Proffering Thanks

 The abominable abdominals, that have taunted and haunted my bodily frame since Saturday evening, have settled down to their more familiar state of dis-ease.  Concurrently, a combination of paracetamol, tramadol, and Piper's empathetic behaviour, helped me through a couple of bouts of nausea-inducing, expletive producing, painful discomfort in the upper limbs and armpits. For this relief I proffer thanks. Gratitude makes one feel better, something I far too frequently forget!

PIPER

Woes and Wherefores

You put your left hand in, you pull your left hand out … that’s what it’s all about. Well that sounds easy enough, a simple exercise but, I’ve recently been made to think about just what, and how many, muscles are used in such a simple action. In fact, in all honesty I’ve been finding the “simple” act of sitting in a high-backed armchair has become much more of a technical exercise.

Last Wednesday morning I visited the Dermatology unit, at the District Hospital, for the excision of a rodent ulcer (basal cell carcinoma), an operation which went quite smoothly (with the help of a couple of extra shots of the local anaesthetic) taking about 35-40 minutes. The cauterizing and needlework seemed to take much longer than the actual excision but, it was nice to be assured that all harmful matter had been removed.

Unlike previous occasions, when I’ve undergone a similar procedure, the dressing had to be removed after only 24 hours, and certainly not as much as 48hrs, preferably following a shower as the dressing seemed to adhere like superglue. As it worked out, my beloved removed the dressing, not without difficulty but very carefully; the skin had reddened considerably in the areas of former adhesion and the pull of the stitches became much more apparent.

With the siting of the wound (quite central in middle to lower back) it’s pretty difficult for me to see to apply the twice daily application of Vaseline to the wound so, that’s another chore for ma belle. If only I could see, and manage, the wound myself there would be less of a shock as the substance is rubbed in to the wound. Even the touch of a friend can bring a shudder to the spine. One cannot help but be aware of the wound as I try to sit back comfortably in a chair, or on the sofa, and so I am consequently unable to properly relax.

On the fourth morning after the procedure, a modest blood flow from the wound, wetting my shirt, caused me undue alarm although, fortunately, the flow quickly reverted to a slight seepage. Each move I make in an attempt to be seated, in a relaxed and comfortable posture, feels as if the muscles in the back are trying to rip open the stitches.

The upside of the situation is that I’ve been inspired to work on a new poem ‘As If The Worlds Woe’ in an attempt to capture some of the unusual situation.

just in passing - albeit taking time

Adorned in loose fitting garments, shirt and unzipped fleece; of a sudden it felt like my armpit lymph nodes  were being strangled by a tourniquet. Strangely, although all garments felt oppressive, the only way to alleviate the nausea inducing discomfort (emanating from the armpits) is to tightly squeeze my upper arms against the sides of my torso whilst tightly clasping my hands behind my back. Admittedly, as so often with these sudden onset ailments, the armpit tenderness appeared almost simultaneously with excruciating aches in both wrists and elbows: the application of strong elasticated supports on wrists and elbows tend to alleviate the more extreme pain.

There follows a discomforted waiting game, whilst I curl myself up, or flail my limbs, into a position that distracts me from the nausea. Next, the debate with myself on whether to take some tramadol, or hope that the pain will dissipate itself!

Whatever activity I’m engaged in, albeit browsing a newspaper, or using a laptop, is of necessity terminated the instant any of these discomforts attack. 

Lost for Words

It’s one of those times when language seems to be somewhat limited, lacking in pertinent words to describe a particular mode of being. What I have been experiencing, earlier today, is an intense discomfort that not only induces nausea but, also brings me down into a tearful state. This sensation, however, feels to me totally distinct from anything that I would normally describe as pain; more like a dis-ease with the way my flesh and bones fit into their enveloping skin.

Quite out of the blue, whilst doing a bit of catching up (on e-mails, twitter feed etc.) on the laptop, my elbows suddenly began to throbbingly ache in response to simple tapping on the touch-pad, a sensation of tenderness in the axillary lymph nodes followed with only a minimal delay; the nausea induced by these events meant I had to immediately desist from any laptop activity. In response to this sensation I swiftly donned my elasticated elbow supports to help alleviate the discomfort.

