I Wish People Understood

At four in the morning, pain and tiredness do funny things to my brain. Well, funnier than usual at least. My current train of thought relates with how people treat me, act towards me, of their opinion of me...

Now, these are not the usual things like "do they think I'm fat" or "do they think I'm boring" but more towards my physical and mental issues.

It's no secret that I hate how I am. I hate that pushing myself makes me worse. I hate that people don't get how different things make me feel. I hate that situations cause me stress and anxiety. I hate that people seem to expect me to do things and run about. I hate that people - still to this day - think I'm faking or over-exaggerating how I am.

And at four in the morning, all that seems worse than normal. Here's my train of thought...

People believe and understand that I am ill... But still expect me to do This, That and The Other without question. When I do do these things, they get funny when I talk about how bad, rough, sick, stressed or generally crap I feel.

Alternatively, people don't believe I am ill... And that in and of itself makes me more fed up, that there are people that call themselves friends or loved ones that simply believe me to be acting this way for... I don't know what.. Attention? To claim my meager Support Allowance? To get out of work?

I hate that people don't get me. I hate that people don't understand how things affect me, how different situations cause me physical pain, physical & mental exhaustion, and mental stress & anxiety. How I have to decide if I'm going to spend energy on making myself some tea and toast, or save that energy to cut up some vegetables at dinner time. The lack of will to do anything, as every day makes me struggle to just get out of bed - either physically or mentally.

I would love people to understand how I feel on a regular basis, of the things that upset me, stress me out, the pain and hurt I have to deal with to do day-to-day things that everyone else takes for granted. Some of you might be reading this thinking I'm dropping a Drama Bomb. That I'm "just tired" or that I'm "over-complicating" things. It's just the pain, the tiredness, the depression...

If you're one of these people that think I'm just doing it for attention or a laugh, I would rather you said so, and just stopped being in my life. I know you can't please all the people all the time, but some days, I'm sure I don't please anyone... But I'm fed up with saying the same crap over and over, to people that just don't give a f$ck. It's my energy I'm wasting.

I hate how I am. Some days, I hate WHO I am. I'm sick of feeling horrible all the time. I hate trying to explain how I feel all the time. I hate knowing there are people out there that will nod and offer hollow platitudes, only to turn around and poo poo me.

It is all too much so often - but I grin, bear it, and carry on plodding as best I can. But it is so difficult to keep going. Especially when I feel like this.

I don't want sympathy. I just want people to understand.

When Tiredness Strikes

To say the last few weeks have been absolute f$cking sh!t a bit hectic is putting it mildly...

The details aren't all that gritty - first off, I've been running around like a blue-arsed fly most days just doing "stuff" - housework, kids stuff, cooking, cleaning and so on. On top of all that, I had my second Pain Management appointment where I actually got to see someone trying to help me...

Their plan seems a little arse-about-face if I am honest, but I can see their reasoning. One of my meds, the Pregabalin, is - in my opinion - doing sweet F.A, but in case it IS working, I am not allowed to just stop and change meds.

So to get me in less pain, we're starting by... reducing my meds... Marvellous.

Yes, I get why they can't just stop them (pesky stroke and risk of death and all that) but it isn't any fun for me as I am still in pain 24/7, am still sleeping very very little, and still a moody bastard that everyone hates.

On top of that.

Kellie decided to have one of her Heart-Attacks-That-Isn't-A-Heart-Attack sessions... The day before the Main Event, she was at work and went very wonky. Chest Pains, Left Arm Pain, crushing feeling on the upper body, going a lovely shade of Corpse Grey... Everyone in the office had a flap, plus she got a telling off for not having her GTN spray handy. But, at her insistence, she was fine and that was that, and gradually the pain went away.

Following a bad night, and feeling much much worse the following morning, she did it again. I don't know, maybe as I missed the events at work, she thought she would give me an action reply. Chest pains. Crushing feeling. Left arm pains. Grey ashen colour.

BUT she didn't want a lot of fuss - we've been told many times that it's not a heart attack (despite telling THEM we know it's not a heart attack, on account of her not being dead and all) so instead of dialling 999 and getting an Ambulance out, we opted for the NHS Helpline on 111.

As soon as the woman answered, I explained that we know that despite how it sounds, her symptoms are not her having a heart attack. OK she says. So I go through all of the above, tell her it's happened before, that we know it's not a heart attack, and that we just want a little advice or help or something.

Five minutes later, Mr Solo Paramedic turned up at the door. Oops. You could see neighbours having a nosey through their windows, but I let him in, explaining to him that it's not a heart attack, but here are all the symptoms. He wired her up to the ECG machine and Blood Pressure thingie, clipped on the glowy red finger clip of doom, and sat talking to her.

Funny thing is, she couldn't talk properly as her chest was crushing so she couldn't get her words out and breath very well at the same time. So she sounded like a breathy old lady having a heart attack.

Work with me here love, I'm trying to tell people you're NOT having a heart attack, don't act like you actually ARE.

Her blood pressure was quite high, her ECG was a bit wonky, and her sats were 86-89%.

Mr Paramedic radioed for backup.

Three minutes later, MUCH to my amusement and Kellies annoyance, a biiiig yellow ambulance pulled up behind the flashy-light paramedic car. Out jumped two lady paramedics, AND a trainee fellow, all with lots of kit in tow, and they came into the house under the watchful eye of the neighbours.

The old girl next door popped out, quite worried something bad was happening, so I had to talk to her and calm her down before she needed their help too - she's got a dodgy ticker as well.

With Kellie, three paramedics, me and the two cats wandering around, the downstairs was a weeny bit crowded. Kerry turned up for good measure as well as she was worried too, and Kellie... Well, she wasn't impressed. She felt like shit, and was receiving LOTS of attention.

The four medical people had a conflab, and it was decided that Kellie really really should go to hospital. They had given her GTN and Aspirin (like they do with heart attack and stroke victims) and that eased her symptoms (like it does with heart attack and stroke victims) but told her she really should be checked out.

However, she wasn't allowed to walk out to the ambulance. No, she had to be strapped into one of the special chairs for patients.

And wheeled out on display for all the neighbours to see. Kerry watched too.

Once in the ambulance, we had to sit for a little while so they could be sure she was safe to transport, that her symptoms were a little better, that her ECG wasn't wonky, and her Blood Pressure and Sats were improved.

All were a little better - sats were back into the low 90s, ECG was clear and BP was more normal. And off to A&E they took us. Checking her the whole way, monitoring her so she didn't die and so on.

Once in A&E it was the usual... Sit and wait for a doctor. Go get an Xray. Have a blood test. They also put a cannula in the back of her hand juuuust in case they needed to get quick access for drugs.

Yes, just like people having a heart attack/stroke.

We were in there for hours while she was checked, questioned, prodded, poked and bombarded with Xrays.

The only superpower she developed, however, was "pissed off with being checked, questioned, prodded, poked and bombarded with Xrays" And at no point when she was hooked up to everything and needing a wee, did I turn on the tap and leave the room.

After ALL that, she was given the verdict of "Well, we're happy to say it wasn't a heart attack..."

Er, yes, thank you for that Dr Obvious. "All we can suggest you do is just advise your consultant what's happened, keep your appointments for your Stress Test and Pulmonary Function Test, and go from there"

So once again, no answers, no help, nothing... No, I know, it's not their fault, they can only go by the symptoms - but it would be nice if they could be some help and try working out why this shit has been going on for five years now.

If any of you armchair doctors - no, NOT Dr Google - can explain to me why she gets all the symptoms of a Cardiac Arrest, without the actual Cardiac Arrest, the please let me know so I can go to the doctor, specialist, consultant or whatever and say "What about THIS" instead of feeling like they just throw random diagnosis out and then a few months later, they say "LOL, no, not that"

Anyway... Kellie ended up having the rest of the week off work (They didn't want her there!) and chilling over the weekend.

Which was lucky really as by the time Monday came back around, it was Dom's turn for stuff - even though this was pre-planned shenanigans.

Last year, Dom - being a spaz - hurt his leg playing football. I say hurt, it was a knee dislocation. Lots of pain and crutches and so on. He was checked, told to rest it. A few weeks after that, he did it again because, you know... Spaz.

This went on for a year or so with random dislocations of the left knee, an MRI was done, but nothing mentioned about it, doctors passed it on from GP to fracture to Xray to MRI to Orthopaedics... Eventually - almost a year to the day of its original dislocation - we got to see a knee specialist.

We were in there for a little while, and the only real option was knee surgery to reconstruct the broken ligament... Er.. Broken Ligament?

The MRI from eight months previous showed that Dom had managed to sever - not tear, but completely sever - the ligament that holds the knee cap in place, and also that prevents the joint dislocating at random intervals.

So surgery was booked in - but for AFTER all his exams.

