lady (Mum, not wife) flies in from Auckland on Tuesday. Might not be much praying going on with her but when I let her know she can treat our kids like she treated me, Deane and Corey, I envisage there’s gunna be dirty soggy dishcloths used to clean their faces and if they aren’t within reach, she’ll be wiping their faces clean by the ol’ lick the finger and wipe the face trick. That’ll toughen the little cunts up. Hopefully she can even help with some other stuff too.

Kinda random but if anyone needs lawns mowed, give my mate Dave a call. He’s a good cunt, man and really looked after us, as he will you. Came around yesterday with his little business and made our backyard jungle look like a golf course. Not a flash as golf course, but a raggedy rough as guts one where you can drink piss and piss on trees and shit. Just the way I like it. Contact him on 0475 788 289.

Time for a quote of the day, which is a message I sent to some sheila we know who now has breast cancer. Fuck you cancer, you cunt.

Me: Hey lets go with that lumpectomy option then aye as I think you actually have a couple decent tits. No doubt, very saggy nowadays but would still be good to keep ’em attached to ya torso aye. Having said that, if they cut one off, you could then go and get a nice perky young one. Not sure what ya girl’s ones are like but could potentially model a new one off hers. You would then however, have a spunky tit and a saggy tit, both of which will be attached to ya torso, so it does have the potential to look kinda weird. Still, I’m sure there’s a fetish somewhere for that kind of shit so it has potential.

I touch on tattoos below. Here’s the first wife’s equivalent, a pain patch.

Both Kodi and Dilan have been talking to their ol’ lady about getting a tattoo. Since forever, my first wife has always been against it. She’s never been a fan… however, when they mentioned that it would be for her or something she’s like, ‘Oh, yeah that’s alright then.’

Fuck I laughed at her change of heart, which I think played a part in her reaction. She turned directly to me, dipped her head to make sure I got the full on above glasses eye contact with a semi frown and stated, ‘Hmmm, maybe you should get one too.’

If I know her like I know her, I’m thinkin’ she’d want something like this…

On that note peeps, we’ll continue living our life of enjoyment and trepidation as should you, maybe just without the trepidation part.

#54 A battlefront counter attack

Like in heaps of battles throughout the many wars, we’ve had a bit of a counter attack and push back on the battle front.

Chernobyl Day on Wednesday went mostly without incident but my first wife did time the arrival of her fever to coincide with chemo to perfection. Some meds and shit sorted that and some new blood cultures were taken.

A day later she was struggling a bit though and felt a little bit shit, partly because she needed one or two or three of ’em. When you have small bowel syndrome ’cause half ya bowel has been cut out, good frequent shits are kinda the way to go. They’re even more important than for you and I, unless of course it’s me as I know that you know I got me a few worthy shit stories.

We had a cunt of a night’s sleep on Thursday night with the first wife struggling with spews and pain. I really don’t like that part of the game but I’m sure li’l Miss Kastelanka hates it more than me so no more whinging about that aye.

I phoned the Mater Cancer Care Centre to give ’em a heads up for fluids etc and heard that at least one of our key medical staff we interacted with at Chernobyl has now tested positive for COVID.

Also that Marjana’s blood cultures came back all fucked up because she now has an infection, possibly from that stent procedure, or quite possibly a result of cunty cancer because it really is an absolute loathsome cunt of a thing.

On a random side note, when you read the word bit, reckon it’s good to remember the ol’ Mangamuka saying, ‘Even a horse can’t eat a little bit’ because even a little bit can either way can be a game changer.

Couple of comfort foods I cooked for my cook

As my ol’ lady (Mum, not wife) always says before and during long stories, to cut a long story short, our little cancer riddled star has returned to her bach, holiday home and vikendica, Mater Private Hospital.

Having had the best ever beauty therapist in the whole wide world for a Mrs, I know a little bit about various forms of hair removal, so when she asks me to shave her legs for hospital, I can’t even plead potential outs like you normal fullas. Not that I’d want to anyway because it’s the small things in life aye.

