The Power of Trusting the FLOW and Wearing Big Brave Pants

Nobody warned us it would be so stressful to follow our dream.  Turns out it takes balls.  And now that  My Gorgeous Man’s gall bladder has been unceremoniously relieved of its duties… it’s time to for us to pull up our big brave pants and… Just Do It.  Nike would be proud of us.

I’ve been asked a few times how we ended up picking the Orgiva area?

Well… the answer is… we followed the… F L O O O W.

Relaxing into the relief of rural France after the corporate madness of Hong Kong.

When we were Universally kicked out of Hong Kong, we spent about 6 weeks down in the French Mid-Pyrenees and then the Cote d’Azur with a view to finding our new home and life. We’d had French barn renovations (MGM’s thing) and snow capped mountains (my thing) on our Honkers vision board.  Blessed to stay with friends from my ‘Hot Hostie’ flying days who were now living in France,  we all drank far too much wine and had way too much fun.

But I just hadn’t felt a connection with the land.
For me, that’s the deal breaker.  And that’s why, two years ago we ended up back in our home town of Edinburgh.  It seemed the logical thing to do.  Go home until we find our new home.

Looking back, it was over 4 years ago that I was first introduced to Orgiva.  My co-creatress and wonderfully spooky soul sister and I had been looking for a European venue to host our Illumination Retreat for Women.  And a friend of a friend put me in touch with another friend who had done just that, in Orgiva. 

OMG, when I saw the pictures, my heart soared and melted all at once.  It was absolutely stunning.  I didn’t realise it then, but I’d fallen in love with the land.

But life went on… the retreat didn’t happen and The Spanish Alpujarra faded into the back of my mind.

Fast forward to 3 years ago and my wonderfully spooky friend came out with a blinder. 

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this… but you need to look at Orgiva.”

But we were still in Honkers and I still didn’t pay Orgiva much attention.

It was only this year, when MGM and I were so fed up with life in Scotland, that I actually ‘heard’ her.  She had been persistently patient.

Now, when you’re ready to hear, you hear.  And that’s when the magic of the flow picks up pace.

So there we were, earlier on this year, so frikking miserable that we were seriously on the verge of packing up, buying a camper van, fecking off and figuring it out along the way.  As you remember, this didn’t go down too well with our nearest and dearest and we temporarily got back in our box.  Until June.  When we did the sensible thing and flew down there for a week to check this place called Orgiva out.

The Universal flow even gifted us a rare run of TV programmes on Andaulica and Granada.  And, boy did it looked stunning!

MGM followed the Google flow and had found us a gorgeous Eco Airbnb on the outskirts of Lanjaron (5 miles from Orgiva) that suited us perfectly for our week of Alpujarra explorations.  It was run by an English woman who was a holistic therapist… with space to hold retreats and workshops.  We booked in and the flow REALLY began to flow.

In my heart, I was already running retreats there.

The Orgiva Mountains

Nothing could prepare us for actually being there… or for the feel of the land… and those stunning mountain views.  OMG. I was in heaven.  I was sold.  My dream of snow capped mountains might not have to stay a dream after all.  The scenery was dramatic, but gentle.  It felt like the land was welcoming me and holding me… there was an underlying strong, high vibration that was powerful and deeply healing… transformational, yet soft… soporific but reviving.  And I literally felt myself relax and come alive all at once.

If you’ve read my previous blogs, you’ll know that we started looking at properties.  We had some absolute nightmares and absolute delights… and it became obvious that looking for a new home while living in a different country really wasn’t going to work. 

We needed a starting point… ASAP. 

The iced latte to end all iced lattes.

It was while we were having an ‘overloaded sugar boosted, ice-cream latte to die for’  in Orgiva town centre that we spied an agents with some interesting properties that were in our price range.  And they did rentals. 

The agent, didn’t speak a word of English.  And neither of us spoke Spanish. I’m still pretty fluent in Brazilian Portuguese from my married years in Rio de Janeiro so there was enough of a tiny slither of common ground to cover the basics. With a lot of made up words, intuitive guessing and blank looks along the way.

We had an interesting afternoon with him. He happily took us totally off road and directed us up a dried out river bed to get to a property, couldn’t unlock the massive heavy duty padlock…couldn’t get a phone signal to get hold of the owner… and we eventually ended up back in his office, scrolling through rentals. 

Idyllic, private, secluded with the energy that says home.
The home that spoke home to us.

I have absolutely no idea how it happened, but we saw the place that we’re soon going to be calling home and just knew it was for us.  He took us to see it there and then. The owner was an animated and eccentric woman but she had such an open heart… and she had 2 equally crazy, high energy terrier type dogs that adoringly followed her around nipping at each other… and her ankles.  Through all her gesticulations, she agreed that we could move in for the winter… along with our anti social, ‘size of a mini pony,’ rescue greyhound. 

MGM and I couldn’t believe our luck.  It had a pool.  A secure garden.  A BBQ.  A view.  Was within walking distance of the town. 

And it was ours… if we paid up now.

Now there’s nothing like being asked for cash up front to give you a reality check.  Both of us swallowed hard.  And we said we’d come back the next afternoon with the deposit.  That gave us over night to think about what we were doing.   To worry about what we were doing.  To question what we were doing.  And to basically not sleep at all.