Monday was the pre-op, and with that being all clear, the surgery was done on Tuesday morning. Now, I am not going to go into me vs. hospitals here. Dom, however, held up like a champ, only getting properly nervous when he was being wheeled into the theatre.

Kellie went in with him and was looking after him while he was knocked out, and after that, we had to go somewhere to do something to pass the time - so opted for the restaurant, drank coffee and ate cake, had a wander around, watched the world fall apart via the news on TV...

He was down in theatre for almost two hours - the surgery took just over an hour - and he was wheeled back in from recovery very whoozy and away with the fairies thanks to copious amounts of drugs. Apparently he was in a lot of pain when he came out of the anaesthetic, so they popped him with some morphine for good measure.

The rest of the day he was spent sitting at his bedside, chatting with him when he was awake, chatting to the nurses when he was asleep, reading, playing on the DS or Tablet... Just passing the time - which is a completely different time inside a hospital. Hospital Time is a strange phenomenon, and some of you will understand exactly what I mean!

Because Molly came up from school and sat with us for a while, we decided I'd take her home to get her fed, watered and into bed, while Kellie stayed at the hospital to spend time with Dom.

Within half an hour of me leaving, things took a bastardly but thankfully brief turn for the worst - all the drugs, the anaesthetic, the antibiotics, the three kinds of pain killers - decided to combine into a concoction that made Doms heart rate go through the roof, and to feel as though his lips, mouth and throat were swelling. Luckily, there was no swelling, but physiologically, he was affected, and his ECG, Blood Pressure, Sats and everything else went completely screwy for an hour. Luckily, Doms surgeon was on the ward, arrived and took control very quickly in a manner that kept Kellie somewhat calm...

After all that, Dom went to sleep and was fine for the rest of the night. Kellie got home and was a nervous wreck, and I feel shitty that I wasn't there when things went pear-shaped... BUT he was - and still is - fine. So no harm done.

The following day, Dom was hurting, tired but otherwise OK, and by lunchtime, the wheels were in motion for discharge. He met his physiotherapists, and started doing his various exercises - painful but necessary. His leg has some bolts of some kind in it, holding his new synthetic ligaments in place. The road is going to be a long one, apparently, with lots of physio and rehab for his leg - even now, it's taken him a week post-surgery just to lift his leg.

The wound itself is pretty... Disappointing... He has two, actually, both covered with a dressing the size of a large-ish plaster.

These two pictures show the site of the surgery. The arrow on his shin was done PRE surgery so they remember which leg to poke holes in, and what leg to NOT cut off. The blue lines are anatomical, showing the kneecap, femur, tibia/fibula (spell check update - the bones are Tibia and Fibula. There is no such thing as a Fibia. Apparently, it's an amalgamation of Fibular/Tibia, and MAY refer to the lower-half of the leg, but it not a recognised word. Thank you Spell Check & Google), and where there are and should be ligaments. Probably showing the team what needed to be done...

The next picture is when Diane - the 0dd Mother in Law - came to visit the other night. Dom, who is living on the sofa at the moment, is playing through the new Tomb Raider game. Nanny wanted a go... So Nanny sat trying to control Lara through bad-guy-infested areas involving cliff edges, gravity, rocks and dying. A lot.

I snapped this picture just after she fell to her death again, and Dom is giggling like a school girl... The look on the old girls face is one she shoots me a lot... Sort of.. Dragonish...

So, all in all, the last two weeks have been shitty. I've not really had anyone I can talk to, so been sitting and dwelling and worrying and thinking and OVER thinking and so on... Hence the blog post - I needed to get it all out and deflate. It's helped a bit, but... I don't know.

No, I am not going to go into me or my issues (pain clinic notwithstanding) and am just trying to get on with everything.

Kellie is better - still getting chest twinges - and she's trying to get hold of her consultants secretary to bring her next appointment forward... Dom is slowly on the mend - still on the sofa, still making funny groany noises when he moves, still getting lots and lots of care and sympathy from me... *ahem*...

Other than that, there have been Parent/Teacher meetings for Jaysen & Molly (both very bright, both very smart, both prone to chatter, both could push themselves harder, etc etc). Tam is doing very well too, reading at a higher-than-normal average, but still trying to play the whiny little girl card when she doesn't get her way...

Life is ticking over with what feels like extremely regular speed bumps, but I'm doing my best to push through it and just carry on... I think I need a break from everything to stop it getting on top of me.

Oh, snail...

I feel like I've been doing this post all day - thanks to Dom (aka, Spaz) needing guiding in Tomb Raider... Anyway, this morning while watering the house-plants, it became obvious to Dom and Myself that I am waaaay over-tired, and waaaay in need of getting out more.

The watering can - which was kept in the garden - had a snail on it. A fact I only realised while halfway through the watering. He was sliding around the outside of the can, drawing little trails as he meandered in circles.

And I was talking to him. Chatting away, apparently. Asking him questions... Dom thought I was definitely strange at this point. By the time I was done and put him back in the garden, "the snail" and become Mr Escargot. Yes, I named the snail. And made sure he was released somewhere cool, damp and shaded.

When I came back upstairs, I was talking with Dom... Considering how weird a snail looks - with his eyes on sodding great stalks, those two strange feeler-stalks, bloody great shell on his back, sliming everywhere - what must WE look like to them?

And then I went on to mime a snail, doing a human impression. Dom laughed till he nearly pissed his pants. Me, a human, pretending to be a snail, pretending to be a human.

I'm either very tired, something has snapped in my head, or I need medical attention.

Apparently.

On Being MIA

You may have noticed that things have been rather quiet on the Chez 0ddness front of late. And you may think life is boring and silent. However, if you've read my tired ramblings over the years, you will have come to realise that a quiet Online Dan usually means the opposite in Real World Dan.

And, more is the point, I don't even know where to start, what I can or can't talk about, or if I should warn you, dear reader, that if you don't like me moaning about everything, you may kindly bugger off now.

This last month has had hospital trips, sickness, illness, death, depression, and hard decisions, all rolled up onto five or six weeks of what feels like a constant uphill battle.

To start with, you may recall Kellie having many many medical shenanigans going on in the past. Well, despite the diet change and the medication change, the "it's just familiarial hyper-triglyceridema" is - for whatever reason - getting worse. Worse and worse.

I've said it before but will say it again - average reading is 2. High is 5, and above 5 is very high. Kellies first high reading was 22. She was started on statins which, frankly, messed her up completely. They came down to about 12, but the side effects of the statins were too much to bear, so the doctors changed her to fenofibrates.

Four weeks ago, her reading was 27. Increase in the dosage, stricter diet controls. Last week, her reading was 28.

I'm not going into it on here, but high triglycerides can cause and trigger all sorts of medical nasties, and the best the hospital can do is give her a "priority" appointment, then, which was six weeks away. Between Xmas and New Year.

Clean if the meds to fight this issue aren't doing a bloody thing, then it's not what they are saying it is. It's like me diagnosing your sore foot as a broken hand and putting a bandage on your wrist - it's going to achieve f$ck all.

So I sense the appointment that day is going to be somewhat heated, and making the doctor listen instead of talking over me.

Oh, and out of the blue, they've also decided she is now diabetic.

On my own front, and having one government department tell me they don't consider me to be ill, I've decided to stop seeing my "specialists" at the ME/CFS clinic. Now, before people spout something like "you need to give it a chance" I will point out - I've been seeing them for close to 18 months. If anything, I feel worse and shittier.

For one thing, I completely fail to see how Cognitive Therapy can fix a physical issue. I have a suspicion the NHS think this is all in the mind but won't admit it. In the course of my time there, we discussed self-assertion, dealing with OCD, coping with insomnia, and all sorts of other really reeeeally useful information.

Then there was the physio. In one breath I've got a patronising twat of a bloke telling me to do nothing, then telling me to push myself, then telling me if I over-exert myself, he's going to tell me off.

Er, what?

As I write this, it is just after midday. I've had a couple of averagely-busy days, and I'm struggling to find the energy and drive to get out of bed - not to mention, my legs are in agony, so I'm waiting for my pain killers to do something.

How can I push myself to do a certain amount of exercise when some days I can't bear to wear jeans because they're too heavy?

And the way he spoke to me... I know some members of the medical profession think they're better than everyone, but this bloke... Jesus, what an arrogant, patronising dick.

"If you don't do as I tell you, you might as well not bother coming back to the clinic"

You got it. Twat.

Plus on top of all this I've been feeling mentally shit of late too. So much crap on my mind, gnawing away at me. We go to bed between ten and eleven, and most nights if I'm asleep before two it's impressive. If I sit up till two then go to bed, I'm awake till gone six, so don't bother sleeping. Regards of sleeping till late or dozing off early, I'll wake up every time I need to roll over or get comfy. I'll have horrible shitty nightmares. Cramps will jolt me awake. I'll be too hot or too cold.