She still hadn’t had a crap but for anyone feeling constipated, I’m gunna give a little free advice that may save your life if you’re about to explode from not shitting. All you need to do is be a passenger in a car driving along Brisbane City roads. Our Croatian goat tracks in the mountains are heaps smoother as are our Redland City roads. By the time we arrived my passenger was feeling even worse because she was now in the I need a fucking shit real real bad stage. Nothing for a couple days, throw in a bacterial infection and that little cunty thing called cancer, then bam! Exactly the same situation when coming home from hospital via the same goat track roads with a bowel movement to make any shit maker proud.

Some really nice sheila in a funky hazmat suit came down and took my little first squirrel wife off my hands. She transferred her from our car to a wheelchair without any shit escaping at all, that I’m aware of.

Marjana was taken to some negative pressure room to isolate, which I think is set up to quash infections and diseases. The issue though, is that it’s isolated from everyone including us. Kinda like a game show but without the same prize.

Here’s a positive though, the ol’ girl came back with negative result to The Vid. Unfortunately, it’s probably just a matter of time for us all though as we know heaps who are now infected, as probably most of y’all do. Cue zombies from the park.

But we’re at least hoping that bacterial counter attack is like this year’s All Black’s in the end of year northern hemisphere tour, pretty much non existent. Sorry boys, but fuck man I’m trying to deal with a cunt of a cancer issue and I can’t say those performances helped our cause. Lessons learnt hopefully. On that counter attack subject, sadly I’m starting to appreciate how Wallaby supporters must feel after most tests against the All Blacks.

In the previous blog I mentioned I’d touch on a use by date conversation we had with our palliative care doctor. We were told we’re looking at a matter of weeks, possibly a month or even a couple.

For those that know our boys, don’t be strangers to them too please.

Had a couple conversations with my first wife today and she’s in pretty good spirits considering, so until next time, I bring you your quote of the day:

Me: But I’m glad you got to have a nice shit release.

Marjana: Lol, yeah that is so good.

Me: See that’s the difference between you and me aye. I’d have just shat in the corner haha.

Marjana: Yep, not funny.

But it is.

A perfectly timed gift delivery as about to head into hospital

#53 The squirrel comes home, again

That stent in the liver has worked a treat so the first line of this blog finishes with a, fuck yeah!

I knew before anyone that the endoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography (ERCP) was a success because my first wife was getting more growlier by the day.

Hospital this time around was actually quite a pleasant experience. Apart from regular interruptions by doctors, nurses, cleaners and room service, I kinda hogged Marjana for her entire stay. Well, me in person and our Croatian family back home via video, of course.

Was kinda nice hanging with her all day every day over the last week. Nothing we ain’t been doing for the last 25 years, just in a different environment. Kind of a forced holiday so to speak, but in hospital. Lucky we don’t hate each other I s’pose.

So yeah, sorry ’bout not sharing her much lately but she’s improving day by day. By that, I mean her liver not working has changed to working mode. Not that cunty cancer though. Nah she’s still fucked from that big time but with the immediate liver issue sorted, she’s fading back to her more olive coloured skin colour. Dalmatian olive, as in the colour I just made up and not the stone fruit.

Actual real life photo of how yellow my first wife got before liver ERCP

Once we’re home and settled we’re hoping for bit more of an opportunity to share her around with y’all but there’s a couple of issues though.

She’s been so fucked up over the last few months that she hasn’t been able to get vaxed. I mean, she wanted to but hasn’t been healthy enough to actually get it done. That means she’s vulnerable as fuck to COVID and should she become infected, it won’t end well.

We like all kinds of happy endings but when we know an ending ain’t gunna be happy, we’re kinda going with the happy part being the ride towards the end.

That’s all compounded now that our borders are open and COVID positive numbers are growing faster than my nostril hairs (ok, maybe not that fast). The chance of our star character in these stories becoming infected is almost as high as Cheech in that Up in Smoke car scene after picking up Chong.

My sleeping beauty (apparently one can still be a beauty when snoring and doing saxaphone sounding farts when asleep next to me) will be leaving hospital today to return home. Just in time too as the house is a mess and really could do with a vacuum.