Were we mad?!  Handing cash over to an agent  who I certainly didn’t fully understand… but he didn’t seem to care two hoots that we didn’t yet have Spanish paperwork… or Spanish bank account… or the essential NIE for all life to function in Spain.  Perhaps I hadn’t understood anything of anything!  Perhaps he was having a laugh and rubbing his hands together with glee. 

Or perhaps he was the Universe’s answer to all our newbie, naive expat needs!

My Gorgeous Man and I agonised over the ‘should we or shouldn’t we’… and all the ‘what ifs’ that could possibly be ‘what iffed.’ 

At 3am… EVERYTHING  is MAGNIFIED in the worst possible way.  Loaded with the worst possible outcomes the air was heavy with fear.  But what I wasn’t willing to ignore, was the fact that my heart and my gut still said…

“For Fecks Sake Just Do It!!”

We are slave to our fears if we allow it to be so. Be brave and allow the Universal flow of life to guide you towards what's perfect for you.
Follow the flow not the fear…

The thing was… if we didn’t pull up our big, brave pants… then we would head back to Scotland and nothing would have changed.  No home and no starting point in Spain.  And that felt a whole lot worse than taking a risk. 

“It’s only money!” we said.  Cue the nervous laughter.

But isn’t it crazy how we can talk ourselves out of something that’s actually great for us… because we’re conditioned to expect the worst… and be terrified of making that ‘wrong choice?’

So first thing that morning, blurry from lack of sleep, we rocked up at the agents and said YES!  A great big grin spread across his face… and he asked for the cash deposit.  MGM went across the road to the cashpoint and sucked our account dry.  We handed our stash over and he handed us back a hand written receipt on yellow paper.   And all was finished off with great big firm handshakes and wide smiles saying “Muy bien!”

Job Done. 

That was it.

And then our minds caught up… and we realised what we’d done.  Handed over cash with no contract or any of the ‘normal’ rental reassurances. 


But…. WOW…

It actually felt GREAT!

It had all just ‘happened’… the flow had taken over and we’d gone with it.

So we went for another sugar boosted caffeine infused glass of badness to celebrate.  It was too early for cerveza.

It wasn’t long after that, that we found out through the local network that our smiling agent had a reputation as a bit of a shark.

Oops.  Oh well.  Not much we can do about it now!  No point in worrying!  Definitely cerveza time. 

And so we flew back to Scotland, with what we hoped was a new home under our belt.  Our life was about to change big time. 

And on a surge of inspiration I set dates for my Spanish Channelling Love Retreats at the Eco-Finca we’d stayed at.  And they sold out so quickly that I set up an extra weekend… and that sold out too.

So as you read this, I am now in Orgiva… MGM is still in Scotland fully recovering from his surgery and closing up our home there… and I will be welcoming my first retreat guests on Friday 3rd November 2017.  And while my guests will be enjoying the Eco Finca,  I’ll be setting down roots in that gorgeous little house that we’d bravely put the inspired deposit down on back in June.

Because yes… the ‘shark’ of an agent came through for us.
He is now officially an Angel Agent.

Sometimes things just aren’t too good to be true… they’re the gems that the Universe brings you when you’re brave enough to follow your heart.

Next time… I’ll be sharing my arrival back into Spain accompanied by my legally, super drugged up, sedated friend… and what actually happens when you make those life changing shifts and land on the land.





PS.  Non fluffy TOP TIPS for following your heart…

  • Don’t believe everything you’re told…
  • Don’t do everything you’re told…
  • Don’t believe everything you read…
  • Don’t take everyone else’s experience as gospel… everyone loves a bit of exaggerated drama and a story tell.
  • There’s always going to be 3 sides to a negative experience and you’ll never know the truth.
  • The internet is generally full of negative experiences and fear based stories!
  • Listen to your gut reactions.
  • Stand your ground and do what feels peaceful, easy, flowing and right for YOU.
  • BE BRAVE!  And buy big pants.

Coming soon to Namaste This!
My new step by step video leading you through a simple process to help you hear your heart.  Watch this space 🙂

Bye Bye Gallbladder and Hello Spain

The reality of the operating theatre

It’s almost 2 weeks since My Gorgeous Man had his little fecker of a gallbladder removed and you could say we’re getting back into the swing of normal life.  Except it’s anything but normal.  MGM is getting stronger but is still fragile… we’ve just received 3 requests for sales viewings of The Flat… and I’m now getting ready to head off to Spain to host my first two Channelling Love retreats.

But, let’s bring MGM’s surgical escapades to a close first.  Because while he was still laid out on the ward, I had the weirdest of 36-ish hours.  Looking back on it, I’m able to shake my head and laugh but I honestly couldn’t have made it up.

A good few hours after leaving MGM being prepped for surgery, I phoned the hospital to find out if he was back on the ward.  It was only meant to be a routine surgery for them, maybe lasting 90 minutes.  But my stomach hit the floor when they said he was still in recovery.  Due back… but still in recovery.  The nurse was cagey and I felt she was saying a whole lot more through her silence. 

We later found out that it was one of the most difficult keyhole removals they’d ever done because his gallbladder was so inflamed and basically f*cked.  Amazingly, the surgeons had managed not to fully open him up… but his recovery would be as if they had.