And on and on.

None of the meds I'm on seem to be doing anything once again, so it's back to the doctors I go to get a referral back to the Pain Management people, which strikes me as worrisome, as the last two times I was referred there, I had the first "specialist" tell me I was too young to be in so much pain all the time, and he discharged me there and then, and the second "specialist" spent the better part of an hour trying to convince me to go onto medication I knew I was allergic to, and because I disagreed with him, I was discharged as I was ignoring his professional medical advice.

Third time lucky I hope.

So with all that, plus friends going through hell with death and what-not, sick kids, me spending a few days in bed with germs - it went past Man Flu, and became full-on Flumonia - and Kellie being ill and everything else I'm NOT going into, this last month has been a write off.

In fact, I would go so far as to say November 2013 has been a BAD word. The baddest of the bad words. A complete and utter baddest of the bad words of a month.

December had better be decent.

Paranoia

I'm not sure when it started, I'm not sure why I am like it, but like the title of this post says, I suffer from paranoia.

Now, I am not sure if I have mentioned it before now or not, but for my ME/CFS, I have to see a therapist. I am not sure how well it is going, but if I am honest, I don't like it (especially as I hate talking to people I don't know) and I am not convinced it is actually doing anything for me.

If anything, I usually feel worse after my appointments. And on top of feeling crap, I usually come away with what I call "Homework" in the form of lists, exercises, and tasks. All this despite the fact I struggle to read new information, I struggle really hard to take in new information, and I end up confused, angry or just at a loss as to what to do.

But I digress.

I have lots of 0ddities, lots of strange nuances, and several OCD aspects. None of them particularly bother me. Others find them amusing. I don't mind that others find it amusing that things have to be just "so"

So, me... Paranoid. I'm not going into anything else about me - that's a story for another time.

The stuff that goes through my head is usually strange and pointless, and there's no reason for it, but the things that end up playing on my mind have - this week - driven me to distraction.

Now, I should add at this point, I am writing this late Friday afternoon, but it won't publish till Sunday afternoon. My reasoning is simple: tomorrow (and I've not advertised it) Kellie and I are getting away for a short break. My brain however, has come out with so much crap regarding this weekend I needed to blog it out to try and clear my head.

Reality: The 0dd Mother in Law has paid for us to go away for the weekend. It's a much needed break that I have been looking forward to for ages. I have not escaped "life" in a very long time, and while it's only two days away, it's time away from everything. We get to stay in a little Bed & Breakfast, wander around somewhere different, have an evening out, sleep away from home, have breakfast, a day wandering around and exploring, then come home.

My Brain: This weekend is either: Kellie is going to tell me it's over, it's done, it's finished, or; Kellie is getting me away from the house and everything, as people are going to be moving all her stuff out, and we're going to come home, then she's going to tell me it's all over.

Now, logically, I am fairly sure my brain is just being a twat. Logically, the things we've been doing the last couple of weeks suggest that, in fact, NO, she's not about to say "See Ya!" and pack everything up and shift off.

Unreasonably, stupid little things that have gone on - things I KNOW are actually nothing - have lodged into my brain, and that stupid voice in my head has taken them and run amok with them. On top of THAT (as if it wasn't enough) the slightest stupid thing throws me off balance. Someone doesn't reply to a text: They hate me. Someone asks a question about how I am: They are questioning how I actually am. Someone talks about money or jobs or similar: They are digging at me not being able to work... And so on and on.

That's what my brain does - it takes the smallest of things, rearrange the facts so they are still correct but alternative versions of correct... Which I hate. And I try to ignore it, but I can't understand how to do it.

So why am I writing this now but not posting it till Sunday? Mainly because I am not totally convinced my logical brain is correct. Because the voice in my brain is actually telling me I'm wrong, that it's all going to go pear shaped. So by posting it Sunday, I will be able to read it and remember that I was being a twat and everything is fine. I just needed to get it out somewhere and somehow, and I didn't particularly want to have to whine to the same person over and over and over again about how I am feeling or what my brain is doing... The poor woman gets it plenty, so I figured I'd give her a break. Yes yes, she's probably going to message me and tell me off, but I can handle it - she's far enough away that she can't hit me ;)


Yes, I know, I am a bit of a mess mentally at the moment. I am working on it, I promise, I am doing my best to mute voices, not feel the need to re-arrange peoples cupboards, not wander around the house in the dead of night because I can't sleep, and not expect something to burst into flames at any minute.

And before you say it: Yes, I've tried talking about it (Hellooo, CBT!) but that doesn't make me feel any better - if anything, the more I talk about "How I Feel" the more I sound like I am whining and being all "me me me!" which I hate with a passion.

At least now you know why I am quiet so much of late.

And now, it's Sunday afternoon (as you read this, that is) and I am either once again proved to be a knobhead, or I am single.

On Being A Benefit Scrounger

With our government being, shall we say, completely out of touch, more and more of late people like myself have been slapped with a great big tag of being "Benefit Scroungers" or similar.

In May of 2000 - after a few months of getting steadily worse. I was signed off of work. After a few months - once my Sick Pay was used up - I was officially moved onto Incapacity Benefit. A benefit that is deemed as a payment for someone that is sick, but with expectations of getting better.

Twelve years later, I am still getting Incapacity Benefit. I have diagnosis of Degenerative Spine, ME/CFS, Depression, and Anxiety - and the first two, the actual reasons I am properly poorly, are not filed under any section of "You're going to be fine, here's a cure"

Even with my own GP and now my CBT Specialist stating that yes I am ill and won't be "fixed" I am tarred with the stigma of being on benefits because it's easy, pays more than working, and I can live an easy life claiming money from "The Taxpayer"  No, to look at me - aside from a shitty day when I am hobbling around - I do not look sick. If I've had a few days of chilling out, I can chat and have a laugh and seem like a normal person, but after a couple of hours of leading a normal life, I am then wiped out for two or three days.

According to pockets of the population, I shouldn't be on benefits, I should go out and get a job.  "Get over it" and similar.

At no point have I sat here chuckling, watching people going out to work while thinking "Suckers! I get more than you!" You may notice that Kellie works... Why? Because being such a brilliant benefit scrounger, the money I get each week covers precisely shit. Even with her wage, we struggle to make ends meet some months.

But yes, being on benefits is SO much easier. I'm not going to go into how I feel on a daily basis - you can read it in posts like this one and get an understanding of my daily life. I would love to work. I would love to be able to get up in the morning (for starters) and get ready, sort kids out, get to work, spend the day working, get home, sort dinner and the house, and so on. HOWEVER. You find me an employer that is going to be willing to get a call from me saying I can't get my socks on in the morning because my body won't move properly. Or an employer that will accept after three or four hours, I will need to go home and collapse in bed with a handful of meds - not to mention, require the following three or four days off because I can't move or function.

And while we're on the subject of meds, find me a boss that will be willing for me to be IN work, take a handful of meds at half ten in the morning, and spend the next four or five hours spaced out, unable to focus and struggling to stay awake. And I don't mean "I get tired" but I nod off regardless of what I am doing - even if I am stood up.

And let's not forget the time off every few weeks to go to my therapy appointment, or to see my GP about tweaking my meds...

I am so sick and tired of being labelled a benefit scrounger, but I retort with: FIND me this employer. FIND me a job in IT or Customer Service that is prepared for me to be one day then off sick for two or three days.

This government has managed to convince so many people in the country that someone on Benefits is probably not entitled to receive them, everyone is now sure people like me are lazy, scrounging, skiving, cheats, lying about a disease or illness or whatever in order to get money for doing nothing.

And who do the government employ in order to examine people like me? Do they send in health care professionals, trained in the ailment that is troubling someone? Do they consult with the doctor that has been trying to sort it for a dozen years? Do they contact the specialist in the area  to find out how I am affected?

Do they f$ck! They send in people that have a list of questions to ask, a series of "Bend this body part" or "Move this body part" with no understanding of mental health, physical problems or anything else - and they base their WHOLE decision on this one forty-five minute meeting... In 45 minutes, they can tell that I am actually healthy and there's nothing wrong with me. Sod the reams and reams of paperwork at the doctors office they could look at. Sod page after page of therapist meetings. Sod the actual letter from the ACTUAL specialist that states what's wrong and how I am affected daily... No no, 45 minutes is all it takes to reinforce the Benefit Scrounger  label.

I wish I was healthy. I wish someone would give me a job. I wish people would stop looking at me, telling me I don't look sick, I need to get over it, that they pay for me to be lazy and so on.

I am so sick of it. Sick to the teeth of it. Of the labels, the looks, the idiot determining that I am actually healthy, of surviving on f$ck-all money, and mostly, I am sick of feeling like this ALL the time.

