Compassionate Society My Arse

Compassionate Society My Arse

‘Can’t stand feeling I am being manipulated or basically clumsily blackmailed by a multi £Billion Government Department so in this case after due period of cool reflection and consideration I have opted to go down the Fuck Them route.’

Those delightful caring and deeply sympathetic folks at PIP have just told me despite stage 3 Heart Failure and me having to buy my mobility scooter out of my own pocket they can’t award me mobility payment……..

That is unless I gamble on losing everything by making full reapplication. It doesn’t seem to matter what the stress caused will do to both my heart and mental health . Apparently

PIP mode of operation or tactic is sort of blackmail you by saying because this is a new additional medical condition I have to basically reapply for entire PIP benefit and run the risk of losing what have already been awarded.

Been reading few advice sites and according to moneysavingexpert.com , Citizens Advice, turn2usadvice.com among others, this is a recognised tactic PIP employ to put people off from applying for higher rates. They make you fear losing entire award as if you were gambling in a bloody Las Vegas Casino.

Now many of you little FB chums know me fairly well. I generally am an understanding, rational and empathetic individual.

Yet if I believe someone is trying to take advantage/intimidate/blackmail or generally screw with me or my family I become the most stubborn, driven and thick headed Psycho imaginable.

Heart failure or no f###ing heart failure!

Think just shocked the PIP Phone Monkey ,who incidentally actually used the Nazi excuse ‘sorry I am only following regulations’ by saying to him you know what I’ve in and around a year left and you recently carried out a reassessment without me knowing about it three months ago which I passed. So just send me out the form..he kept emphasising I may lose all PIP but I told him to let me worry about that and just send me the form.

Can’t stand feeling I am being manipulated so in this case after due period of cool reflection and consideration I have opted to go down the Fuck Them route. And the best thing is most people who know me at all will realise it’s got nothing, or very little to do with the money…far more important than that now . It’s the principle.

Have paid into the system whole working life. Spent 14 years helping those less fortunate who have mobility or mental health problems with NIAS and helped lot more individuals than most would expect off my own back outside of work hours.

Willlunnwriter2018

Bloggingformentalhealth2018

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One Day More

Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling Baldness, Beer Belly, BPD And Heart Failure

One Day More

‘Tomorrow we’ll discover

What our God in Heaven has in store!

One more dawn

One more day

One day more!’

When you have a terminal illness you become aware of ‘being on the meter.’ With it running worryingly quickly through the time you have left like those old versions which took 50p pieces we had in Thornhill with the actual wee metal wheel. Except the wheel is spinning so fast it could cut diamonds.

There are very few positives in this whole haemorrhoid cluster of this early death mess. So I am clinging to any said positives I can find with knuckles white with the weary but steely determination of a Liverpool Fan (of which I am one) holding on to the hope and belief that at last the title is ours this season.

One of those positives I am enjoying most is the heady sense of complete liberation from normal social expectations, norms and even self imposed rules which have governed my entire adult life. It’s a little bit like the last day at a job or last few days at school.

A good example that will unfortunately leave those friends with more discerning musical and theatrical taste cringing is how I start each day now.

For past few weeks I have changed my morning routine and, obviously after the first life giving ration of bean to cup fresh coffee , I start first few hours of the day listening to West End musical numbers booming out from Bluetooth Speaker system completely unapologetically.

For no other reason than they cheer me up.

They make me think about the joy those tunes give Toby and Annie so in a weird way feel little bit of them are here with me every morning, instead of away to school and work respectively, with the huge smiles on their faces just like they have every time we walk into a theatre to watch a show.

As I write Hugh Jackman as Jean Valjean and the rest of the Les Miserables cast are lustily belting out ‘One Day More’

VALJEAN

Tomorrow we’ll be far away,

Tomorrow is the judgement day

ALL

Tomorrow we’ll discover

What our God in Heaven has in store!

One more dawn

One more day

One day more!

I mentioned there are surprisingly more positives to this omnishambles of Heart Failure causing me to exit stage left even before when the intermission should be. Yet I think will save telling you about them until another day. Not so much for the benefit of you my little FB Chums but because on my lower mornings describing said positives to you will help me remember them.

Bloggingformentalhealth2018

Willlunnwriter2018

‘Tomorrow we’ll discover

What our God in Heaven has in store!