I ran Sir Maxelot round the block on his teatime walk, gave him some extra goodies, told him that I would be back and everything was going to be ok and headed straight back up to the hospital.  And I sat in MGM’s empty cubicle waiting for him to reappear.  It was horrible.  And when he was wheeled back in on his bed, that was horrible in a whole new way too.  All my empathic alarm bells went ballistic at once and I had to fight back the waves of trauma and nausea… and will my tears not to fall.  Deep breaths, Sally, deep breaths.  MGM really wasn’t there at all… so all I could do was hold his hand, and breathe.  And try not to see his surgical drain, and bag of bloody fluid that was now right next to me. 

The reality of what it's like to be in a hospital bed.
My Gorgeous Man – shared with his full permission.

He was in and out of consciousness and awareness, and after a couple of hours… he came round enough to say “Why don’t you just go home?  You hate hospitals… and I’m not up to much here.’  My hunky, handsome hero… always thinking me.  And in all honesty, I was relieved.  He was in good hands.  Plus, there was an upset furry baby at home and a good chance of some more ripped up duvet awaiting me.

So home I went. 
There was no ripped duvet, and Sir Maxelot even came and sat with me on the sofa.  Sitting next to you, without actually touching you, is his way of giving you a great big bear hug.  More about Sir Maxelot another day… but I was so over tired, wrung out and strung out, that I can’t even remember much about what was left of that evening.

What I do remember was not being able to properly sleep… and having the weirdest most uncomfortable,  ‘this is real’ dreams.   You know the ones, where you have a full on deep dream  and think you’ve been out for the count for 10 hours, but it’s only been 10 minutes.  It was about 3am, when the hackles on my neck went up and a slow prickling terror seeped through into my body and my now fully conscious senses, and I was frozen with fear.

I knew exactly what was happening and I knew exactly what I had to do. 

If you aren’t wuwu, psychic or believe in spirit… then you’ll find what happened next, a bit weird or unbelievable. But when I started this blog, I made a commitment to you, to tell it all, exactly as it is…. and I’m sticking to that.  As a channel, what happened is part of my ‘normal’… but it may well be a world away from your normal, and that is perfectly OK.

That night, I had a rare psychic attack. 

There was a dark presence… and it was in the hall looking right at me through the bedroom door.  I don’t see spirit, but I have full on accuracy for sensing and knowing.  My home is sacred space and normally, it is an energetically clear, super duper strong and high vibrational space.  It’s many years since I’d experienced a lower vibration coming in and it just highlighted how out of sorts I was.  I pulled every ounce of energy, light, strength, will power and Divine light into my body, put a 999 call out to my invisible team and the biggest, toughest, brightest security guards with feathered wings and took myself through my own process to clear my body and space. 

It is horrible when this happens, but you have to step out of your FEAR and take CONTROL.  Fear is actually your biggest challenge.  It may shake you to the core, but it also shows you how powerful you are energetically, emotionally and spiritually. 

These experiences generally come when you are opening up psychically… none of us like them, but it’s all part and parcel of deepening and strengthening our gifts and awareness.  It’s an aspect of spiritual awakening that a lot of people (and teachers) don’t like to publicly talk about.  Being psychic and empathic is not all about crystal balls, fluffy pink unicorns, air kissing and hippydippy love.
It’s real deal life as an awakened soul upon earth.

But just as I was slipping back into a semi-sleep, I was sure I heard a yelp.  

Meet Sir Maxelot, he's a 9 year old ex-racing greyhound that we rescued... and his beautiful soul rescued us right back. He likes his space but he has a gentle heart of gold. From such tough beginnings, he now resides in luxury and has his own sofa. He's our boy.
Sir Maxelot, our beloved rescue greyhound


I leapt out of bed and as soon as I opened the living room door he shot out of there like a bullet and ran through to our bedroom and jumped up onto the bed.  We needed each other and as a very sensitive dog, he had most probably felt what was going on.  He often comes to lie with me during my channelled healings as he loves soaking up the high vibes.  He curled up at the bottom of the bed and we relaxed into each other’s security.  Miraculously, his patched up and re-stuffed duvet was still in tact.

Fast forward 24 hours.

I believe in saying it as it is and not hiding behind the 'perfect facade'. I often turn to the Illumination Oracle cards for support and insight, and this card was a strong reassurance that despite everything feeling as if it was going wrong... there is a higher order we are unaware of.
Looking Rough, but Raw and Real on Facebook

MGM had been moved onto a different ward… I still hadn’t slept properly.  It had now been 4 nights in a row of practically no sleep and I was totally zombified, functioning on adrenaline and auto-pilot.  Bizarrely, I had found myself posting a ‘raw & real’ inspirational post on Facebook… pulling the Divine Signs oracle card for myself (which means everything is fandabbydoo and Divinely guided) and sharing the message with the online world.

I was so out of it that morning, that I even answered my phone to a number that I didn’t recognise…
“Hello!  I bet you didn’t expect to get this call?!”
You’re right, I didn’t.  Who are you?
“It’s ******… remember me?”
Holy Feck, it was a guy who I had had my first couple of dates with back in my mid-teens.
“I found you on FB and saw that you’re moving to Spain… and…. and… and…“

I was confused.