As an example - today, I had to have my boiler serviced, so I've been in knots screwing over someone I don't know coming into my house and pulling something apart. I've written a Musical Monday post. I've written this post. I've listened to music.

And yet, I have done too much, I am in agony, stressed out and totally miserable with it all. Find me an employer that will deal with someone in a state like I am, sobbing in pain and stress - but I can't take any meds for another two hours.

But yeah, I'm fine, nothing wrong with me. I'm just a Benefit Scrounger.

To Coin A Phrase (Sorta)

(Part The First) If the young hip, cool and trendy sorts - with their portable telephone language - are to be believed, the letters "WTF"mean What The F... Well, you know the rest.

However, a better use for it would be WHERE The F.. er... heck... As in, where the f... have I been...?

The easy answer is probably "You know... Stuff." but that would be a pretty shoddy blog post on my part. Yes, granted, aside from one yesterday, I last posted in the Bronze Age or something.

However, the "You know... Stuff" answer isn't going to cut it with some of you, so I suppose I should flesh "stuff" out for you a bit more.

In an arse-about-face way of story telling, I will cover the important stuff first - which, as it happens, is the more recent stuff - and then get to the less important stuff, such as me droning on about me.

So, the important stuff: Kellie is a poorly girlie.

As you may recall back in the Bronze Age (or whenever it was) Kellie developed two interesting "issues" The first was a very random and apparently very Cardiac-related issue. Her heart would suddenly speed up (tachycardia) or beat in a wobbly out-of-time way (arrhythmia) and, either way, it made her feel like shit. Her previous GP was very much "Meh" and after much threatening persuading, referred her to her then-local hospital cardiac unit.

If you were reading back then, you will remember Kellie became part-cyberman at that point, and had wires and electrical things stuck to her body to record her heart for a few days. Then-local-hospital looked at it, noted that it hadn't recorded everything, and effectively sorted her out with "LOL discharged anyway! Get over it KTHXBB"

So she did her best to get over it, but it sort of became a part of who she was. Er, is... Either way.

The next issue that suddenly became interesting was her Triglycerides. If you recall, a normal person (ie, me) has a triglyceride level of 3.0-4.0, and a HIGH reading is considered to be around 5.5. Kellie, on the other hand, cracked off an impressive 20.8. It was so bad, the GP phoned and told her to get her schexy behind into his office, where he threw medication at her, put her on regular blood tests, and started monitoring her carefully.

The medication was Statins, and it wasn't long after her starting them that her personality changed and shifted and she effectively became a different person. We spoke about it at length many times, and even though her Triglyceride levels were coming down, eventually after much Umming and Arring, she decided to go down an alternative path and try different (NON Statin!) medication.

[I should add, side-note: Seeing what they were doing to Kellie, I researched Statins and with a little help, have found out that they're a pretty shitty drug. MANY people have reported personality shifts and mental changes, and none for the better. Kellie personally lost interest in everything, including family life, arts & crafts and life in general. Within a week of stopping them, she was already on the road back to being Kellie again.

Back to the story...]

However... Even though her numbers never came down to normal, they HAD come down from the 20.8 to about 6 or 7. After changing her meds and having a blood test, the doctor phoned again, and back she had to trot... They had shot back up to 16. Oops. So, she's on different medication for all that now, and hopefully it's doing the job...

And that's not even the worst of everything - there was a reason I mentioned the cardiac stuff... See, last week, Kellie felt a bit rough on Tuesday, and over night Tuesday into Wednesday, she was very poorly. Her heart was running at a million miles an hour (true story), and sometimes it was speeding up, sometimes it was nice and slow, sometimes it was thumping like it was trying to escape. On top of this, she felt - and these are her words, not mine - like her chest was being crushed like someone was sitting on it, plus she had pains in her chest, up the side of her neck, and down her left arm.... I know, right!

At one point, I considered calling an ambulance - THAT'S how iffy it was.

Wednesday morning, she gets up and starts getting ready for work, but ho-ho-no-you-don't luvvie. I call her boss and explain to her what's gone on, and lucky for me, Sue (while a bit unhinged and obsessed with snogging me) is brilliant and very understanding. So, kids are shipped off to school, I call a cab and take her up to A&E (ER for you non-normal sorts) for someone to give her a good kicking.

Triage whips her straight in, take blood, have a poke and a listen (or copping a feel) and took an ECG as well for good measure - plus for comedy gold, he stuck a cannula in her arm too... I knew exactly what he was looking for, and when he said "Cardiac Enzymes" I knew he was looking to see if she had had a heart attack.

So, deciding the last thing someone with a wonky heart needs is to be stressed out is, you know, more stress, I keep that little tid-bit of info from her. Thankfully on Monday, she was given a prescription of GTN which I suspect the doc gave as a "Just In Case" measure - so I had her use that too over night which seemed to ease things a little bit.

From Triage, we were seen fairly quickly by a Doctor who checked her over, went over her history and asked everything he could think of asking. He gave her a very good examination (copped a feel) and decided to get an Xray too.

It was at this point we discovered a new, interesting hospital policy. Women requiring a chest Xray have to be stripped and in a hospital gown. Now, at this point, Kellie is tired and exhausted, pissed off, has been poked, prodded and had her feels copped several times. To have a stroppy, moody, jumped up Xray tech get shirty with her was the final straw. She refused to change in a normal place (Ie, somewhere for lay-dees) and stomped into the nearest mens toilet. When she came out she looked...

Well...

Now, were I capable of running, I would show the world the photo I managed to take of her before she inserted the camera where the sun doesn't shine, but for now, I shall hold on to that image for blackmail purposes.

With her Xray done, and her changed back into normal clothes (changing, this time, in a Disabled Toilet!) the doctor went through her blood results, her Xrays, her ECG and everything else and was very happy to tell us it wasn't a heart attack, but said it really sounded like a nasty arrhythmia. Lucky for us, the GP has already referred her up to Cardiology...

With everything being happy and hunky dory, we were able to go home, where, upon sitting on the sofa, she promptly flaked out, snoring and drooling in her own special way.

Sue called that evening to see how she was, and SE decided Kellie wouldn't be in work, and again, Friday morning when Kellie decided she WOULD be in work, Sue told her in NO uncertain terms that she would NOT be in the office, and she would get in trouble if she did show up.

So she got out of her work clothes, and back into her PJs.

She's still poorly - we couldn't go camping this weekend because of it which pissed us off - but walking up stairs is knackering her out, christ knows what roughing it would do to her. Plus, with it being my birthday, she's been co-ordinating the troops, friends and family around me, and as of 11pm last night, she reached the bottom of her little energy barrel, and has stayed put since. Today, she has mostly been slumming it in joggers and vest top.

Cardiology appointment: 9th November.

And so ends Chapter One of Where The F... Have I Been.

I'm Not Dead (Yet)

Contrary to popular belief from my radio silence, I can confirm that I still alive. I might have dropped off the face of the earth, I may have gone a wee bit quiet, but I am still around, head down, plodding through... Well, my brain I suppose.

First off, to everyone that has messaged, text, twittered or contacted Kellie to see what's what, thank you. Honestly, it means a lot that so many of you noticed I was quiet, and took time out to see if I was alright. One of you that has been checking up on me has enough shit on his/her plate, but has still taken time out to make sure I was still fighting the good fight, so a special thank you there for that person - who I won't name, as he/she will only tell me I'd do the same, it was nothing, etc etc.

To be honest, I am not alright. Despite the rather dramatic title, it's nothing terrible - for some people, it probably doesn't even register as bad, but I have felt shit these last few weeks.

Shit physically, and Shit mentally.

Physically, I am in a lot of pain. I'm not sure what has changed, I am not sure what I have done, but my body feels heavy, tired, slow, and it hurts. Some days, it's a constant draining ache, other days, it feels like I have been hit by a truck.  Twice.

My hands and feet have been swelling, a knee hurts, bones ache deep inside my body, my head bangs and clatters around in my skull, my head feels heavy... And that's just today.

Additionally, my sleeping patterns are all screwed again, so tomorrow I am going back to Midnight/One-AM bedtimes, up at six.

Mentally, I have no drive. None. My head dredges up shitty stuff which I dwell on, I think about stuff and get caught up with things that have no baring on, well, anything. I have arguments in my mind with people over pointless things.

I am still functioning - I am still poodling around the house after people, I am still cooking some relatively nice dinners, I am washing and dressing and everything else, I am sorting the kids out and all the rest of it. Because I know exactly how some of you will read that. Granted, I have to push myself to do all this stuff, and no, before anyone starts ringing alarm bells, I am NOT about to throw myself off the top of The Shard...

Facebook has been left by the wayside (not that I was that active on there), and Twitter I have been struggling to keep up with, and obviously, 0ddness has been a bit quiet. But I am going to make more effort, more attempts at being involved with my friends.

