June 8, 2017

Revenge of the Rainbow

Posted in June tagged , , , , , , at 11:46 am by viewfromthisdesk

It really is as sinister as the title suggests.

Yesterday I decided to have a non-rainbow breakfast.  I wanted to see how – if at all – I was affected by non rainbow foods, either physically or mentally.  I suppose I was testing to see if my attitude to food had changed, so buy eating something that I knew wasn’t brilliantly good for me, would I feel guilty or inspired to counteract it and run a marathon or something.

So I had hot cross buns for breakfast.  They smelt delicious in the toaster; the spices, the bread goodness.  Yummy.  And then paired with a layer of budget-supermarket-own-brand-Lurpak-type-product it was just heaven on a plate, I could not wait to just shove it into my face.

However, I have learnt to take my time over food and savour the different levels of senses.  It didn’t make a noise so I was entirely enraptured by the look and the smell before the taste.  It was beautiful.

My first bite.  My very first bite.  Oh my taste buds exploded with joy.  And then a crunch and a weird metallic taste and ….. pain.

My mouth was on fire.  The sensation in my mouth was horrid.


I had taken a chunk out of the inside of my lip.  It’s just over 1cm square which for someone with a delicate sized mouth like mine, is a fairly massive lump.

I’d like to say that the rest of my hot cross bun breakfast was left on the table whilst I tended to the medical emergency, but it was not.  I can say that hot cross buns with a blood coating are not tasty.

My lip yesterday swelled on the one side, it was super painful to drink hot tea or even warm tea so it was another water day and eating wasn’t fun so I just had cauliflower cheese for tea.  This morning, it’s less oozy and less frequently bleeding so hopefully it will heal up soon.

 

Will accept tubs of ice cream as sympathy and love.

March 2, 2017

Snoring: suffocation or separation?

Posted in March tagged , , , , , , at 2:43 pm by viewfromthisdesk

I am very aware that I only write nice things about my husband on this blog.  He freely admits he’s never read any posts but I feel I should be polite and respectful about him.  After all, he’s put up with a whole tonne of medical rubbish and supported me through the drama that is my life since 24.

Alas, I can pretend no more.  My husband is a nightmare.  I cannot rose-tinted glasses it any more.  There is no half-full, positive spin to the situation.  I am beginning to hate him and that’s not healthy.

We’ve just returned from our summer holiday.  We have to take it in February because of work so it’s a nice experience to get away from grey, dreary, miserable home and go somewhere sunny.  Yeah, the temperature change on our return is a shock and it’s horrible in the summer when everyone else is going away and we’re not but hey ho.  As usual, I caught some germ ridden lurgy on the plane back and coupled with jet lag and everything, I’ve been feeling utterly wiped out and quite down in the dumps.

Hubby is immune to all lurgy and is just bouncing around the place, relaxed, refreshed and showing off his tan at every opportunity.  I’m shattered.  I just want to sleep.

And herein lies the problem.  For some unknown reason, he’s snoring really, really badly.  Since we came back it’s like sleeping with what I imagine a bunged-up hippo would sound like.  He’s utterly unaware of it though.  It doesn’t make an ounce of difference which position he’s sleeping in, whether he’s coated in a thick layer of vics and has olbas oil all over his pillow, whether he’s had a shower immediately before bed or not.  And in my lurgy-miserable-exhausted state, I just want to suffocate him.

For a couple of evenings I’ve moved to the spare room.  My leaving the bed wakes him up and he always tells me he doesn’t want me to go.  But he doesn’t understand in his slumbering state that I WANT and NEED to sleep.  He says he’ll try not to snore but I’m not sure he really has any control over it.  If I stay in bed, I’m staring at the ceiling, bunching up the duvet in my hands in an effort to control my urge to punch him really hard in the ribs.  I’m tense and angry and not at all relaxed or calm or anywhere near sleep.

But the spare bed is not my bed.  I do not have a me-shaped dent in the mattress where I curl and fit perfectly.  The pillows are not covered in sleep-spray in my foolish effort to drug myself into slumber.  The room is not perfectly dark, the shadows are different and it’s not mine.  He refuses to sleep in the spare room, there is no discussion about it once I ask and he says no.

So, at 1.30am I moved to the spare room.  At 3am this morning, when I’m still wide awake and I know the alarm is going off for him in a couple of hours time and he’ll wake me with his gallumping around, I’m in the spare room, crying with frustration and exhaustion.  I don’t know what to do.

I’m working every day this week because we’ve returned to a busy and full diary.  Yey.  But I’m a zombie.  And it’s hard not to be grumpy ALL THE TIME.  I’m fighting the urge to have an afternoon/evening nap because my OT says that’s the wrong thing to do.  And I want to sleep AT NIGHT like a NORMAL person.  ARGH.