This was just beyond surreal.  He was happily chatting away and I was wracking my brains trying to figure out how he had found my number.  The old me, would have politely chatted back, not wanting to appear rude.  But, I just couldn’t get my head round this and I didn’t want to play.  In the end I had to interrupt and say,
“Sorry, but My Gorgeous Man – you know.. the love of my life, my partner, my all (and I’m not quite sure why are you phoning me?) has just had emergency surgery and I’m not up for chitchats.”

Just what was the Universe up to?  Was I missing something?  But I was just too tired and beyond trying to figure stuff out.

So, onwards and upwards… another trip round the block for Sir Maxelot… more gravy bone bribes as I headed out the door and back to MGM on his new ward.  The day before, I’d stood helplessly in the massive entrance and reception area of the hospital on the end of the ‘help phone’  trying to understand the directions I was being given on how to find my love through the maze of corridors. 

Right now, it felt like MGM was on the other side of the world.

Healing is your journey of self discovery. When we start to see our bodies as a reflection of our spiritual and emotional well being, then we take one step closer to knowing ourselves as a being of energy, light and love.
Healing is your journey of self discovery.

I was exhausted.   And when I got to MGM, I could see he was exhausted too.  The ward was busy.  The nurses were busy.  I moved the chair round to sit by his side and got ready to just read my book as he dozed.  They’d removed the drain from his side earlier and it hadn’t been pleasant… and I felt the familiar sickening energy waves from the trauma, hit my solar plexus.  Waves of awfulness kept coming but I breathed through it… after all, he was the one that had gone through it, not me. 

MGM, was not in a good place and I knew something was up.  It didn’t take him long to tell me that it would be better if I just went home.  There’d been gossip, difficulties and politics in me coming to sit with him.  Turns out that visitors weren’t really allowed on the Day Surgery ward, unlike the ward he’d been on before.  Of course the other patients didn’t know that he was ‘resident’ and had been moved there to free up his bed. I wish someone had just told me.

I was mortified. 
Deeply upset that I’d upset the staff that I’d been so grateful for.  I fought back my over-tired tears.  MGM was struggling, I was struggling.  No need to make it all harder.  So I closed my book, put the chair back on the other side of his bed, gave him a kiss and left.  Tears were welling up and I was fighting them back.  I went to the ward desk and said I was so sorry… I hadn’t known visitors weren’t allowed on this ward… and that I hadn’t meant to get in the way.  I could hardly get the words out for fighting back the tears and the nurse just smiled kindly back at me, over the top of her glasses. 

I made it out of the ward before the damn broke and crying won. 

Truth is, I cried down the stairs, along the corridor, out the entrance, in through the other entrance, down the massive central halls, milling with people, nurses, doctors, patients heading out for a fags, porters, visitors and just way to many people.  And I just couldn’t stem the flow.  Nobody batted an eyelid and I was past caring anyway.  It had just all been too much and I was finally letting go of everything.  I cried my way round the strategically placed M&S food shop, chucking everything that I thought I wanted into the basket.  Cried at the till.  Cried as I paid.  And cried as she wished me a lovely afternoon.  I cried my way out of the building.  Cried as I paid for the car park.  Cried as I walked back to the car. 

And when I finally got back into the car and clunked the door shut, I sobbed.  And couldn’t stop sobbing.  I mean, I really sobbed.  Sobbed for everything and everyone.  I felt so incredibly alone.  I just wanted someone to hug me. 

My ‘oh poor me’ self pity and inner victim were going into hyper-overdrive. 

With every tear that's shed, so you create space for JOY.
Tears create space for JOY.

I found myself phoning a dear friend, even though I knew she was in the depths of work and probably wouldn’t even be near her phone… but miraculously she picked up straight away… and so I sobbed down the phone to her too.  Literally unable to talk.  These are true friends. She must have thought MGM had pegged it.  She picked me up, brushed me down, distantly hugged me and sent me back out into the world.  My eyes were swollen, my nose was running and I had no idea how much time had passed. 

I glanced over my shoulder to see a queue of cars at the barriers and I knew it was time to leave.  One more sniff… into reverse and round the one way system I went.  When I got to the barrier I stuck my ticket into the machine and the red light started flashing.  I couldn’t frikking believe it.  And I started crying again.  My ticket and payment had timed out. 

By now there are other cars behind me waiting to be released.  I pressed the intercom and heard my own pathetic crying voice say…

“Waaaah… my ticket’s timed out…  I didn’t realise so much time had passed.”  Sniff, Sniff, cough splutter.
Mortified that I might also be on camera, my vanity kicked in and I rubbed my wet cheeks dry and made a pathetic attempt at a hair flick.
“On you go love,” and the barrier opened.
I cried again… a voice with a heart. 

Or a hospital parking attendant who couldn’t be arsed to collect another couple of pounds.

And so I started the drive home, with swollen eyes, a blotchy face, dishevelled hair and a body that just needed to sleep the sleep of Repunzle.

Then turning up the road just past Holyrood Palace, I couldn’t believe my eyes.  There was the one person I hadn’t wanted to see since moving back to Edinburgh… walking up the pavement in front of me, going in my direction and on my side of the road.  And as the traffic was going so slowly, he ended up literally walking right beside me.