I feel like crap, have random crap on my mind, and just want to feel good. Better. Healthy.

I am waiting for an appointment with my new specialist which I am hoping I will get this week. I will be chasing them for a date that I can start some sort of treatment. And I will be keeping people in the loop, involved, informed.

Again, thank you for everything, for all the messages and making sure I am alive. I've not replied to many of them but will do my best.

So no, I am not dead, nor will I be any time soon. Life has just sort of... Gotten away from me a bit.

The Long Way Around

As of the end of May, I will have been "sick" for 12 years. In May of 2000, I originally went off work with a "bad back" and since then, I have been fighting an ever-constant battle against pain, fatigue, tiredness - and more than ANYTHING - trying to get people to either understand or even at least believe me that there is something wrong.

Originally, I was diagnosed with a kidney infection. I was exhausted from work, my lower back was hurting, and I was showing the symptoms of being sick. It was put down to many manic weeks working long shifts, that I had worn myself down, and now was ill. After two weeks, I was still ill and still in pain, and that's when things sort of slipped into a black hole.

On top of all my own medical shenanigans, I was also dealing with everything that was Bethany. I was bumped from pillar to post, had painkillers prescribed - one of which nearly killed me - I had physiotherapy which, by the physio's own admission, was actually making me worse... I had a walking stick which I hated and often "forgot". Eventually, I had an MRI and was told I had what appeared to be Sherman's Disease/Scheuermann's disease, or Kyphosis.

Wonky, degrading spine, is the laymans term.

I was referred to a specialist who took one look at me and told me that he could take out or fuse the damaged sections, but it'd be a 50/50 chance of damaging the nerves and effectively switching off my lower body. No walking, no bladder or bowel control - so I said no thanks. He then passed me on to the Pain Management Clinic who told me I needed to "get over it" and "get on with my life"

Brilliant.

After losing Bethy, things went down hill even more, and over the years, I have noticed things getting worse, but I press on still. A while back, I changed my GP to someone a little more local, and he has been brilliant. Not satisfied with any of my original tests or diagnosis', he has had me Xrayed and tested from head to toe, and now, almost twelve years to the day of originally going off sick, I have an appointment to see a specialist of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, or ME (myalgic encephalomyelitis)

I got the letter, and upon seeing that I was finally getting someone, I just wanted to burst into tears. Finally, someone would look at me and understand where my head is, how my body ceases to work at random, how my brain just shuts down mid-sentence, how I can't start new books as I can't follow the storyline...

The department has a pain management specialist, a therapist, physiotherapists...

I am nervous, but happy.

It's been a long road, but finally I think I can see a light at the end of the tunnel to getting the help I need. Most of you won't know what it's like to have someone look at you or make comments about your health. Being told to get over it, being looked at like I'm a dreg of society, being spoken to like I am attention seeking... I hate it. I want people to understand how I feel after doing normal, regular things.

I've had a busy few days, and as of bedtime last night, I was worn out. I had horrible dreams all night last night, Kellie left me because of how crap I am at everything, she couldn't deal with my pain, couldn't cope with me not doing anything due to my energy levels... But the kids hated me for the same reason, and all four left with her too. I was stuck in the house, alone, no one to talk to, nothing to do, no one to sit with...

I hate being like this. I wish I could be fixed.

Missing: Presumed Grumpy

I have, once again, been conspicuously quiet across the different social networks. For the most part, I have been quite busy, with the Easter Holidays now behind us (and the year whizzing by) it was hard to sit and bumble out blog posts with kids charging around.

Secondly, I am moody. I don't know why exactly but there is stuff on my mind that is pissing me off, I feel like shite and that is pissing me off, I have germs trying to come out and THAT is pissing me off... And when reading Twitter, or watching Facebook, more stuff pisses me off, to the point that I either close the window, or I rant and rave AT people.

So I close the window.

Even when I do chat in either place, I see something that I think "Ignore it, you're fine" but ten minutes later, I have to kill the window.

I'm not sure what's wrong with me, my usual sitting and stewing on things, worrying about other things, pissed off over other other things and so on - plus I seem to have a week or so that everything gets on top of me that I refer to as my PMS week. I really DO seem to have a time of the month...

Yes yes, I'm a woman...

Why don't I blog about my woes? Well, for starters I know that as soon as I do, people will start messaging me "Do you mean ME?" and asking if it's them I am referring to. Then other people will read what I have blogged, and either use it against me, or take it the wrong way and, well, use it against me. I just cannot be dealing with that amount of stress and drama I KNOW it will create. I'm not even going to say "If you think it may be you, it probably is" because that will just make people go at it more.

And this is why the blog has had less "Blah Blah Blah" on it, and more "Music and Random Images" than usual.

I had hoped the previous post would placate my rantiness for a bit, but it didn't. I'm tired, cranky, mood-swinging, in sodding pain and feeling generally icky - and there's nothing much I can do about it.

I'll survive, I'm sure. Hopefully everyone else will as well... I'm going to give it a few more days to slip out of my system, and failing that, I'm going to have to set up an anonymous blog just to scream and shout and rant and rave on.

Failing that... I may need to be taken out the back... Old Yeller style.

Random 0dds & Ends

It occurs to me while chattering away on Twitter, that I have a few loose ends that I have never tied up, finalised, continued with or anything else...

I'm not sure why - I think I get posts done, keep things up to date, then end up needing a break from the world of Online and hide out in a book or something, then sort of... forget... where I left off the tale.

Not that they are particularly thrilling tales, and there is even a good chance that I HAVE in fact finished with the punch line, ended the tale of Mirth and/or Woe, but forgotten I have done so... Which means that you could be reading the same information twice.

Shocking, I know. That's what happens to the sleep deprived.

Which leads me nicely to Point #1:


The Not-So-New Sleeping Patterns
As you may recall, I am a proper insomniac. Not someone that has a rough night and cries to the world how they had SUCH bad insomnia the night before.

I am talking days, weeks, months, years of getting by on snatches (heh) of sleep here and there, so at the start of January, I started Sleep Restriction Therapy. Basically, I FORCED my body to stay away until ungodly hours, then got up before the crack of dawn even started to crack. After a week of sleeping for the allotted time, I was allowed to add an hour. Then after a week, add an hour, and so on.

When I started on Midnight-0600, my body decided to start going a bit wobbly. For the most part, it didn't mind too much having six hours of sleep, but every few nights, I would wake up in the early hours, and stay awake. So far, I have YET to manage seven straight days of 0000-0600 and staying asleep.

Don't get me wrong, I am MOSTLY sleeping straight through every single night which is amazing for me, but I think my body Circadian Rhythm is pretty much happy on six hours a night for most nights.

In order to test this theory out, the last fortnight I have been surprising my body with extra sleep. OK granted, I've been poorly and exhausted on and off, but none the less... A nap during the day, going to bed at, say, half ten in the evening, sleeping till 7am...

For the most part with the ODD exception, my body goes to sleep and stays asleep. Compared to someone that would go to bed EVERY night, doze off, wake up for a few hours, doze off for twenty minutes, then be awake for the rest of the day...

Sleep Restriction DEFINITELY works. I am still staying up till midnight on MOST nights, and still get up at 6am pretty much every morning, but I know if I want an extra hour or two here and there, I can - AND I sleep!


The Finaceé And Her Medical Woes
Kellie is a poorly girl, but is an improving poorly girl. Waaay back when, you may remember she was having weird stuff go on with her heart, then her Triglycerides level went past high, past stupidly high, hit the stratosphere of WTF High, and kept going. Case in point: a "Normal" person with a "High" triglyceride reading would be looking at 5 or even 6. Kellie was rocking a reading of 20.8.

The doctor even asked how she hadn't keeled over dead from a Heart Attack or Stroke.  Oops.

So they started her on meds, and every now and then, throw a battery of tests at her. She's had cardiac tests and Xrays and has a blood test every 4-6 weeks. The doctor started her on Statins which, as we are now learning, is a shitting horrible drug.

On the flip side, her levels have come waaay down, and now she's only... 8-9. Still in the realms of Stupidly High, but the doc has started her on a new stronger statin. The downside of this, is they are making her poorly - physically and mentally.

On top of this fun ride, Kellie also has problems with her Hands, Hips and Knees - pain that looks, sounds and reads like Arthritis, but no doctor has yet to say "It is Arthritis" and have only done a blood test to check for it.

She went to see the doctor last week, and he has given her another tablet to take which I THINK Is called Naproxin, maybe. It's sort of like a Super Ibuprofen. Downside? It will dissolve her stomach or something. So she has an additional tablet that will stop her insides melting. That one begins with an L. Oh here it is... Lansoprazole.

After one day, her hands hurt MUCH less. After a few days, only being busy made her hips and knees ache - ache, not hurt. So they are definitely a win.