I thought vics and olbas oil might help him breathe easier if he’s got any small trace of my germs but it’s not working.  Waking him up and asking him to change position isn’t working.  He refuses to move to the spare room and I don’t sleep much if I do.  I just can’t win.

So.  People of the blog-reading-pastime world.  What on earth do I do?  Make the spare room mine and separate?  Or just suffocate him so it’s silent?

 

July 12, 2016

What *have* you done?!

Posted in July tagged , , , at 11:25 am by viewfromthisdesk

As mentioned before, I’ve been using my crutches more frequently this year.  It is what it is.  And yet, even people who have known I’m not in the best of states have that horrified gasp of ‘what *have* you done’ as their greeting, as opposed to ‘morning, lovely to see you’ which I’d much prefer if I’ve managed to get dressed and leave the house.

I had a situation a couple of weeks back where I had got out of bed, thrown clothes on and made it out into the world.  The person I first met just looked at the sticks and went ‘been doing to much have we?’ with a grin, so that was fine.  Topic done, dusted and left.  Then someone else came and did the horrified end of the world situation and wouldn’t leave it alone.  But what HAVE you done?  It wasn’t nosey, it wasn’t even really concern it was just on repeat.  Which did my head in.  So I smiled and said ‘oh you know how it is these days, these husbands think they can get away with anything they like’ thinking a joke would just let it lie.  ‘Don’t be silly’ came the reply, ‘what have you done’

At this point I wanted to get to my feet (and sticks) in an elegant fashion, much-like some new-born giraffe that had been born on its head and say ‘it’s none of your business, shut up and respect personal boundaries’

Instead, I replied again and said ‘it’s just my life now, I got out of bed and this is what happened’

They just wouldn’t accept my answer.  I wasn’t wanting to get into a conversation about my ME, about how some days I can’t walk or balance or do anything. How it was effort enough to get more than my dressing gown on that morning, how my hands were still burning from having to brush my teeth and hair.

I looked at person number one, begging them to get the other person to just shut up and thankfully, the message was understood.  Person two was told to stop asking questions and just leave it.

But the experience has shaken me up a bit.  I’d finally gotten my head around the fact that it’s okay to be out on crutches, that it’s fine to still make the effort to go out even if that level of extra support is required.  Yet this level of persistent questioning that invaded all aspects of personal space ruined it all.  If I know you and we consider each other to be friends, I’ll tell you the truth – if you genuinely asked.  Equally, if you were a friend, you’d know that today wasn’t a great day but I wanted to see you and therefore it was a sticks or cancel situation.  You’d be thrilled to bits that I still made it out.  You wouldn’t care about the sticks.

I’m finding myself analysing everything now.  Do I really need to go out?  Do I really need to go somewhere because there will be other people there.  Can I ask hubby or a friend to go instead?  I’m getting hermit-like again.  It’s not good and I don’t know how to fix this.

July 5, 2016

Learning the art of balance

Posted in July tagged , , , , , , , at 2:29 pm by viewfromthisdesk

I’ve been utterly awful at the whole ‘pacing and prioritising’ thing that the medical peeps bang on about.  I’ve been brought up with the ‘if something needs doing, get on and do it’ attitude and approach.  It’s hard to change something that has been forced into your brain for so long.

This year has been the most challenging for me so far.  I’ve spent way more time on my crutches than in any year previously.  I’d like to claim it’s because I want to show off my gorgeous coloured sticks but it isn’t.  My joints and balance have been particularly horrendous this year and I cannot attribute it to any particular reason other than this condition is deteriorating.  I’m not doing as much physical stuff as I used to or indeed want to.  Any fun event is wrapped in days of resting and relaxing and neoprene things.  My bat work is set up on the basis of not much walking around on site and me being somewhere I can sit for the survey which is neither professional or ideal.  Concerts are few and far between this year.

On the back of all that misery however, I had a light bulb moment last week which I feel deserves praise.  I was working away for ten days, at what I call my temping job.  It’s a tough gig though.  It’s a proper eight to nine hour day, it’s constantly busy and noisy and bright.  There is nowhere to hide, nowhere to escape to when it gets too much and certainly no flexible working hours.  It always makes me ill and I’m absolutely aware it makes me ill so nothing *should* be planned for the time I’m temping.  Nothing except sleep and more meds.

In previous years, I’ve taken the approach that of course I can do it all.  Of course I can temp and keep house and do bat surveys and have a social life, of course I’ll be fine.  With bad consequences.

This time, I literally just did temping.  The house is now a mess, I turned down bat work and I had no life outside of the nine hour day.  It was work-home-pyjamas-sleep.  So I managed some time of balance.  Not in the literal sense because I was on my multi coloured sticks for the whole time, but balance in terms of not trying to do it all.