As I attempted to relax / recline on the sofa, I suddenly became aware of a discomforting ache in both knees. Next step was to don my elasticated knee supports. At this stage, I would still describe what I was experiencing / undergoing as an intense discomfort rather than pain; perhaps what I would describe as pain is more the experience of a sustained sharply stabbing irritation rather than the initial chronic dull throbbing ache of discomfort and dis-ease.

There are times that the simple donning of supports eases the nauseating discomfort but, on other occasions they prove less efficacious. As the discomfort moved more towards my pain zone, time seemed appropriate to resort to pain-killers (100mg of tramadol); within half-an-hour the discomfort and impending pain began to dissipate.

I’ve got to admit that the moment when discomfort (chronic discomfort) and pain (acute pain) merge or transpose is extremely hard to define, or even recognize. Sometimes, words quite simply fail me and, the cussin’ swiftly takes over.

Patient's Progress

Emotional resilience remains with me, apart from minor daytime lapses and nocturnal responses to my own unique brand of peripheral neuropathy. These nocturnal skin flaying, burning, tingling, claustrophobic sensations seem to afflict my whole psychosomatic being with expletive laden outbursts and foot stomps around the bedroom whilst my beloved sleeps contentedly.

Perhaps I should explain that the symptoms afflicting my whole being are, superficially at least, only being felt on the upper parts of my toes. The claustrophobia represents these pitiful digits' need to escape the confines of any bed-linen and / or duvet! There just doesn’t seem to be any chance of finding a comfortable position for the lower limbs, in order to settle down to sleep. Sundry intermittent discomforts play havoc with the bodies need for rest yet, quite strangely, by the time my beloved is waking from her slumbers I’m able to relax sufficiently to enter the Land of Nod!

Sudden onset daytime bouts of exhaustion are currently in the ascendant, frequently accompanied by wrist, elbow and knee pains demanding application of sundry splints and supports, which seem to simultaneously ease the nausea inducing tenderness emanating from axillary lymph nodes. Painkillers are then required as, once again, I’ve failed to divine that a pre-emptive dose would have been in order!

Ma belle frequently feels frustrated, and even guilty, by her inability to alleviate the intense discomfort that I quite frequently experience; I know that my suffering would be far greater without the experience of love and care for each other through which I am truly blessed.

Dis-Arming Dis-Ease

Being tickled so hard that hysterical laughter turns into a painful scream, I wonder if you know that feeling, because that’s how I feel now except without the laughter! Suddenly the newspaper felt too heavy, or at least too awkward to hold; the wrists succumb to a pounding tympanic throb, so I apply the necessary strappings. Next the inevitable discomfort in the armpits, suddenly the skin feels at least two sizes too small for the torso it embraces; that aching laughter sensation, referred to earlier, holds both inner upper arms in thrall. I try, with only a modicum of success, to dampen the nausea response by clasping the upper arms almost tourniquet tight against my body.

To an onlooker it must seem as if I’ve been suddenly shocked into a     distorted catatonic state.  

It takes some time before I pluck up courage to extend my forearms away from the upper-arm locked torso. A sigh of relief murmurs forth, as I release myself from this temporary stasis; it’s almost as if I’d been holding my breath alongside clasping the upper arms to torso.

It’s proving difficult to catch up on some much needed rest, last night had been one of intense dis-ease best summed up by my posting on facebook at 3.30AM:

Once I stop feeling
my skin's being flayed
whilst discomfort dances
leadenly

over joints
and muscles
then

I may get
some much needed
sleep

Night night folks!

I’m afraid the “Night night folks” was a little too optimistic. I finally managed a little, scarcely refreshing, shut-eye from around 6.00AM.

What goes around ...

First, (or at least at a randomly selected point on the arc of unwellness), the eyelids struggle against the gravitational pull, an overwhelming ache through sinuses and tingling cheeks; I finally admit my weakness and go to lie down on the sofa. By this time I acknowledge a need for a couple of strong pain-killers, as well as wrist and palm supports. The dull throbbing ache in the wrist seems to transmit a negative signal to the armpits and axillary lymph nodes.