However... This means that Kellie now takes enough tablets to choke a junkie. And more than me, which makes me chuckle no end.

She is, however, still having her funny heart turns, but we are pretty much convinced that is related to the high triglycerides in her body. One thing at a time. We're not happy with the statins (I say "we" but I mean "I") as they cause all sorts of nasty problems, but we're seeing how things go with her levels before we march back to the poor doctor and ask for new meds.


The Blinding of Yours Truly
Back last summer, my dear son tried to blind me, and if you read 0ddness back then, you may recall I was not a happy camper.. I spent ages trying to get a doctor to listen to me that there was something in my eye, then had to deal with needles, scraping the surface of the eye, drops, cream, fine pliers, rolled-back eyelids and eye-patches. 

Not to mention the hilarity of everyone on the planet that I have ever taken the piss out of.

Since then, and waiting the "allotted" time of 5-6 weeks, I started using my contact lenses again, but for some reason, the "poorly" eye wouldn't settle with the lenses. I kept trying and trying, to no avail. Eventually, I gave up and waited till I could see the optician for his take on it.

So, with my appointment booked, I strode in and told him what the buggery my son had done to me, so after a normal eye test, he focuses on the bad eye.

Now, considering the eye was injured at the end of August, and "sorted" a week later in September, and then given 5-6 weeks of "getting better" time with drops and cream, I was a little surprised and equally miffed to be told that it was still healing - healing slowly, no less - and that it could still be a couple of months.

However, this is a tale of MY life, which means there's always a punchline.

If it is not healed within the next two-three months, I will have to go and have bloody surgery on it... They will remove the damaged area, and allow THAT to heal back over. EYE SURGERY. Because of my own flesh and blood.

Should it come to surgery, that is exactly all they will find of him too - a little flesh and blood.


On Achieving Gainful Employment
As seems to be the punch line for me, things never ever seem to go according to plan. Back in August/September, I enrolled in a training program in order to get a Work From Home type job. I would have meant a company route calls to my phone, I do the Customer Service for them, and put in X many hours per week on a flexible basis.

I had to pay out of my own pocket with ZERO help from the government, for exams, courses, background checks, a new birth certificate (as clever-bollocks that I am, I lost mine) and everything else. I was quite happy I could not only do it, but do it well.

I was delayed a few weeks thanks to the Blinding Incident, which meant I missed getting onto the course I needed, which meant I had to wait for another with evening slots to appear. Despite assurances from various "high ups" involved, no such course appeared. Christmas sailed by, New Year came and went, but no evening course.

Since mid-February, I've not even had my emails returned asking what is going on, when will a space open up. Which means that plan - to get BACK to working, to earn actual MONEY - is very rapidly dying and soon to be buried. Unless someone there actually replies to me.

I am not, however, holding my breath. I am also trying my hardest to not get angry over it. We couldn't really afford the outgoings to get the introductory courses, exams (which I passed with 95%) and all the other crap, but instead considered that we would get it back once I was working... So, because of that, we are out of pocket by a fair amount.

Water under the bridge, maybe, but it still pisses me right off.


The Roast Breakfast
Do NOT be fooled into thinking I have forgotten about this.

Despite being called Mad, Mental, Crazy and similar, I will be cooking AND eating a full roast dinner for breakfast, probably during the Easter Break now. The weekend I was going to perform this miracle was the weekend everyone decided to be ill.

Including me.

So I sort of skipped it and didn't bother with it in the end. It was all Kellie could do to eat a single slice of toast, and the thought of food entering my body made me want to heave, so I figured it would only go to waste ;)

Watch this space.


On De-Fattising Myself
Yes, I was on a diet. Yes, I was doing very very well on said-diet and, Yes, I lost an awful lot of weight on said-diet.

But.

Again we meet our old friend The Blinding Incident. After being spiked in the fricking EYE, I couldn't go out as, to be honest, for the most part I could see precisely sod-all. Plus with a sore, angry eye, I didn't want to go out and "be seen" with a gross, watering eye that I could hardly see out of.

Secondly, around this time, there was a lot of gross brown stuff hitting the fan - I never really went into it, because the parties involved are petty and childish and would have used my personal site as ammo and stuff - which while I don't care what people throw at me, it would have been others upset.

Couple with trying to work through a course to get a job (*mutter grumble*) my free time dropped away like that door on a gibbet. I ran myself down, and found myself exhausted cooking the healthy dinners, and shopping all the time for healthy stuff.

Then, my Birthday Weekend rode around, and all attempts at being a good dieter went straight out the window. And I never went back outside to pick them up. After the birthday, we were still trying to get into the Back to School routine, then Xmas was coming, and one thing after another rolled up to greet us.

Looking back, 2011 was pretty damn shit. The last thing on my mind was dieting.

So yes, the diet is "on hold" at present, which means, I am not dieting, which means the weight is creeping back on. But, once I have been to see the specialist, once I can get things better arranged for me medically, then I will be restarting. And losing the weight.

And becoming a slimmer sexy beast ;)


So there you have it... Several loose ends, tied up neat and tidy-like. I am sure there are more, and I am sure people will remind me when they think about them. But until then, I disappear! 

Life Is Manic

If you pay attention to some people on the Internet, you will see their online presence ebbs and flows like a tide. The more astute of you will know why, whereas some people - ie, me - don't tend to tell the world they are ebbing nor why.

Let me start over. As a few of you have noticed, the online presence of yours truly has been somewhat lacking over the last few weeks. And the main reason for this is... er... Well, just life I suppose.

Life in this house, that is.

Nothing is ever easy, nothing is ever straight forward, but things seem to be on an upward swing. And, if you pardon moi francais, it's about fucking time.

You will see from recent posts, with the exception of "Interesting News" (Drunk Driver), or celebratory news (Mothers Day and Tamsyns' Birthday) the general posts have been me feeling ill, or in pain, or some variation of a combination.

Well, I'm pissed to say, things didn't actually get much better. So last week, drunk driver disturbs my pain/headache induced sleep. I spend the next few days alternating between poorly and properly poorly. The kids came home Wednesday, and at that point, I was fighting off yet ANOTHER migraine.

Yes, I get them a lot. No, I don't know why. Nor does the doc. Stress? Maybe. Tiredness? Possibly. Just random occurrences thanks to my physiology being crap? Most likely.

So, Wednesday, Tamsyns birthday, she wants Chinese, so we get Chinese. Om nom nommy. Being that my head is splitting, not long after putting the squids to bed, I too go to bed.

And have a full-on crap night.

Now this might sound really silly, but on Monday or Tuesday, I bit my tongue. Hard. Proper grinding teeth through the side of the tongue. Ow. Over the next few days, it got VERY sore, I was using salt, cool stuff, warm stuff - I could hardly eat and even had to take out my tongue bar.

So back to Wednesday night - I had a really bad night, tossing and turning, my tongue was agony. I hardly slept. Just like old times in fact.

Thursday I felt proper rubbish. For one, I was sleep deprived, Two, my head was still trying to tear itself inside out. Three, my tongue was hurting, and finally, Four, I was in lots of pain. But, being me, I soldier on.

Thursday night, I stay up till midnight, get up at six Friday morning, and rolling out of bed, I feel horrible. Burning temperature, head screaming, tongue on fire. Kellie goes to work and isn't coming back till Saturday morning, so me and four kids. I manage the first school run, bumble into town and buy a few odds and ends, get home, put stuff away and flop out on the sofa. I sleep from about 11am till 2pm, and do the second school run. Of course, the sun is brilliant, the sky is perfectly clear - it's a lovely spring day.

At least, it would be if I wasn't trying to hold myself together from staggering, crying, puking or just sitting in the corner...

Tam and I get home, the boys follow soon after, and Mo turns up not long after that. I, however, can hardly move. I manage to give Jaysen my wallet and tell him to get fish and chips for the kids, and I proceed to pass out on the sofa.

And I do mean "Pass Out" I have no recollection of laying down, of Jaysen getting back in, of the kids having dinner... The next thing I know, my "Take your meds!" alarm is going off and I wake up to a cold dark house at 7pm.

Thankfully, the kids are all upstairs in their rooms - the girls watching DVDs and playing, the boys doing whatever boys do when zombied out on the pretty box with lights. I get the girls to bed with a film each, instruct the boys to sort themselves out, but don't be up till late. It's just after seven, I'm going to bed.

Kellie has had a long day at work. Because of the nature of her company (Asbestos) they have to be accredited by a professional body, and they have been in for two weeks. Friday, they were done, so the office went out to party hearty, so Kellie went back to Canvey with Kerry and they went out from there, and finished up there later that night. I had been texting her on and off all evening, but despite her saying "I'll come home if you need me!" I had no intention of dragging her away.