One more dawn

One more day

One day more!’

When you have a terminal illness you become aware of ‘being on the meter.’ With it running worryingly quickly through the time you have left like those old versions which took 50p pieces we had in Thornhill with the actual wee metal wheel. Except the wheel is spinning so fast it could cut diamonds.

There are very few positives in this whole haemorrhoid cluster of this early death mess. So I am clinging to any said positives I can find with knuckles white with the weary but steely determination of a Liverpool Fan (of which I am one) holding on to the hope and belief that at last the title is ours this season.

One of those positives I am enjoying most is the heady sense of complete liberation from normal social expectations, norms and even self imposed rules which have governed my entire adult life. It’s a little bit like the last day at a job or last few days at school.

A good example that will unfortunately leave those friends with more discerning musical and theatrical taste cringing is how I start each day now.

For past few weeks I have changed my morning routine and, obviously after the first life giving ration of bean to cup fresh coffee , I start first few hours of the day listening to West End musical numbers booming out from Bluetooth Speaker system completely unapologetically.

For no other reason than they cheer me up.

They make me think about the joy those tunes give Toby and Annie so in a weird way feel little bit of them are here with me every morning, instead of away to school and work respectively, with the huge smiles on their faces just like they have every time we walk into a theatre to watch a show.

As I write Hugh Jackman as Jean Valjean and the rest of the Les Miserables cast are lustily belting out ‘One Day More’

VALJEAN

Tomorrow we’ll be far away,

Tomorrow is the judgement day

ALL

Tomorrow we’ll discover

What our God in Heaven has in store!

One more dawn

One more day

One day more!

I mentioned there are surprisingly more positives to this omnishambles of Heart Failure causing me to exit stage left even before when the intermission should be. Yet I think will save telling you about them until another day. Not so much for the benefit of you my little FB Chums but because on my lower mornings describing said positives to you will help me remember them.

Bloggingformentalhealth2018

Willlunnwriter2018

Continuing Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling Baldness A Beer Belly And BPD

Continuing Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling Baldness A Beer Belly And BPD

Try and fail to remember PIN number at cash machine twice. Standing outside Tesco at the Outlet or ‘Boulevard ‘ if you’re willing to swallow the dumb ass marketing horse shit dreamed up by some vastly over paid under talented creatives called Tarquin or Porsche in a glass walled office…which needless to say I am not.

Hear tuts from behind me as I struggle with ATM. Anxiety and panic levels spike so give up even trying to remember PIN . Exasperated sighs fill my ears as turn away from ATM . All the attitude coming from a young woman. Tight top, great tits, terrible attitude so element of the universal Yin and Yang. Even at most mentally vulnerable and confused can still appreciate magnificent mammaries.

On short drive between Railway View and Outlet/Boulevard/ Soulless Retail Park have kerbed lovely black alloys on Winston the Jag three times. Few quid in wallet so still head into Tesco. Two different elderly people come up and start talking to me, calling me Brian and mentioning family so they clearly know me well. Haven’t first clue who they are, not great at names although never forget a face but brain blank when it comes to any recognition of either person.

Fresh from two days recovery housebound or to be more honest mostly bed bound . Determined not to let it slide into three days shut away from life because experience tells me that will become four days and then a week lost. I shove myself out the door but sometimes determination/bloody minded thrawness just ain’t enough when dealing with clinical psychiatric symptoms. Emotional tank empty after what cold clinical Psychiatric BPD terminology describes as ‘an acute episode.’ The delayed reaction to whole heart nonsense and mini breakdown with tears described in Saturday blog as finally admitted to myself wasn’t going to be around to see my boy Toby make it on stage or whatever else he puts his mind to.

Been thinking how to describe what it feels like when in midst of BPD lead breakdown as every drop of emotion is voided from me. Unfortunately can only think of grizzly parallel of a pig hung upside down having throat cut and left for every drop of warm blood to drip put.

Duchess tells me not to be so hard on myself, it would be difficult for anyone to get their head around finding out there’s a 75% chance they won’t be here in next couple of years never mind someone with a mental condition which specifically screws with your emotions on a daily basis.

When BPD at its worse that phenomenon known as Dream Reality Confusion I have talked about before wheedles its malevolent way into my wide open vulnerable excuse for a brain. Can only describe it as a heavy fog of confusion descending over every aspect of brain activity which even I find frightening beyond words.