Basically, her bilirubin count (liver) is down (that’s good) but her haemoglobin was also down (not good), so she’s waiting on another blood transfusion before custody release papers will be signed.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. It’s taken us 25 years to work out Marjana’s spirit animal is a fucking squirrel of all things. She stores all her hospital room service food like she’s living during WWII food stamp era. A modern day prepper of the stage four metastised bowel cancer prepping homies gang. Seriously man, I turn up to hang for the day and she’s offering her hoarded cheese and cracker snacks to fatten me up. If I didn’t have to drive home every night, I’d be bringing a nice merlot to compliment the cheeses.

Inside a squirrel’s den in the early stages of hoarding

We’re gunna need a bit of a game plan going forward because basically, we’ve been given a use by date. More on that topic in the next blog, hopefully.

We had a very real chat with our palliative care doctor and the last thing we really want is to cut short the already fleeting time we’ve got left because of a COVID infection.

Conversations with the palliative care dude, whose a real good cunt by the way, included confronting topics like whether to die at home or in a hospice. It’s kinda an ugly topic to ponder, as are many others for us right now but fuck man, ya gotta look at it from a positive angle and having the option to choose where ya take ya last breath is very much a blessing compared to an unexpected death.

Since our squirrel’s hospital admission, I’ve been spending the day with her. Leave home about 7.30am and usually get home about 9pm. Sort dinner and all that shit, go to bed and wake up to do it all again. Either the first or second morning though, I freaked out big time.

I was woken by a phone call from my first wife… you know, the squirrel one. She said the doctors had reviewed one of her scans, that she’d been in pain overnight, wasn’t too flash and finished by saying ‘Brendon, I think I’m fucked.’

Oh man, my heart sank and I felt sick. Not angry sick like I get from All Black Rugby World Cup losses but just as sad… maybe even worse. I had a piss, brushed my teeth and drove one of the longest 30 minute drives to find out exactly how fucked with the worst possible scenarios taking centre stage in what ‘fucked’ actually meant. Oh yeah, I also got dressed first too.

We ain’t doctors and not really in the know as to how long some cunt can live when their liver’s rooted but with that and that cunty cancer, Marjana felt she didn’t have long at all. I’d like to say that’s all changed now with the liver stent so a little battle was won that buys us more alive time. We prefer alive times, especially compared to dead times.

We are still losing ground on the cunty cancer front though. The cancer is the war too and not just a battle. At least now though, there are options on the table like getting chemo again. Everyone neds a working liver to process all shit that goes into ya body, including of course, poisons such as chemo. In fact, hopefully even have chemo this Wednesday.

When ya not home to enjoy ya Christmas tree after Christmas, just leave it up till next Christmas and drink a beer because beer is good or just put it in another room with a rubbish bag over it aye Michelle

Just in case anyone’s wondering, sponge baths are a good timing way to break up cheese and cracker picnics in Mater Private’s Ward 8, especially if you’re the recipient. Not quite as much fun when you’re the one giving them but still, better than a punch in the head.

Tell ya what though, this cunty cancer journey is like fighting a whole heap of different battles on different fronts. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Much like our Mother Earth all being connected and intertwined, so is the human body. If a particular organ is a bit rooted it usually affects another part of the body that may need sorting before the primary issue. That means going places and organising shit and that too now tends to be similarly connected with absolutely everything COVID. Pressure builds and with it stress and the subsequent connected flow-on from that.

But all is not lost people because there’s another interconnected piece to the puzzle that helps counter that entire previous paragraph. It’s the love and support from y’all and that right there is medicinal as fuck. It has helped get us this far. You’re a bunch of real good cunts who’ve made our lives better over the last year and a half. Never enough thank yous for this so I do hope y’all are blessed with an unlimited amount of orgasms.

Me and my squirrel didn’t get to be together at the strike of midnight crossing from 2021 to 2022 but she did survive the year so was nice to see her with a beating heart early on January 1, 2022.