Of all the days.
I mean… c’mon Universe!
Give me a break… puleeeez! 

Well, somebody upstairs did hear me, because amazingly, I wasn’t spotted.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I made it home and collapsed onto the sofa.   About an hour later, MGM phoned and said he was being discharged and could I please come and pick him up.


But oh sh*t… the flat’s a mess!
Oh Sh*t… MGM really didn’t look well enough to be sent home.
Oh double SH*T… how am I going to look after him? 

I did a mega quick deep clean to make his home coming as nice as possible and then crawled back into the car.  By the time he was legally discharged, it was early evening and dark… and I had driven down several wrong roads with a multitude of confusing roadworks and parking cones until I found the pick up point.  The automatic doors opened and I saw this hunched over figure, gingerly shuffling through them.

My Gorgeous Man.  He was free and he was upright.  Damn I love that man!

The journey home was painful.  Very painful.  In every sense of painful. Every bump, every movement, just everything hurt him… and I cursed Edinburgh council’s obsession for digging up its roads.  I was worried that MGM’s release and my ability to innately find every bump and hole in the road was going to become his downfall.  But we made it, and after a heartfelt reunion with Max, who homed straight in to sniff his abdomen, MGM went straight to bed. 

And Max joined him. 

Our beloved greyhound Sir Maxelot, takes up his place as guardian and healer to his charge. Not a dog to show much emotion, this picture says more than words can convey. Love.
Sir Maxelot… healer and guardian of his charge.

The drama was over… and it was now time to heal.  And that night, I finally slept.  In the spare room.  My unconscious habit of impersonating a nocturnal starfish, wasn’t going to be helpful towards MGM’s healing.

So there you have it. 

And amazingly, MGM’s recovery is going to be far enough along for me to head to Spain to run the two November Channelling Love Retreats that I’d launched and sold out back in June.  Because we’d thought we’d be living there by then!

This is the stunning view from the retreat venue just outside Lanjaron in the Spanish Alpujarra. Peaceful, beautiful and inspirational!
The stunning view from the retreat venue’s terrace!

I have to admit that I’m very, very excited about these retreats… small exclusive groups (at grounded, real deal prices) coming to the Alpujarra to relax into the healing vibes of my channelling and be soothed, revived and inspired by stunning mountain views, organic food and the space to just be.   

These retreats will be at the heart of our new Spanish life. 

I love, love, love holding space and running retreats! 
Check them out here… and if you want to make sure you don’t miss out on the upcoming dates early in 2018… then CLICK HERE!

So, come back next week to find out how everything is unfolding.  I’ve still to tell you all about the synchronicity that guided us to the Alpujarra in the first place… and I promise there won’t be a gallbladder in sight 🙂 


Top Tip for energetically cleansing your home:

White sage is the sacred plant traditionally used by the Native American Indians for energetic space clearing, ceremonies, protection and blessings.  You can easily buy it online and in holistic shops.  It comes as a bundle, and you just light it up so that it smoulders.  Take it round each room and fan the smoke (traditionally with an eagle’s feather) into corners, around windows & doors and into all the nooks and crannies of your home.  In your mind, hold the intent that the smoke is cleansing away any old & heavy energy,  negative emotional and energetic residue and heavier vibrations. 

And remember to waft the smoke around you too, to clear your yourself and your aura.

Make this a regular practice and you’ll soon notice the difference in how much lighter your home feels!

Smudging with white sage will help clear the energy of a room from any heavier emotional and energetic residue and help you keep a positive, vibrant and peaceful feeling in your home, workspace and personal being.
The ancient tradition of smudging with white sage.

This is what Happens when the Universe Knows Best

Ambulance on the go.

This past week has been a full on reality check, wake up call, terrifying, enlightening and humbling experience.  The Universe threw the planning rule book out of the window and took the decisions we were trying to make, right out of our hands.

In short… the Universe ramped it up and saved us from ourselves.

Picture of our quaint rental home ... white washed and shaded by mature trees on the outskirts of Orgiva.
Our Spanish rental that awaits!

This was the week that we were supposed to be arriving in the Spanish Alpujarra, and moving into our new rental home on the outskirts of Orgiva.  That was what we had planned, organised and paid deposits for.  Except here we are, still in Edinburgh, getting our heads round the fact that our flat hadn’t sold and our plan appeared to be in tatters.

With no enquiries, no visits and no ‘nothing’, My Gorgeous Man and I were finally letting go of our insistence to sell The Flat and had begun investigating various options of short and long term letting.  That of course, meant we were also letting go of being able to buy a home in Spain.  And that hurt.

It’s not easy to let go of the dream you’ve set in concrete… and as the greatest, strategic planner in the world, MGM was having an internal struggle with this plan, not panning out. 

But what happened next, paled those stresses into insignificance and shed some light on the Universe’s way of working things out for us.

This week we’ve been reminded of our mortality.  We’ve been shown that anything can change at any given moment… and that a healthy life should not be taken for granted… and life should be lived to the full.

On Sunday 1st October at about 1.30am, My Gorgeous Man woke me up.  I wasn’t best pleased as I’d chugged back a considerable amount of wine during Strictly Come Dancing that evening, and I was already in full hangover mode… and in all honesty, still a bit pished. 