Make it home from Tesco miraculously then a quick afternoon nap turns into a six hour dead to the world sleep.

As usual feel ridiculous need to defend myself by saying this isn’t an invitation to a pity party but just matter of fact description of how life is for me and many others suffering from similar mental health problems.

Willlunnwriter2018

Continuing Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling Baldness Beer Belly BPD And Heart Failure

One Magical Dream For Sale – Barely Used

‘Forgive me if, just for today, I tell all those well meaning people who post memes about being thankful for what I have , being positive no matter what, counting my blessings and the rest of the cow eyed generalised greeting card level sentiments to kindly take one step to the side and f##ck right off.’

Selling off a dream to the highest bidder. Stripping all surrounding guff away, that’s what I am doing at the present time thanks to my new best friend Chronic Heart Failure. The BIC large surf board already sold and my Sola winter wetsuit, essential for the Atlantic at almost any time of year looks to be going today. Don’t get me wrong the money will come in handy paying for Toby at his School Of Performing Arts this term, but main reason is I can’t stand having the things around bloody taunting me. As if saying huh you’ll never be able to use us again Ferguson!

Watching each item sell reinforces the concrete hard reality that I will never be able to write about magical memories like this again…..

I grasped the rails on his BIC 8”6 Magnum board with his new winter 5mm surfing gloves with extra grip built into the palms bought as a present from the Duchess. Steadied myself and began to give the four powerful strokes with arms I knew I needed to reach the speed of the incoming breaker.

You know instantly when you have caught and harnessed the natural force of a wave straight away and this time he had lucked in.

Now remember pop up skill, straight up onto feet with none of this knees first untidy sprockling which was for old men and kids. Feet placed perfectly leaning slightly forward with weight of head closer to front of board. Knees bent and arms helping with balance.

I was up. Actually up and riding the natural oceanic power of an Atlantic wave. 44 and I was surfing, not in a lesson on a foamy board with a helping push off hand from the instructor but on my own. He had spotted this wave, tracked it coming in and judged his push off right on the money by himself.

So I hope you understand dear reader when I ask you will forgve me if, just for today, I tell all those well meaning people who post memes about being thankful for what I have , being positive no matter what, counting my blessings and the rest of the cow eyed generalised greeting card level sentiments to kindly take one step to the side and f##ck right off.

I had found and now been forced to give up a passion that left Depression and BPD in my wake with only riding that wave mattering. In the jargon he had been taught of my DBT six month training I was truly ‘in the moment’ as Marshal McLuhan repeatedly described the state we needed to be aiming for in her seminal DBT workbook which had been our bible during the classes. Fully committed to one fleeting minute in time.

I was just another guy in a wetsuit catching waves on a winters January day on the East Strand in Portrush. Wasn’t the BPD basket case with a decade of depression and pain. Wasn’t the car crash of a Dad who hadn’t been able to see his three sons for years, not the ex ambulance man who had been forced to retire because of mental health giving up not just a job but large part of his identity, I wasn’t the pathetic and lost soul who had been in and out of mental health hospital five times following breakdowns or suicide attempts.

Was it even a minute I had lasted riding the wave? Who knows? Who cares? As the breaker began to lose power reaching the beach and dissolved into white froth the board slowed and I didn’t just allow myself to fall off as the momentum ebbed away. I dove off in a spectacular wipe out disappearing momentarily right under the icy cold ocean.

Resurfacing I could feel a strange sensation on my face. A smile of the purest innocent childlike joy. With no disrespect to Christian friends surfing and the Atlantic Ocean had combined to give me a full emersion baptism. In its own way my soul and troubled mind had been born again.

As I watch the last of that brief but magical dream being auctioned off like a second hand car I am more than a little pissed off to be fair. Wasn’t the decade of mental pain enough? Did this debilitating Chronic Heart Failure utter shit show have to hit me so quickly?

#bloggingformentalhealth2018

Kylie McFadgen Diary Of A Modern Mother…Final Entry.

Dedicated to Michelle Halliday Ann Gilliland and many more who have demanded to find out what happened to our Kylie. As ever enjoy at your leisure.

Kylie McFadgen Diary Of A Modern Mother…Final Entry.