But how do I now not over compensate for this week of being sensible?  This week I have booked three surveys with another as a possible.  I desperately need to turn into some crazy person with the ability to clean the house (even though housework is one of my worst pain triggers) and make it all look normal and respectable.  I just can’t do everything in a sensible and balances fashion, I’m wading through treacle whilst being stuck inside a constricting jumper.  I can’t employ someone to clean because I can’t afford it.  I can’t turn down temping or bat work because I can’t afford to do that too.

I’m clinging to the ‘look how well I did last week’ attitude in the hope that no one will notice what a mess I’m making of this week!

April 4, 2016

No April Fool here

Posted in April tagged , , at 2:17 pm by viewfromthisdesk

As ever, my monthly goals fell by the wayside.  Or maybe not so much by the wayside as off a cliff in slow motion, road-runner style.

I’ve finally managed to weed one of my rose beds, but that happened yesterday so hardly a March achievement.  I’ve still got my big rose bed to sort out but the enthusiasm for this is absent.  I’m not sure what to do in all honesty.  My hands are only going to get worse, although that’s hard to imagine considering how useless they are anyway and my ability to grip is not going to improve.  I don’t want to lose my roses, three of the four were gifts for my 21st but if I can’t look after them it’s not going to end well, is it?

My shoes were sorted.  Kinda.  Three pairs have been thrown away.  Ten pairs are in a pile for taking to the charity shop and the remaining ones are in a storage crate in the middle of the living room.  My excuse is I need a bigger plastic store box for them to go in but I’m not allowed to go to B&Q unaccompanied* so I’m a bit scuppered.  The plan is to have this crate in my overflow wardrobe and it’ll just have my lovely ‘for special occasions only’ shoes in them.  You know, the pairs that are bought to just go with one particular outfit and that one outfit is worn once every three years if you’re lucky.

The issue that has been generated from sorting my shoes though is that whilst I’ve managed to remove thirteen pairs of shoes from my collection in one form or another, I have established that I need to replace my wellies very soon and also my trusty walking boots (that I wear on bat sites, not for walking!) as I’ve had them forever and I can’t imagine they won’t die on me in the middle of this season.  But why is it that the two pairs of shoes I’ve found I need to replace are the most expensive ones?!! So annoying.

Needless to say, wellies are now on my wish list and I’m hoping I can make do with the split pair I’ve got until the summer when hopefully the birthday fairies will take pity on me.

April targets aren’t going to be set.  I’m not going to bother and then I might have a positive twist on things in a few weeks when I can go ‘actually, I achieved this and this’ one of which will hopefully be my modern art installation of shoes has been relocated!

 

 

*I’d like to quickly point out that I’ve not been banned from B&Q or that the unaccompanied thing has been set by the company, it’s actually come from hubby as my visits to the shop of dreams (as it’s known, I have a particularly tragic life) often lead to decorating plans and ideas or conversations that begin ‘I’ve seen this, what do you think ….?’  Which he doesn’t want to be encouraged because if I suddenly wanted to decorate something or somewhere, he’d have to give up time at the railway and we can’t have that.  So even though I only want to go for two plastic boxes, I have to wait for a chaperone.

Two boxes? I hear you question.  Well, yes.  One for shoes and one for my new genius idea.

A hedgehog feeding station.  Of course!

November 7, 2014

Looking towards Thursday 13th November

Posted in November tagged , , at 11:45 am by viewfromthisdesk

I’m not hinting for anything 😉 but I wanted to share that I’ve learnt that next Thursday; the 13th November is World Kindness Day.

No-act-of-kindness

So I’m going to do some randomly nice things.  Here is fair warning that it might be for you.  It might just be a note or a text to say I appreciate you or a bunch of flowers but I want to share my thanks and all that girly gushing-ness on this particularly poignant day.

 

P.S. Monday 17th is homemade bread day but my breadmaker has died 😦  Feel free to … you know … send me bread, or cakes, or a new breadmaker! Hahaha

April 23, 2014

World Book Day

Posted in April, Weight Watchers tagged , , , , at 12:36 pm by viewfromthisdesk

Happy World Book Day!

I love reading, so it’s great there is a day to celebrate the written word.  And apparently, today would have been Shakespeare’s 450th birthday, so Happy Birthday Mr Bard!  I’m going to an event tonight at my library with a ‘thing’ by a local author.  Should be different and fun.

Today is also my week seven.  My end of my lent.  I am pleased to announce (not) that according to the scales this morning, I am heavier than I was at the start of lent!  I mean, what the heck?!!?  I have no clue, no answer and quite frankly, I don’t care anymore.  Honestly, I’m beyond giving a stuff. 