19:15 that evening, from the edge of our bed, I text her to tell her how rough I am feeling, that I feel like I am going to be sick at any minute, and am going to bed. I let her know the kids are all OK and sorted out. 19:20 I managed to take my painkillers and anti-migraine-meds (which have done jack-shit so far, but you know...) and fall backwards onto the bed, trying to work out how to take my socks of. 19:25 that evening, my head is in a bowl and I am being sick.

I should point out, I do NOT like being sick. Not just "I dislike it" but I really hate it. My body goes for the full gusto of tears and snot and nasal blockages... But the sound I make... It's like a bear being stabbed in the butt-hole with a burning poker, while simultaneously being punched in the throat. To date, Kellie has not had the pleasure, but the kids have... Jaysen has dealt with it on many occasions, and has helped me off the toilet floor in the past.

So, at the sound of the bear being physically abused, Molly comes running - her room is beside ours - and she wants to know what she can do. I can barely think straight, have a cup-a-soup making a repeat showing (with croutons!) and my body is retching like it's the new black.

Molly calls the boys, who come running; Dom armed with a glass of water, Jaysen armed with a loo roll.

Now, I KNOW I only had one cup-a-soup. One. So how did I fill nearly a whole bowl?! Baffling.

But I swill the water, blow my nose, dry my eyes, and the boys help me to the bathroom. I deposit my bodily fluids down the toilet, Jaysen washes my bowl out, and I brush my teeth and clear the "Nasal Blockage"

It smelt like crouton, but didn't look like it.

I am then helped back to bed, mutter about settling Molly, thank the three of them and... Well, I'm not sure what else. I woke up at 03:20, on the wrong side of the bed, with one arm inside my tee shirt. I seem to recall trying to take it off when I got back into bed, and seem to remember laying down in a huff, but that is how I stayed for seven hours. I hadn't moved, rolled over, adjusted the covers, nothing. Proper passing out once again.

I note that while my head is still sore, it's not about to explode. As strange as this might sound, being sick is usually the best remedy for a migraine. I also noted the main "symptom" of my migraines - that is, the constant smell of shit - had gone. I noticed a message from Kellie on the phone telling me if I am poorly she will come home, but I am glad I didn't call her and mess up her evening. She wouldn't have been able to do anything, I wasn't dead nor dying, she would have just had to run away from me puking, and then patted my unconscious body.

Fun!

So, Saturday morning dawns bright, sunny and... Hmmm... Tummy ache. The headache is "just" a headache now, but my tummy feels funny. I can only assume it's from the retching and doubling over being sick.

Thirty seconds later, I decide I need to go to the loo.

Exit stage downwards.

An hour later, Kellie texts - she too has an upset stomach. Great. Not long after that, she gets home, and we both feel rough, but luckily for us, the kids see we're both poorly and hide out. The girls play out, the boys do their zombies-in-the-bedroom thing.

Kellie and I alternate between the toilet all day, not eating, just drinking lots of water. At about three, we risked a bag of crisps, and wonder of wonders, they made us feel better... So we opt for a high-carb dinner of Fish & Chips.

An hour later, I feel right as rain. Still have a muzzy head, but meh. Kellie, however, is still poorly. She's hot, then cold, shivering, then sweating, aches and pains and all sorts of sore bits and hurting bits. She spends the evening alternating between snoring on the sofa, and reading her Kindle. I sort the kids and play WoW for a little bit.

So today. Today I wake up, no headache, no tummy ache, no need for running to the loo, nothing. Kellie dawns bright and bleeeeergh. She is not a well girl. Were she snotty and coughing, I'd pin it on a flu bug (not ManFlu, obviously) but she is not healthy. As seems to be the case when Kellie is ill, I convince the kids today is a good day to exit the house, and we do just that and head over to the lakes. For several hours we wander around, watch the newts in the pond, annoy the geese, piss off the fishermen, skim stone, and play in a stream.

With a leech. But that's another story.

After several hours well spent, we trudge home - wet and muddy - get changed, then I have to take Jaysen & Tamsyn back to their mums, so the three of us trudge across Basildon, I drop them off, then I trudge back again, via the shop for bread. I get home and am DEAD. I have felt like hell all week, but now I am back to my usual Hellish Nightmare Of Pain. Legs, back, arms, hands... No, I don't like the pain, but at least these pains I am used to.

This evening, we got Dominic & Molly to bed early, and finally, after a shitty hell of a week, Kellie and I got to sit together quietly and watch a film. She's still poorly, still insistent she's going to work tomorrow, but she's spent most of today alternating between sleep, feeling sick, feeling rough and, er... No, that covers it actually...

So there we have it. At the risk of putting the mockers on it, I have no headache and my tongue is better. This evening is just my usual pain and hurty bits and aches - which means tomorrow I will feel like crap, but it's controllable crap. Even if Monday IS a shitty busy day.

There are more posts to follow - I was going to catch up with everything in this one post, but decided it was already too long, rambling and puke-filled.

Yes, I am alive (again or still...) and hopefully the crappy stuff of the last few weeks will finally do one.

I'm Not Dead*

You may be forgiven for thinking that your favourite blogger has fallen down a deep dark well and shuffled along to a slightly warmer, more lava-and-demon-filled existence, but you would be wrong.

That is not to say, of course, that I feel like I've been splattered at the bottom of aforementioned Deep Dark Well. This week has been, for want of a better word, shit. Nothing in particular has happened, but physically - and as a knock-on effect, mentally - I've been a bit crappy.

Sunday, my last post, I had had a busy week, over-done it and was suffering. If Sunday I felt like death, by Monday lunchtime, I had died, been risen in a voodoo ritual, and then stomped to buggery. I could barely function, my brain was doing it's own thing, I had a bastard of a migraine brewing, and it was all I could do to have a sandwich at lunch.

I'm never off my food.

By the evening, Kellie gets in and sends me to bed. 7.15pm, I am told to go to bed and to stay there. I lay down, feeling like hell, but fully expecting to not sleep. I don't remember much. I woke up at half ten the following morning.  I still felt crap, and my head was still splitting, but fifteen and a bit hours of sleep had improved me a little.

However, by Tuesday evening, my head was ripping itself in two, but with Kellie off at her mums again due to the continuation of the re-plastering, I put the kids to bed early, and then I went to bed to chill out and read.

Wednesday morning I felt horrible again, migraine still in full effect, shipped the kids off to school, and stayed on the sofa. I managed to do some laundry, and I managed to get some housework done, but ultimately, I stayed put. By the time Dom & Molly were in from school, and Tam & Jaysen were bought home, I could hardly walk and talk. I managed to give one of them some money to get dinner from the chip shop, and I passed out on the sofa.

Next thing I know, it's half six and Kellie is home. My head is a little better, but it turns out Kellie has a blinding headache too... Very strange... We've both felt on and off the last few days, so can only assume it's a virus or something that is making us feel worse than usual.

Thursday I was still a bit fuzzy headed, but by Friday, the pain was gone.

Thank f$ck.

Physically, I am still hurting and properly tired. All-over-properly-tired, but I've been doing my best to push through it. I popped into town yesterday to get five items, but ended up meandering around like a leaf on the wind for an hour. There were lots of noisy people, all pushing and barging, and I couldn't concentrate on going from A to B, so was out for ages and knackered myself.

And now, tonight/this morning, my body clock is being a bastard. We went to bed just after midnight, but then I woke up just before three after shitty dreams. I couldn't get back to sleep, so half an hour later, I am on the sofa reading for half an hour... I go back to bed, still can't sleep, so half an hour later, I am dressed and back downstairs.

We've a busy few days ahead of us now, so hopefully I will continue to function... Hopefully!


*Yet

Unsympathetic

It has been suggested that yours truly may fall into the category of Unsympathetic Bastard.

As a retort, I tried to prove that I was, in fact, very sympathetic. However... If you don't fall into a series of categories, then you're shit out of luck. I don't think my list is entirely unreasonable, and if I am very honest, if you think I am mean to you via the Interweb, imagine being one of our kids, trying to wangle a day of school with a sudden case of Don't Feel Well Itus.

Which, incidentally, has been all but eradicated from this address, on account of the list.

It should also be noted that this list also has exceptions at every step, so while you might believe you fit into one category, you are probably wrong. Also, good rule of thumb: If it's is stupidly self inflicted, then you are automatically disqualified from sympathy. Booze, Driving Like A Dick, Showing How You Can Ride Without Using Your Hands, Juggling Chain Saws... No non nein.


- Something Leaking From Where It Shouldn't Be:
Generally, if you're bleeding out, then you are entitled to sympathy. No, ladies, just no. You chose to be a woman, deal with it. Also, PROPER puking is allowed, UNLESS you've gotten yourself knocked up, in which case, your own fault.