Dear Diary I can assure you this isn’t going to be a disappointingly brief entry. Unlike Brian’s fumblings this morning…at least he is consistent you have to give him that.

They say all good things come to an end and alas changes in my lifestyle simply makes it impossible for me to make the time needed to write regularly.

Oh I know, I feel the pain of separation too because we shared so much together. The real pain when Social Services refused to take more than two of the children at a time. The traumatic morning when they tried to give the children back again, honestly don’t think I could have survived that day without having you Dear Diary to share my pain with.

The sheer joy of Brian Junior getting a place at YODA, Young Offenders Drama Academy. The utter shock of my beloved life partner Brian getting a job – any job.

Yes Dear Diary I think we have ran the whole gamut of human emotions together …oh dear I feel tears welling up as I think back to joy we have shared. Dromore Community Fun Week, Scufflemania in Mulls back car park. The Yard Of Buckfast Tractor race through what, before the race, used to be Dromore Square.

Obviously the night which really sticks out and has now gone down in Dromore history when Brian won the Culls Buckfast Topless Karoke And Meat Raffle Cup (despite his initial misguided notion to push hard up the Gary Glitter avenue, which quite frankly was only ever going to be a dead end. And Big Barry attempting to fix the judges with his bags of sirloin steaks.)

Oh we could go on reminiscing all day but I can hear you all crying out..what could possibly have happened since to make it impossible for you to carry on with Kylie McFadgen Diary Of A Modern Mum which you so obviously love?

Now prepare yourself Dear Diary…I went and got married at last to the man who has been my soulmate, lover, partner in life, but for DSS, CSA, DLA,Housing Benefit purposes not officially my husband – Brian!

Which means my name is now Kylie McFadgen-Ferguson. I know it’s quite the mouthful but has a certain classy ring to it I fancy. Oh haven’t I ever mentioned Brian’s surname before? Ferguson…it’s a v common name around this part of the world. My Mother used to say you couldn’t throw an empty Buckfast bottle in Dromore Square without hitting a Ferguson. Even though I gently pointed out that was because she was always aiming the bottle at Brian she stood her moral ground, but I digress Dear Diary.

Do you remember PAYE Pete told us we had to launder the black bin bags full of fivers by starting a legitimate business and I came up with one of my famous brainwaves? The first ever environmentally friendly online erotic products website!

And thus LoveEarthByKylie.com was born.

You can still see one of our first products here. Carrot Delight which comes in small, medium or heaven help us large. It meets all The criteria set out in the LoveEarthByKim.com mission statement…

Organic

Biodegradable

Carbon neutral

100% Recyclable

Well, LoveEarthByKylie.com turned out to be a money-making miracle straight away. After only about a month of the site up and running we received what was called a hostile takeover bid by Amazon, at the time I said I couldn’t see anything hostile in some mad Yanks wanting to give me £10 million for my website.

Immediately Brian, the ever romantic fool he is, got down on one knee and proposed . He got down so quickly I was still holding the cheque for £10 million in my hand.

I innocently asked what about the DSS,DLA and the rest but PAYE Pete pointed out because I had just sold a company which was going to be listed on the London Stock Exchange our days thinking about benefits were over whether we wanted it or not.

Obviously we got married in the style and tasteful way you would imagine in Las Vegas by a fat South Korean Elvis. A girls dream come true.

We have now moved to Benidorm (another dream come true) where we run the most popular Buckfast Topless Karoke And Meat Raffle Bar on the Benidorm main strip. Admittedly it’s the only one but the Brit tourists love it, especially the middle aged women on Hen Weekends who go wild every night when Brian gives them his leopard skin clad Nutbush City Limits.

Apparently we are already a Benidorm institution right up there with that woman, something Vicky who Brian says does a sort of juggling act with ping pong balls…don’t see the attraction myself.

So if you are ever in Benidorm make sure to call in to Kylies Karoke right there on the main strip and introduce yourself .

As for the Diary you can see why I can’t call it Diary Of Kylie McFadgen any longer but who knows once we have settled down in Spain perhaps you might see Kylie McFadgen-Ferguson Diary Of A Karoke Queen.

Willlunnwriter2018

Continuing Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling Baldness Beer Belly BPD And Heart Failure

Continuing Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling Baldness Beer Belly BPD And Heart Failure

Nice To See You To See You Nice

What are you supposed to do or feel when you are unexpectedly and disarmingly, almost casually given an extra two years of life? Just couple of sentences from a lovely Heart Failure Nurse Specialist And BOOM there you go…Two extra years of being alive, of being a living breathing, thinking, doing, almost fully functioning version of Brian Ferguson?