I am curvy.  I am greedy.  I have no self control or ability to not apply-to-face.  I am happy with myself, my clothes fit me.  Maybe I should try harder to stick to the fresh air and lettuce diet, maybe throw in nightly laxatives for a giggle. 

I’m not sad about this number.  It is just a number afterall.  I’m surprised as I have been trying to not be greedy, I have been rather restrained actually.

Numbers.  Pah.  I’m going back to my book and box of creme eggs.

June 12, 2012

Dear Diet

Posted in June tagged , , , , at 11:22 am by viewfromthisdesk

Dear Diet,
It’s just not working out between us. It’s not you, it’s me.
I just can’t stop cheating on you.
Love, Michelle

 

I robbed the above from my cousin.  It just made me laugh so much.  So true.

However, my weight loss journey is going well still.  I’m maintaining my ‘gold’ weight which is good.

My health journey is a bit more precarious.  My OT is leaving in September and there is currently no replacement.  My physio is good but a bit of a task-master which frustrates me.  I want practical help, not told to check my shoulder posture every five minutes and write lists at certain times of the day.  Hey ho. We shall persevere with the system.

I did way too much last week.  I know that now.  Now that I’m in the midst of a very painful crash.  Thought I was pacing myself quite well – yes I was busy but it was staggered busy. Maybe not eh?  I’m so sore that I’m considering seeing my osteopath to try and make things better.  When I’m looking for *that* phone number, I know I’m in a bad way.  Ooops.

January 14, 2012

Good girls are simply bad girls that don’t get caught!

Posted in January tagged , , , at 5:37 pm by viewfromthisdesk

It’s been a few days since I last wrote.  A weird few days I guess.  Fairly average in terms of pain and tiredness so I won’t bore you with the same old, same old.  I’m realising how much my condition is not only influenced by what I do physically, but also how I am emotionally.  If I’m feeling ‘down’ or upset, it really triggers that very quick, downward spiral into tiredness or worse – a meltdown.  This week taught me that bad news can be handled better with the support of friends and that ever-suffering husband of mine. 

Today, he’s left me home alone, I know he worries that I’m going to do something daft and hurt myself but honestly people, I do have a brain and occasionally I do use it!  I know not to use a (sharp) knife if I’m tired, I know not to try and pick up heavy stuff anymore.  So anyway, he’s off all day, potentially into the wee small hours of tomorrow morning at a concert he’s really been looking forward to.  Listening to the radio, it sounds like the world, their wife and their next door neighbour are at this concert, so I hope he gets a good view! 

In anticipation of the arrival of the new sofa, we’ve been trying to sort out the dining room, a misnomer if ever there was one.  I think we’ve eaten in there twice in eleven years, and it was more hubby’s study than a dining room, but it had a big table and chairs, so that’s what it’s always been called.  Anyway, this room is going to be turned into a kinda quiet room, a snug if you will.  One of the existing sofas which hasn’t quite fallen prey to the cats as much as the other will be going in there, so it means we only have to landfill the one.  But space still needs to be created and if we’re renaming the room and attempting to use it differently, then I may as well take the opportunity to redecorate it, surely?

For the nine of you who have this sent to your email inbox, you know I LOVE redecorating and redesigning rooms and stuff like that.  Love, love, love it.  I do feel a bit LLB at times – I want to redecorate our dining room – in two weeks – when it’s full of hubby’s stuff.  It is, a challenge of the grandest scale.  But I have chosen and purchased the paint for the room (I’ve also decided on the new colour scheme for the living room but hubby isn’t *quite* aware of that yet <evil cackle>) and all that remains is some sheer bloody-mindedness to crack on with the job. 

So, whilst hubby is somewhat absent, I’ve rearranged the room – one wall at a time – and stripped off the paper border so beloved of the nineties.  Yes it involved using a steamer, and yes I was stood on a chair at the time, but I’ve blooming done it and the room looks even more like a bomb site than it did yesterday.  But, and here I get quite smug about it all, I did take on the elements of pacing and prioritising that keeps being rammed at me.  I did indeed pace myself by stopping after every wall.  Okay, when I stopped, I did do other stuff like washing or sorting the chickens or driving to Argos, but I did stop for a WHOLE HOUR at 2pm when I realised I was starving hungry.  I did prioritise by starting with the smallest, easiest wall (just in case it all went horribly wrong you understand) so I feel that whilst what I have done today is way too much for this pathetic body to take, I did approach it all in a sensible and measured manner.  And hubby will never know because he’s a boy and they never notice stuff straight away.

I am indeed a bad girl but because I won’t get caught, on this occasion, I am a very good girl!  So, I’m off to polish my halo and have a very, very early night.