No cunt pissed me off on New Years eve as was only me there to argue with

The above I wrote over the last couple days and since then we’ve made it home.

Should’ve seen when the first wife was being wheeled out of hospital though. Anyone watching could’ve been forgiven for thinking she was doing an Olympic victory lap as most of the nurses came out to see her off. She was waving and smiling, as were all the sheilas who’d looked after her. Did everything except sign autographs. Was nice to see her so loved, even by people that only recently met her.

Not sure how many chemos she’s got left in her but game on again tomorrow… actually game on now as didn’t publish this until now and we’re currently doing the Chernobyl thing.

Doing the squirrel move to coincide with sirens

#52 Enter the stent

At this stage I can’t tell y’all how my first wife’s little stent procedure went as they only just took her down to have the procedure.

Bye she says as she’s wheeled off for stent procedure

Apparently she should be back within a couple hours. Funnily enough, that’s also what my ol’ Piha Pop said to my Nana once upon a time, when he went down the road to buy some milk but got caught up whorin’ for a few days instead. Thinkin’ my Mrs won’t get so side-tracked as has different priorities… like staying alive. Actually, Piha Pop probably should’ve worried about staying alive when he got back home too.

It’s kinda weird having to blog as often as I am now as it’s like similar to when we started this journey with daily updates. Looks like we’ve gone full circle in that things are changing for good or bad, almost by the hour, rather than by the month.

It’s a little sad but she ain’t fucken dead yet and doesn’t intend to be for a while yet. Whether her (and our) intentions become reality depends a lot on how this endoscopy unfolds. Well, I’ll call it an endoscopy now but after googling it I think the correct term is actually Endoscopic Retrograde Cholangio-Pancreatography (ERCP).

One of many pics taken by Miriam Ackroyd at Lifeisbeautiful.com.au

Tonight will be Marjana’s third night in hospital and fuck man, what a difference having a primo room makes. For her mental health as much as anything but also for me visiting all day. It’s heaps better being comfortable compared to the contrary like last time we were in hospital. Plus the fact, she’s got natural sunlight which we used on jaundiced Dilan when he was born nearly 18 years ago. Fuck man, he was as orange as a really orange coloured orange but in all honesty, I’m thinkin’ no amount of sunlight was gunna un-yellow the first wife. We’re sure hoping this ERCP will do the trick though.

Nothing against The Simpsons or Asian sheilas but I travelled through most continents, including Asia and even passed by the odd Simpson here and there (admittedly, that was their last name and not a cartoon character) and not once did I marry even one of ’em. Don’t get me wrong though, I like the colour yellow but my favourite shit navigator looks sick as fuck from the bile building up in her liver and making her yellow.

For the record too, one of Marjana’s changing the radio station as soon as certain bands come on bands, is Coldplay, so even the song ‘Yellow’ can go fuck off now too. Besides, when was the last time the Yellow Pages were used by any cunt that wasn’t part of the old cop v baddie interview technique? So right now when it comes to yellow, we’re like ‘meh’.

And before any cunt brings that political correctness whinging shit up saying ya can’t call Asians yellow, fuck off please. They ain’t. I even call my former fiancé yellow and she ain’t even one of the Simpsons so maybe it’s the fact that you’re actually the racist cunts picking on the poor colour yellow. I mean, what did yellow ever do to you huh?

Being all inclusive and shit, personally I’d say I’m more of a white-ish, yellow-ish, pink-ish, beige-ish, brown-ish, khaki-ish, ivory-ish fella whose a bit bald and seems to be growing a fat guts. For ease though, I’m gunna self identify as a fat white bald cunt. Golly gosh, I really hope that also don’t upset any literate fairies with sensitive feelings. Just checked with myself too and nup, didn’t get one bit upset at being called a fat white bald cunt.

I guess we’re all a little sensitive in certain things but I reckon it’s better to keep any of that shit for things that are worth worrying about like, you know, having my cook fucked up with cancer. Yeah, that’s what I’m sensitive to, as I’m sure most of you reading this are too. It’s difficult sometimes to do that daily but in our family we try our best not to sweat the small things. The bigger things in life cause enough grief to cover the smaller things too, believe me.