One of the most seismically life changing moments of my life and it took place on a dreek wet Thursday afternoon in the drab surroundings of Mullinure Hospital Armagh……. Now that’s a sentence I can assure you I never thought was going to write.

Had Spent countless hours in the slightly foreboding grounds of Mullinure and St Luke’s in my wee Ambulance.

Mostly on official NIAS business, occasionally errrr…not so much. So yes suppose had few distant memories of pulse quickening temporarily life invigorating illicit hours spent in the the sweeping hospital grounds. But even in my most breathless love/lust driven poetic mood I wouldn’t have went so far as calling them life changing. Yet that’s a different story for a very different book.

To be honest I think it has taken the long weekend for the news to properly sink in fully. For my slightly stunned brain to slowly percolate the information and understand what two extra years will mean . All those extra memories I can make with the Duchess And Tobster, 24 added months of being allowed to watch Toby grow up, 104 more weeks than thought I would have waking up beside the Duchess and yes, Rosie the dog.

Most of you little FB Chums will know that the minor classic by Dublin based blonde balladeer Ronan Keating ‘Life Is A Rollercoaster ‘ is, if anything, an understated but still suitably descriptive theme tune for my topsy turvey life. Even in the context of all the ludicrous highs and lows of my life this is taking some coming to terms with.

It’s as if Brucie had me as a contestant on a Heavenly TV version of Play Your Cards Right…..

There’s Brucie with his sequinned tuxedo twinkling under the celestial studio lights .

‘Nice to see you to see you nice! Tonight’s contestant is a young-ish man with something of the gypsy windswept and interesting about him…’

Crowd laughs hysterically

‘All right settle down, oh you can’t get a quality audience in this day and age, I am only reading what it says on the card! Our contestant is called Brian and you haven’t had the best of luck lately have you ducky?

‘No Bruce the last decade has been v rough on me. First of al…..’

‘That will do Luvvie, we don’t want to bring down the energy of the audience down. Now you know the rules of the game so let’s see if we can’t win you a wee change in luck before the audience starts slitting their wrists.

Higher-Lower-Higher….and yes Mr Ferguson you are walking away tonight with our star prize . Two extra years of life you didn’t think you were going to have!

For the audience in the studio and the folks watching at home what are you going to do with these two extra years?’

That’s the big question what am I going to do with two extra years? Feels like I am honour bound to make the absolute most of them.

Willlunnwriter20018

#bloggingformengalhealth2018

Continuing Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling Baldness Beer Belly BPD And Heart Failure

Nice To See You To See You Nice

What are you supposed to do or feel when you are unexpectedly and disarmingly, almost casually given an extra two years of life? Just couple of sentences from a lovely Heart Failure Nurse Specialist And BOOM there you go…Two extra years of being alive, of being a living breathing, thinking, doing, almost fully functioning version of Brian Ferguson?

One of the most seismically life changing moments of my life and it took place on a dreek wet Thursday afternoon in the drab surroundings of Mullinure Hospital Armagh……. Now that’s a sentence I can assure you I never thought was going to write.

Had Spent countless hours in the slightly foreboding grounds of Mullinure and St Luke’s in my wee Ambulance.

Mostly on official NIAS business, occasionally errrr…not so much. So yes suppose had few distant memories of pulse quickening temporarily life invigorating illicit hours spent in the the sweeping hospital grounds. But even in my most breathless love/lust driven poetic mood I wouldn’t have went so far as calling them life changing. Yet that’s a different story for a very different book.

To be honest I think it has taken the long weekend for the news to properly sink in fully. For my slightly stunned brain to slowly percolate the information and understand what two extra years will mean . All those extra memories I can make with the Duchess And Tobster, 24 added months of being allowed to watch Toby grow up, 104 more weeks than thought I would have waking up beside the Duchess and yes, Rosie the dog.

Most of you little FB Chums will know that the minor classic by Dublin based blonde balladeer Ronan Keating ‘Life Is A Rollercoaster ‘ is, if anything, an understated but still suitably descriptive theme tune for my topsy turvey life. Even in the context of all the ludicrous highs and lows of my life this is taking some coming to terms with.