But he was in agony with abdominal pain.  And it was familiar abdominal pain. The gallstones were on the move again.  And it was getting worse.  Not being a man to complain, he paced the room and debated about calling an ambulance… he couldn’t catch his breath through the pain…we opened windows… tried different positions leaning against furniture… more pacing… but the pain became worse and worse and worse.  And I got more frightened.  Sir Maxelot (our beloved greyhound) also became increasingly anxious at the unusual night time activity and his Dad’s weird behaviour.  But the pain became so intense that 999 was eventually dialled.  It took longer than we hoped for the ambulance to arrive… and we strangely noticed how loud and creaky all the flooring was.  Every single step throughout our home, elicited a creak.  How had we not noticed that before? 

It was a tired, lone paramedic that arrived. 

I’m embarrassed to say that I can’t remember her name… but she was calm, down to earth and in our eyes… an angel.  She wired MGM up, stuck sticky round stickers on him, took stats, machines beeped, papers printed out, lungs checked, temperature taken and yup… without a doubt, he needed morphine. The scale of 1-10 had now reached an 8/ 9.

But she’d forgotten her key card which was essential to gain access to the precious, locked up morphine.  She said she was definitely going to get in trouble… but more than that, I could see that she felt terrible that she was unable to help MGM.  I really felt for her.   

So she called for another ambulance.  Except, being a Saturday night all sorts of drunken hell was breaking out on the streets of Edinburgh and there was no availability.  While it was reassuring to have her with us, it was also extremely distressing to be so helpless while MGM was struggling with the pain.  Pacing, pacing, pacing… leaning… groaning… getting greyer and greyer… colder and clammier. 

We waited over 90 minutes… and it felt like 90 years. 
Turned out MGM’s morphine bearing ambulance had been diverted to a cardiac arrest… so our paramedic angel upgraded her request to the highest priority so no more ambulances would be diverted away.  She was adamant.  At one point, she almost drove us there herself but it was that awkward 50/50 call of the length of drive versus the ambulance arriving.

Finally we saw the blue lights and we made our way down in the lift to the awaiting carriage.  It was being driven by a 12 year old who looked as if he hadn’t slept for 10 of his 12 years.  His name was Steve and through his exhaustion, he handed over the vial of morphine to our paramedic and reassuringly said “You’ll be alright now mate” and patted MGM on the shoulder.  MGM was oblivious.  Violently shaking with cold and shock in the back of the ambulance he lay on the stretcher and gently started to drift away as the morphine began to seep through his veins.  Relief at last.

We were off… and while we were en-route our paramedic revealed her naughty streak.  Turns out that young Steve has a ‘thing’ about people knocking on the dividing glass while he’s driving.  It freaks him out.  So both of us were resisting doing exactly that while trying not to giggle at the thought of doing it.  Sleep deprivation does weird things to you.  I remember it all too well from my days flying the long haul skies during the nights we felt would never, ever end.

As we approached the hospital I started to build myself up and take long deep breaths for courageous calm.  As an empath, hospitals are not my favourite place.  I feel way too much and if I don’t keep on top of it, I get nauseous, fuzzy and dizzy from the emotional and energetic trauma and pain around me. 

I began filling myself up with…

Visualising the power of white light.


to strengthen my aura and blast it out into our surroundings to dissipate the energetic and emotional Yuk.  I was not going to succumb to the Yuk. No Siree, I was going to hold empowered space… not be overwhelmed.  Luckily MGM was tripping out on the morphine and totally unaware of my own little challenge. 

Our paramedic angels left us in the care of the A&E staff, sighing sighs of relief at not having had to face the ‘scary handover nurse.’  They were nearing the end of their shift so they deserved this little respite.

It was a couple of hours after admission, having been parked in the corridor and then upgraded to a cubicle… several rounds of blood pressure cuffs, blood tests, abdominal poking and prodding done… that I started to take an interest in people watching.  I couldn’t help but be transfixed by the young girl opposite, looking very much worse for wear but who was taking ‘funny face’ selfies of herself and her boyfriend who was puking his guts up into a hospital cardboard pot.   Most cubicles had their curtains open and they were filled with a mix of old souls suffering… and incoherent drunks.  I shined my light as bright as I could so I didn’t have to feel any of it.  Best not to look too much, after all.

Finally, a doctor confirmed that it was gallstones. 

And then the on call surgical doctor appeared.
He swished back the curtain and stood in front of us like a God.  Young, tall, fit, good looking and blonde… with confidence and charisma oozing out of him.  He knew his stuff alright and his manner made us feel secure, seen and safe.  We both felt like naughty children in his presence.   I so wished I hadn’t just pulled on my mucky dog walking clothes and left last night’s mascara vaguely smudged around my eyes.  My eyes actually felt like piss holes in the snow and it was obvious I’d been on the lash.  All 3 glasses of Pinot Grigio.  It might as well have been 3 bottles by the way I was feeling.  My vanity took a big bashing in that moment.

“I’ll sort it all out for you”  the Hot Doc said.  His well educated voice boomed out, “You’ll get a scan at the emergency clinic today and an appointment with the consultant and you’ll probably be put on the list for surgery.  There’s about a 2-3 month waiting list.”