Not quite sure how I ended up on that rant but anyway, I can’t say what Mrs Winslow gunna be like when she comes back from that ERP thing but she’s actually been in pretty good spirits, considering.

The main things we’ve been dealing with in the forefront is pain and fatigue. They’ve mostly got that sorted in hospital with some decent drug concoctions that knock off most of the pain. If the right spell is used, it can also help with the fatigue side by countering some of the downers.

Last night though the first wife woke up about 1am in agony and had to get some extra feel good happening. It’s probably the worst thing, having to watch the one ya love suffer in pain. Cunt of a thing really but we aren’t the first, won’t be the last and by no means are we the worst off so continually remind ourselves exactly that. I/we feel for young children affected by serious shit like this. That shit just ain’t right.

Over the last few months we’ve been making a point of appreciating the moments we go to sleep together and also wake up together. With rugby tours, shift work and yeah, maybe the odd party when she goes to bed before me and I wake up after her, this hasn’t always been the case but they are moments to enjoy. If she was a pain in the ass cunt, then I wouldn’t mind so much but I do quite like my first wife.

The issue with going to sleep together lately though, is that both of us end up having a cunt of a sleep because Marjana wakes up in pain and cries in agony. She rolls around on the bed trying to ease the pain but it ain’t a fly she can just swat away. I usually end up rubbing her back as that tends to help for some reason. So when she told me this morning she was in massive pain overnight I actually felt a little guilty for feeling good that she was in hospital and not at home. It didn’t stop me from taking the piss though.

Quote of the Day:

Me: Did you sleep well last night ljubavi?

Marjana: At first yes, but then I woke up in so much pain.

Me: Oh good. Now they know what we deal with every night aye.

Nurse laughed and I think it was in response to that, quote of the day two is born…

Doctor: Sometimes you only wake up because of the pain.

Me: Oh, so it’s like a marriage then.

Well the above took me two hours to write and I know that because my banana skin looking partner went down for her ERCP two hours ago and the surgeon just came in and briefed me on how it went.

Just on him though, my first wife phoned me after I got home last night saying she’d met the liver surgeon who was very clear in his explanation, was very informative, had a good vibe and made her feel a lot better because of it. Was nice to hear that she didn’t loathe the person trying to save her life as much as she loathes Coldplay.

He said it was a successful procedure and that he’d put one stent in the main part that the bile was building up in, she will be in pain and that hopefully over the couple of days, Little Miss Tweety Bird coloured person’s original colour should hopefully return. From there our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one will hopefully have treatment options available, unlike recently due to this liver shit taking immediate precedence.

She’ll be sleepy as fuck for a while. If I wasn’t sick of The Wiggles, I’d go back to the Purple Wiggle likening, but this time from sleeping and not her colour. Instead, I’ll go with her being sleepy as fuck similar to how we feel when we watch all these fucked tv shows about bachelors, bachelorettes, farmers wanting wives, marrying at first sight, masterchiefs, someone’s kitchen ruling and some cunts surviving out of their comfort zones. Re that last one, follow these blogs and you’ll see some cunts surviving our of their comfort zones in the real world.

Get back to y’all once I got more to say I guess but for now, we’re in as good a spot as we can be.

I’ll leave you with the last quote of the day, courtesy of our surgeon Peter:

Peter: With that stent working, we will get some good time.

Fuck yeah!

(Marjana usually proof reads my blogs but she’s still in recovery from op so she can read this one just like you fellas)

#51 After Christmas

Right on cue, my first wife stepped up and chose probably the most difficult time of the year to go and need her liver sorted. I mean, straight up we’re already in a strange Year of The Vid, now our Queensland borders have opened up to our Mexican brothers and sister and the inevitable virus infiltration, like beer through my veins is at the coursing stage. That’s affected hospital staff who’ve crossed paths with some positive cases and the timing of a hospital admission coinciding with public holidays was done to perfection. Nah, it could’ve been worse though as was a leisurely daytime and hassle free admission.