Exceptions? Watery eye, running nose, booze-induced pukathon, dodgy kebab itus...


- Something Not Moving That Should Be Moving:
Maybe you've popped something out of it's socket. Maybe you've broken it. Maybe you've snapped your tendons and ligaments. Whichever, they are usually entitled to a brief "Oooh nasty, take care!"

Exceptions: Something is so swollen after you did some form of body modification that you can't move it? Jog on.


- Something Moving That Shouldn't Be Moving:
That joint that has suddenly appeared between your wrist and your elbow? Your foot pointing aaaall the way back behind yourself? Your ribs poking out of your chest? Yep, all perfectly valid reasons for a wincing "Ouch!"

Exceptions: You did it playing sport. You prat.


- Something Inserted Where It Shouldn't Be:
Anything from a very large splinter (ie, over an inch!) to a knife, a rapier, a claymore sword... Tree Branches, Pipes or other large objects are also eligible for good bout of "Brilliant! Get well soon!" I will also even accept a large bone (that belongs to yourself) poking out of where it shouldn't. Also, nails, screws and bolts inserted into the body THROUGH the meat qualify. Additionally, ANYTHING, regardless of size, that has to be removed from the eyeball by a professional.

Exceptions: That teeny tiny splinter the size of a microbe? No chance. Power tool accident WHILE doing DIY also doesn't count. It's like tap dancing on a minefield - eventually, you're going to go BANG. And again, body modifications gone wrong are exempt.

- Germs, Parasites & Viruses:
If it's something that causes oozing from places there should be no ooze, causes things to appear where things SHOULDN'T appear, or makes internal organs burst, then you are pretty much going to get a little "Awww there there" thrown your way. Additionally, things living inside you are just downright COOL and will always get "Wow, that was in your THIGH! Excellent!" Properly nasty illnesses will also get a cool cloth on the forehead and chicken soup provided.

Exceptions: That sniffle, tickly cough, rash, or other little thing that isn't worth bothering the doctor about? Nah. That cough that is REALLY loud and annoying is also ineligible due to the annoyance factor. Anything you refuse to see a doctor about also disqualifies you from sympathy. If it's not bad enough to disturb a medical professional, it's not bad enough to disturb me.


- Something Not Attached To Where It Should  Be:
If ANY part of your body has to be collected by a third party, put on ice, and driven separately from yourself, congratulations, you've reached the Holy Grail of sympathy. Pretty much anything that is not intended to come off, the comes off, will get you pity. Internal Organs that become External Organs through almost any means also qualify. Your spleen should not be dangling from your anus, for example. Likewise, if a new orifice has appeared through which an Internal Organ, Bone, Ligament or other structural item is visible, you may also get me to hold your hand.

Exemptions: Ear Lobes and Finger Tips are the equivalent of the ickle sad splinters of this group. I am talking dismemberment. DIY-Induced accidents are also not counted - see Tap dancing on a Landmine analogy previously. Having body parts removed may or may not qualify - appendix, tonsils, gall bladder... They will be judged on a case-by-case basis.


- Being Dead:
Being dead qualifies you for sympathy, PROVIDING you don't meet any of the Exemption Criteria for the previous sections. Death through sports or DIY? Dead after binge drinking? Teeny Tiny splinter turned gangrenous? Sorry, all your own stupid fault.


- Other Exceptions:
When a fellow Man is injured square in the googlies, then he is entitled to sympathy - unless he deserved it. This is to be determined by a vote by other men present.

ManFlu ALWAYS qualifies for sympathy, such is the severity.

Lastly, I am ALWAYS exempt from any and all exemptions under each category.


So there you have it, my quick and easy guide for proving that I am, in fact, a very sympathetic person. You're pretty much safe as long as it's A) Not self induced, B) Not a sniffle, and occasionally C) Hilarious.

If you disagree with ANY aspect of these rules, then please do not expect any form of sympathy in return!

A Rough One...

I thought for a change, I would deviate from the Sleep-Restriction themed posts and do a "I've had a busy day" post.

First off, without going into detail as I don't know if I am allowed to, I was told today that there are some awful f$cking people in the world. You know they are all out there, but you never think they are going to affect your lives, but every now and then, they DO. To my friends so-affected by such complete w4nkers, I'm sorry, and if there's anything we can do to help - just shout.

Otherwise, I am tired. I think that is A) Granted, and B) Expected. However, I am sure it is working. Mostly. Last night, I went to bed at my usual time (2am, for those not reading), BUT took a little while to get to sleep. Not too long, but I do remember having random, drawn out thoughts. The next thing I know, there is crashing and banging outside the bedroom.

Cats.

Cats with a bit of plastic - a lid or something.

Mostly, it was Galadriel, but Gimli was involved too. Throwing the lid down the stairs, crashing down after it, crashing and skittering across the floor boards outside the bedroom door, then down the wooden stairs, crashing after it... The it was up and down the hallway, hitting the doors and units downstairs. I had to resist as best I could, BUT I needed to know the time. On the one hand, I might be able to get back to sleep, but on the other, if it was around 30 minutes before the time I'm supposed to get up, then it wouldn't be worth it.

Clock check: 0522.

Bollocks. So I had to get up there and then. I considered kicking the cats in the backsides, but I'm not that mean - I just didn't let them in the living room while I woke up.

So, about three hours sleep last night. Tonight is my last night of 2-6, tomorrow I'm doing 1-6. It is working, I can tell it's working as once I am asleep, the alarm wakes me (or the bloody cats) which is a rarity in itself.

Today, I've been my usual cheery, ray of sunshine and sweetness & light. Sort of. Grumpy, stroppy, moody, exhausted and my body trying to doze off constantly.

With that in mind, today was my first "normal" Thursday with school runs and kids and everything. I had to get Tamsyn to school, and the journey to school was Tam reading her book to me just to keep me awake. After dropping her off, I had to go into town and do some shopping, but after nodding off in the playground, I decided the first order of business would be coffee.

A brief foray into Costas (which is a million times better than Starbucks, FYI) and a large cinnamon latte with a chocolate tiffin re-fuelled me for a bit, and I hit the shops. We didn't need much, but one of Kellies old school friends and her girls was over for dinner tonight, so I had to get some bits.

As a tangent, I will also point out I had to look at kids shoes. Kids shoes, it would turn out, for the future 0dd-Mother in Law. See, we got Molly a new pair of school boots the other day, and the 0dd MIL came over, saw them and being that she's little, tried on the KIDS SIZE 2. Which pretty much fit her. So I had to look for the KIDS SIZE 3 for her.

But I digress.

With the shopping done, I got in and decided NOT to sit down - that would just invite sleep. So I swept through then realised I had a doctors appointment. So off out again and saw Mr Doctor Man. Kellie has been threatening to do something with the doctor that I've not been very good at doing.

Telling the complete truth.

See, I've got this rather icky habit of not liking to make a fuss, and so when the doctor asks "How you feeling" I don't tell him I can't put my socks on, I don't tell him the pain in my legs is enough to drive me to tears, I say "I'm a bit sore" or something similar. So with the threat of HER making a scene, I decided to tell him the truth.

He shook his head but started tapping on the computer. My Lyrica (Pregabalin) has been increased to an extra 100mg a day to 300mg. And I need to have a BATTERY of blood tests. There are nine or ten things on the request sheet; glucose, liver function, coeliac screen plus loads of other, AND I need to be there for 9am for a Cortisol screening.

Once this is done, assuming they all come back inconclusive, I'm going to be referred to a specialist. An actual, genuine, bona-fide specialist. I've not seen one of those for at least 8 years. AND the doc is now trying to get a proper diagnosis, and I am sure he said the specialist is for Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/M.E. There are worse things he could be pushing for I suppose. We shall see.

Blood test is Tuesday morning, so be warned for whining.

After that, it was time to start clearing up - so I spent the afternoon pottering around the house and making it presentable for Kellies friend from school. Again, without going into anything, she's been having a very hard time for the last month, so this was a break to come over and put the world to rights.

So, school run, back in, finished clearing up, and they arrived while Kellie was stuck at work. SIX kids running around, and us gassing about everything.

8pm they went home, and I had another quick tidy before throwing the girls to bed and finally flopping out on the sofa watching House.

Granted, between 8pm and 10.30pm, Kellie had to nudge me a half dozen times when I dozed off... But here we are, it's now just gone midnight and I am exhausted. This post has been all over the place I know, but I am doing this AND watching Disneys Hercules - I've not seen it for years and love it, but figure if I have two things to concentrate on I might stay awake ;)

So, last night of four hours, and I can't wait for tomorrow night. Plus it's the weekend so I don't need to worry about doing too much. Once I know I am allowed to talk about the rant at the start, I will do so. And it will be a shouty sweary rant.

For the next ninety minutes, I will mostly be fighting sleep. Night.