“Ok,” we meekly nodded, all swept up in his all-powerful Doctor presence.  “And seeing as your pain is easing, you can go home now if you wish, rather than wait in this environment till your appointment.”  He shook our hands and off he swept.

And off home we went too.  By taxi… with my illegal limits of el cheapo vino blanco still slopping its way through my system.  God I felt awful.   It was still pitch dark and we sat together in a silent ‘WTF just happened’ stupor in the back of the black cab with the heater on full blast.  It was frikking freezing.

Max... our much loved rescue greyhound who likes our bed much more than his own.
Sir Maxelot… much happier on our bed and at peace when we are both home.

It was about 5am when we opened our front door… only to find a distraught Sir Maxelot had torn his duvet bed to shreds.  That’s his thing when he’s upset.  I tidied it up and brought him into the bedroom with us for some much needed shuteye.  I eventually got a smidgen of sleep before his morning pee-stop was due.  God, I really wanted a door opening out onto a garden.  Not 2 lots of security doors and a lift down 4 floors and a walk to the nearest patch of grass. 

Green grass, blue pool and lovely mature trees surrounding our private garden bliss.
The gorgeous garden and pool that awaits us in Spain!

Spain… oh, Spain where are you?!  Our awaiting rental has a garden…. and a pool… and lots of trees for Sir Maxelot to investigate.

The rest of Sunday was a bit of a sleep deprived and hungover blur.  I had to go and  check out our Airbnb guests and clean the flat (this is the flat that’s not selling)… and remain there for the open sales viewing in the afternoon… which nobody turned up to.  Sigh.

MGM had got the call and gone to his scan (which showed a giant 8mm stone) and came back saying they’d offered him surgery there and then.  It was all a bit of a shock and his sleep deprived mind couldn’t think straight.  He had been set on doing another couple of gall bladder flushes that naturally help release gallstones, and despite what had just happened, it could be months before another episode.  So, as he hadn’t gleefully jumped onto the operating table right then, the consultant gave him a phone number in case of further emergency.   And that was that.

Or so we thought.  The excruciating pain came back with a vengeance.  God dammit… in the middle of night again.  With less than two hours sleep under my belt… and none for MGM because he’d been trying to ignore the rumblings of pain,  we were on the phone to NHS 24.  Too embarrassed to call an ambulance… we found ourselves caught up in NHS 24 protocols, prompts and procedures… so it was all the same questions, trying to get us to either say we didn’t need an ambulance or yes, we did because we weren’t breathing or were mid heart attack or stroke.  I get it though… I really do. 

In the end, we were given an emergency appointment with an out of hours GP at 1.30am… back at the hospital we’d spent the previous night in.  Again gallstones was confirmed, but, “surgery is preferable between flare ups.”  He kindly jabbed some pain relief into MGM’s shoulder and ass… but it didn’t even touch the pain.  The decision was made to admit MGM for surgical observation and he was unceremoniously wheel-chaired round to the ward wrapped up in blankets and looking like shit. 

The thing with gallstone pain is that it comes and goes.  Apparently it’s worse than childbirth… and when it eases, you forget how frikking horrendous it was.

That’s exactly what happened. And a couple of hours later, we went home.  AGAIN.

After a quick stint in bed, just long enough to see the dawn arrive… MGM is doubled over with the pain again.  It’s now off the richter scale and I’m seriously scared… and MGM is panicking.   The surgical emergency number only opened at 9am but we started ringing it non-stop anyway… just in case.  I have to leave My Gorgeous Man and take Sir Maxelot out for a pitstop, knowing he was about to be left alone again. There was no point in calling an ambulance because we figured it would be quicker to just drive up there.  So we called NHS 24 who took us round in more protocol circles and MGM lost it and shouted “Will someone just make a decision for me!” 

Because we hadn’t declared MGM as an emergency and it was now past 8am, we were told to phone our GP because we’re now ‘in hours’.  The GP phoned straight back, bypassed the bullshit and said “Just get your ass up to the hospital as quick as you can.” Well, she didn’t say actually say ass… but her urgency inferred it.

With all the runs to the hospital  having been in the night, it had given us a false sense of security about it not taking very long to get across the city.  But it was now rush hour on Monday morning.  With a 20mph speed limit that other drivers were suddenly religiously obeying.  Bumpy roads.  Road works. Buses.  Cars.  Buses. Pedestrians.  And every frikking moron you could possibly imagine getting in our way and slowing us down.

“We’ll be there soon,”  I kept saying,  “NO WE WON’T” was barked back at me.

“You’re ok,” I kept saying because I couldn’t think of anything else to say… “I’M NOT OK” was grimaced through gritted teeth back at me.

MGM was past it… and I withdrew further into ultra calm silence.  It was the best way for both of us to cope… and for me not to turn to road rage in order to get us to A&E quicker.

I wanted to speed into the A&E drop off area… screech to a halt… throw open doors and scream “SOMEBODY HELP US!!!”  But I didn’t.  Scottish A&E is about as far removed from the glamorous ER and Grey’s Anatomy as it could possibly be.  I just pulled up on the double yellows, said a silent F*ck it… and helped MGM into reception.  Papers were thrust into his hands and round the corner we went to the surgical observation ward.