It actually reemphasised how significant it is for us right now that we had good health insurance. Although the public health care system is good, it doesn’t come with some privileges that private health does and man does it make a difference. It’s expensive but it wasn’t until cunty cancer hit us that it’s paid dividends. So happy we didn’t cancel our health insurance as we seriously considered it a few months prior. Police Health has been fucking awesome for us.

Today for example, I drove my Mala Hrvatska Zena into Brisbane’s Mater Private for an overnighter (at least). She’s supposed to have a CT scan tonight and be prepped for that stent to be put into her liver tomorrow, hopefully.

Feeling blessed with her own room and natural light. It’s the small things in life.

She’s quite the Little Miss Popular, I’ve noticed as people coming to visit every day. Some actually checked with us first and kinda booked in so that’s all good. Not wanting to come across as a rude cunt but for those that just turn up out of the blue, please don’t. As much as y’all are welcome at ours, those visits really do fuck up Marjana. She puts on a smiley face, makes an effort and then some and is all cool because she loves ya company and shit. But after y’all leave she’s buggered and it’s a little bit shit. She ain’t by no means dead and still not planning on it but needs energy she doesn’t have just yet. Hoping that returns somewhat and then back to game on.

Of course we get why y’all want to come and hang for a bit because we would too and I apologise to those we’ve already asked to hold off for now.

One reason though is that not once has a 30 minute visit been less than an hour and and the hour visits become two hours and they tend to add up. Just something we need to consider moving forward.

Fatigue and pain are causing some issues that we need to sort. It ain’t like anyone’s actually overstayed their welcome though either… like today for example when a spritely couple of sheilas who shall remain nameless (Steinlager please), opened up about sharing the same gynaecologist. They then went deep into (pun not intended… well, yeah kinda was, sorry) some descriptive storytelling about their fanny’s. Fine fanny colouring, fucked up fanny ligaments, since renovated into a wonderful and younger version of fanny and apparently Scandinavian Sven makes an appearance but I don’t think he was the gynaecologist. I dunno man, but yeah, that’s good storytelling shit right there one just can’t rush that stuff, so like I said before, we get it.

Father Ashley came around home today too and some wonderful conversations were had. Vastly different topics to the sheilas before him funnily enough though. He gave Marjana another Sacrament of Anointing of the Sick and reinforced her spirituality strength. He really is a lovely fella and has such a wonderful spirit himself. He said similar things about the first wife so reckon we’re both pretty good at spotting a decent sheila aye.

Two of the nicest people on earth I believe

My favourite person who calls knife and forks, forks and knives, had some blood taken yesterday and it shows her liver results are still all fucked up. They’ve actually worsened again. Not life and death stuff, but needing to be sorted soon as. That’s why she’s back in hospital again.

She’s more yellow than before and at this stage still most like the Yellow Wiggle but as always they’ll take heaps more blood samples and that bruising may just make her more the Purple Wiggle.

By the look of all your social media posts, pretty much everyone we know looks like they had a great Christmas Day. Fuck yeah. Good stuff and nice to see. Ours was good too. Mrs was like the All Blacks in the last couple tests in this year’s end of season Northern Hemisphere tour… fatigued but still turned up. But she was happy.

We’d love to know who dropped this print off today. Thank you heaps. A lovely gesture and remarkably it wasn’t blown away in the gusty wind. Coincidentally we even managed to coordinate a family photo shoot with the Mrs doing her best to look good when she felt absolutely rooted. She did well though, bless her. Cheers Mr and Mrs Scoob.

Not really too much to add to this blog but just wanted y’all to know my first wife is back in hospital and we expect her to be there for a few days. At this stage though, no hospital visitors please and if she will reply to messages but maybe just be patient.

Was about to sign off when I forgot to mention after driving her all the way into the hospital in the city, setting her up in her room and heading home, once I got home I had to turn around and go all the way back as she forgot something. Bloody wife trickery I’m thinking, so she get’s to spend more time with me. I didn’t mind at all myself.

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