It’s as if Brucie had me as a contestant on a Heavenly TV version of Play Your Cards Right…..

There’s Brucie with his sequinned tuxedo twinkling under the celestial studio lights .

‘Nice to see you to see you nice! Tonight’s contestant is a young-ish man with something of the gypsy windswept and interesting about him…’

Crowd laughs hysterically

‘All right settle down, oh you can’t get a quality audience in this day and age, I am only reading what it says on the card! Our contestant is called Brian and you haven’t had the best of luck lately have you ducky?

‘No Bruce the last decade has been v rough on me. First of al…..’

‘That will do Luvvie, we don’t want to bring down the energy of the audience down. Now you know the rules of the game so let’s see if we can’t win you a wee change in luck before the audience starts slitting their wrists.

Higher-Lower-Higher….and yes Mr Ferguson you are walking away tonight with our star prize . Two extra years of life you didn’t think you were going to have!

For the audience in the studio and the folks watching at home what are you going to do with these two extra years?’

That’s the big question what am I going to do with two extra years? Feels like I am honour bound to make the absolute most of them.

Willlunnwriter20018

#bloggingformengalhealth2018

Continuing Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling Baldness Beer Belly BPD And Heart Failure

Continuing Tribulations Of A Middle Aged Man Battling Baldness Beer Belly BPD And Heart Failure

AMORETTI, SONNET #75

One day I wrote her name upon the strand,

But came the waves and washed it away:

Again I write it with a second hand,

But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.

Vain man, said she, that doest in vain assay,

A mortal thing so to immortalize,

For I myself shall like to this decay,

And eek my name be wiped out likewise.

Not so, (quod I) let baser things devise

To die in dust, but you shall live by fame:

My verse, your virtues rare shall eternize,

And in the heavens write your glorious name.

Where whenas death shall all the world subdue,

Our love shall live, and later life renew.

By Edmund Spenser

I doubt could find more fitting piece to encapsulate the bitter sweet and in all honesty verging on the surreal week the Duchess Ann Gilliland and I are spending up on the North Coast facing the relentless reality of mortality itself.

Here in what has always been our secret demi paradise, far away from the modern distractions of Netflix and the daily routine we have finally had the time and space to properly absorb and discuss all the madness and body blows of the last three months.

Specifically we are finally able to talk seriously and practically about my mortality thanks to the whole heart blah de blah. There is actually a surprising amount needing to be planned and decisions made……

Do I have a mini defib fitted at all?

If I have one fitted can we decide a point when we want to switch it off? Because there is no point having a DNR do not resuscitate order for medical staff when if I am my little embedded friend is busily restarting my heart automatically no matter how far down the grizzly end stage heart failure road I am going through.

When the swelling and exhaustion levels get just a little worse than they are now do I, or more accurately could I swallow my pride and maintain independence for as long as possible by trading the Mutt Mongrel in for a mobility scooter? Could I be that 45 year old, admittedly ruggedly handsome with an air of the windswept and handsome man in a mobility scooter.

Then there is the real doozy decision as to whether I, in the words of Eric Idle, draw my terminal breath in a hospital/hospice or at home? Where technically would that home be? The Bolthole in Dromore so at least there’s chance of odd friend calling to see me or Donaghadee where Ann has a proper home?

I have seen patients dying in all circumstances, in hospital bed surrounded by medical staff, at home surrounded by family and even in an ambulance as they tried to get patient back in time to die at home.

Then there’s the emotional wreckage for all concerned. Will Ann keep helping Toby in all his theatre ambitions and with life in general once I have switched off?

How will the few people who genuinely give a shite about me cope emotionally after all the song and dance surrounding a human death has settled down?

So I hope you can understand just how painfully surreal sitting almost in Portstewart Harbour, surrounded by such exquisite natural beauty yet discussing my end stage plans for dying actually is.

Can I ask for you guys to stop saying ahh you will be here for years Ferguson or similar well meaning comments. Perhaps I will be here for years to come. Be here long enough to see Toby off to University or more likely stage school, long enough to marry the Duchess. Or even long enough for one of my other three boys comes to my door and says Dad no matter what I still love you.

Alas all the medical advice and prognosis for my condition point to me not being here.

#bloggingformentalhealth2018