When I returned from parking the car legally… I witnessed my hero of a warrior man become a whimpering animal through his pain.  Leaning on the bed… crouching… pacing… shaking…making the most heart wrenching keening sounds… and yet still holding his dignity and respect for the staff.  The staff were amazing… but they were avoiding pumping him with morphine until the surgical consult could see him.  I especially remember the male student nurse… he deserved the teacher’s gold star for sure.

There was nothing I could do.  No words.  Reassuring back rubs didn’t cut it.  So I just sat and held space.  And prayed.

Then wouldn’t you know it… the privacy curtain goes SWIIIIIIISSHHH…. and there stands the Hot Doc in full green surgical kit.  Arms crossed, one blonde eyebrow raised… and enjoying every metre of his moral high ground.

“Well… look what we have here!  I saw your name and had to come and see you!”

“You turned down the surgery didn’t you… regretting that now eh?!”  All said with a twinkling, dagger in his eye.  He was making his point… and enjoying it.  But through it all, we could tell he cared.  He was a gem and he loved his work.

He stayed for a while, chatting about the surgery, saying how MGM was not a typical gall bladder patient but that due to his good health and not being overweight, it should be a breeze for him.
“It never happens you know… getting offered surgery on the same day!” 

“If you were my father, I’d be telling you to have the surgery as soon as you can.”


I totally bypassed the whole surgery conversation.  FFS!  Hot Doc thought my heroic MGM was old enough to be his father!  Jeez!  That made me old enough to be his mother!  Holy Crap… that makes me a cougar for having gone all girly over him.  I just prayed that MGM hadn’t clocked ‘the father’ comment.  That would be just too cruel.

“I’ll sort all this out for you and the surgeon will be with you soon.”

Hot Doc left us, cheerfully saying over his shoulder “And I don’t want to see you back here again!”  SWIIIIIISSHHHHHIIIING the curtain closed, he disappeared off into the depths of his A&E realm.

MGM and I just looked at each other.  I didn’t want to verbalise what I’d heard.  I mean…  did Hot Doc really just say that?  Then through MGM’s semi-conscious haze he suddenly re-appeared and very clearly said, “Did that B*astard just say what I think he said??”

Oh dear.  He had clocked the father comment afterall.  The reality began to sink in.  Yes…we are in our 50’s… we are old enough to be his parents.

Even if we don’t feel our age, we must now look it. 

Fun image saying, You're not early as fat or bald as thought you'd be at this age.
A sense of humour is always essential!

The irony was not lost on us and the whole situation took on the scene of a darkly humorous play.  And so we laughed… shook our heads… and laughed some more.  I mean, what else can you do? At least it distracted MGM from the pain.

And at least I had normal clothes on and fresh mascara… so it really wasn’t the end of the world.  It honestly didn’t matter.  Much.

Picture of MGM's intravenous drip and beeping machine.
Beeping machines and intravenous drips… it’s a whole new world.

The next few hours became a bit of a blur. Intravenous morphine was finally administered and witnessed by 3 nurses.  One of them was a great big, bearded bloke with a sparkle in his eye that belied the authority he held over the others.  The morphine was injected slowly to monitor MGM’s reaction… and it was described as an ‘Irish dose’ by the surgeon who became our saviour.

MGM was pretty much unaware of what was happening after that.  He got transported up to the ward, put into the glamorous backless gown and had plastic bags put over his feet in order to get the surgical stockings on.  Damn they were a tight fit.  More bloods.  More cuffs.  More access points.  More whirring activity around us.  The anaesthetist came up for a chat.  She was charming and reassuring and… looked very young.  Yup, I was probably old enough to be her mother too.  But this was it.  MGM was being taken for emergency surgery.  That little f*cker was coming out.  They said it would be keyhole.  They said it was one of the most common surgeries they perform.  They said not to worry.  More on that next time.

And so the time had come for me to leave him.  Nothing more that I could do.  It absolutely broke my heart to leave him.  All sorts of ‘worst case’ scenarios raced through my mind.  Would I see him again?  What if the surgery went wrong… what if, what if, what if.  I really had to pull myself back from that edge and get a grip.  No good comes from that.  We didn’t say ‘goodbye’ we just focused on the fact that Sir Maxelot had been on his own for far too long already.  No doubt the alarm on his furry little watch would be going mental and his spindly ex-racer legs would be well and truly crossed by now.

I got home in a daze.  And it was no surprise to see Max’s duvet torn up again all over the living room floor.  That dog and MGM have a bond that transcends species.  So I set about making Max feel better, took him out for a quick walk… and finally collapsed on the sofa.

All I could think of was… “Thank God this didn’t happen in Spain.”

Thank you Universe, for delaying the sale of the flat and keeping us here.

You really do know best.


PS.  The next, much, much shorter, instalment will bring MGM’s gallbladder escapades to its conclusion… and see the start of my preparations to fly down to Spain to run my November retreats!

If you’ve read this far, then you deserve this meditation as a gift… it’s me taking you through a visualisation to feel the power of your own aura and white light.
It’s to help you feel awesomely fabulous!!

Click this link to immerse in a healing visualization and meditation that will empower your aura and strengthen your light!
Try it and see!