Marking Time

There are moments when time weighs so heavily that the prospect of longevity seems like a cruel joke; at other times life seems far too fleeting. The heavy weight is especially apparent when ones achingly exhausted brain and body seem to resist any appropriate onset of refreshing sleep; the light-footed moments are those spent in awe and wonder before nature and ravished by the miracle of love.

It seems to me that sundry aches and pains, regardless of excruciating degree, are far better coped with in daylight hours than in sleep denying darkness. Nothing against darkness per se, I used to love the experience of being out in the countryside enraptured by a star sprinkled blanket night; these days physically discomforted, bed restrained, night can seem a desperate time of isolation as much needed sleep drifts, remorselessly, just out of reach.

The close proximity of my beloved, even though frequently deep in slumber, serves to alleviate the worst excesses of my despairing self-pity, without her these momentary lapses into a sense of grievous desolation would be even more unbearable; even so ma belle frequently deludes herself into thinking that she’s unable to help me!

un-Common Cold and Burning Toes

 For the first time in many years I’ve succumbed to a full blown cold, hardly surprising, one might say, as my elder step-daughter Beth who stayed with us at Christmas, and my younger step-daughter who had her Christmas dinner with us at the end of December, were both ‘full of cold’. This time the whole caboodle, complete with headache, neuralgia, sinusitis, sore throat, coughing and sneezing, has taken possession of me. Quite strangely, since succumbing to M(yalgic) E(ncephalomyelitis), a full blown common, or even uncommon, cold has scarcely hit my radar; it’s almost as if the bodies dysfunctional immune system mysteriously managed to ward off these additional ailments.

Those many cold-free years seem even stranger as, in the run-up to my major ME collapse, flu-like symptoms seemed to be permanent squatters chez moi (see item STUMBLING THROUGH in ‘Mal’s ME Jottings’ PDF - https://www.scribd.com/document/193365025/Mals-ME-Jottings-Extended-Edition

Last night, although I felt desperately tired, and in need of recuperative sleep, that was not to be; additional forces militated against this necessity. Having dosed on sundry analgesics, at intervals throughout the day, I later took my regular amitriptyline prior to anticipated sleep-time alongside a small dose of tramadol; it was an irksomely familiar ailment that served to prevent any efficacious slumber time. A sustained bout of ultra-sensitivity, a sensation of tingling, throbbing’ burning toes, at whose base there seemed to be an invisible ridge which couldn’t tolerate the touch of bed linen, and even the weight of the air at the duvets edge became unbearable at times. This found me struggling to mute my anguished cries and cusses of discomfort, and even an additional dose of tramadol failed to alleviate the pain.

DISTURBANCES

Today has been one of those where sundry, apparently minor, ailments decided to stamp their cumulative presence at the forefront of my consciousness. Earlier in the day, after an all too familiar restless and discomforting night abed, nothing troubled me more than my familiar nagging aches in limbs and torso but, by mid afternoon, cold-like symptoms in palate, sinus and gravelly throat moved dramatically to the fore. Quite early in the afternoon I’d felt rather light-headed, as the room became giddyingly hazy, moving in and out of focus, and I felt rather nauseous; although the experience was reminiscent of when I suffered with labyrinthitis, on this occasion it dispersed rather swiftly.

Unfortunately, a couple of hours later, as I prepared to take Piper for his evening walk, the light-headedness returned with a vengeance and I had to reach out to the hall wall to prevent myself falling. Strangely, I’d been considering whether I should once again resort to use of a walking stick, to support me on my gentle perambulations. My OH helped me back to the lounge where I rested on the sofa feeling pitifully sorry for myself and indescribably fearful. It seems that too many consecutive nights of un-refreshing sleep aren’t too good for one’s sense of well-being. Never mind though, I should by now be more accepting of the state of unwell-being that has accompanied me for the past thirteen years.

The persistent detonation of fireworks, by persons known and unknown, preceding and subsequent to both Bonfire Night and New Year’s Eve / Day have at times turned our outgoing rescue dog, Piper, into a quivering heap seeking sanctuary in corners, under cushions and, squeezing into previously non-negotiable spaces, besides, between, and behind the seated forms of ma belle and myself. On New Years Eve he, meaning Piper, ran up to the bedroom and snuggled into the bed behind my beloved, and as the erratic explosions continued well into the early hours, eventually burrowed under the duvet to settle down between the recumbent forms of his people.

Fortunately for ma belle, very little disturbs her slumbers and, even after the aforementioned disruption of the nights’ more usual routine, she still emerged bright and early to give Piper his morning walk before going out to lead worship and preach at Harlow Moor chapel. As for me, my fitfully erratic sleep pattern was only marginally more disrupted than is the norm.