Next, an extremely discomforting, nausea inducing, hollow ache begins; it feels as if it floats on a leaden bed which wraps around the upper inner arms. I squirm and mutter distraught moans, squeeze upper arms tightly against my torso. Within a few minutes the squirming becomes even more intolerable; what next?

Turn onto my left side, interlock my fingers, lift the heel of the right hand into the other hands palm; back of the right hand bonily supports my left cheek. Further agitated juxtapositions of hands, arms, torso, perform an erratic ritualistic dance. Eventually the nausea eases, tenderness of lymph nodes, and discomforted wrists, decide to keep me company a little while longer.

For now things are easier, just the usual niggles; it would be nice to think it won’t happen again but, unfortunately, it’s never too far away.

from the frontline

Sometimes it’s difficult, if not impossible, to describe the exhausting ache of self-questioning, veering towards a sense of guilt for being ill and hence, a burden or embarrassment to those who you really care about. I must be honest that even this preludium to a post doesn’t really express the underlying frustration that prompts it; at root, the knowledge that even the best of days carries a stamina rating of perhaps 20 - 30% of my pre-illness norm.

 

What I was really wanting to say is that the relative paucity of postings, arising from a desire to communicate (with and for whom I know not), bears little distinct correlation to my present levels of pain, discomfort, joy or plain normality. There are times when I wish to write but simply lack the necessary energy to place the written words in any meaningful order; at other times I am positively glowing with the enjoyment of spending time with my beloved, excited by the variety of avian visitors to our sundry garden feeding stations, or even the refreshing joy of a brief brisk venture out into the bracing air, can fill me with such glorious images which, were I to write them down, would sound like an overblown description of some utopian paradise.

 

An evening cocktail of tramadol and amitriptylene tends to curb the night pains, even though sleep is invariably of a restlessly intermittent unrefreshing variety. In the morning I continue to take a low dose of sertraline which seems to control the reactive depression which this disease can so frequently carry in it’s wake. Currently I am also taking mebeverine (3 x daily) and lansoprazole (2 x daily) in an attempt to ease my IBS and gastro-oesophageal reflux problems.

 

I am extremely fortunate to experience a fair number of days where pains and muscular spasms are quite simply a faint background hum, futilely struggling against my enjoyment of the day. Unfortunately, at night, as my body strives for rest the fitful pattern of sleep leaves one more vulnerable to these pernicious nauseating pains and spasms.

 

This afternoon, my far too familiar nausea-inducing nagging pains, emanating from the armpit and apparently gnawing through bone and muscle down through biceps to wrist, vengefully returned. A combination of painkillers and splint type wrist supports eventually alleviated this as I rested on the sofa. And so I come to post this, in the hope that at least some of my words convey their intended meaning.

 

Communique ends.

of enjoyment, endeavours and frustrating limitations

I’m just so grateful that I became more alert as Tuesday afternoon progressed. By early evening I really felt on good form as Beth, Helen and myself enjoyed a meal at Brios to celebrate Beth’s birthday. I do feel really blessed with such an adorable wife and wonderful step-daughters, they have made my life so much richer.

Although it took quite a while to settle down to sleep, after dining out, I didn’t have too bad a night’s rest albeit with the far too familiar intermittent bouts of sleep! Wednesday morning, I ventured out into the garden by 11.00am to perform a few minor chores, the primary one being to split up a clump of globe thistles (echinops ritro) which had rather outgrown their particular situation. I potted up a small clump, to set aside for a friend who had expressed an interest in them. No sooner had that task been performed than Cathy arrived to visit us, and join us for lunch, just before she was due to head off back to her work in Switzerland. I must admit I was grateful for the break.

Late afternoon found ma belle et moi back out in the garden. This time I transplanted some of the thistles, elsewhere in the garden, before shovelling out some of the wonderful humus from the bottom of our compost bin. The latter task proved quite exhausting and, it wasn’t too long before I found myself achingly on the verge of collapse. I thought it wise to listen to my body! My beloved supervised me as I took a shower before settling down to a very lazy evening. Even though I felt exhaustedly tired when I retired au lit, at about 10.00pm, an extremely restless night followed. Intermittent sleep took over from around 4.00am and I finally emerged into a beautiful new day at around 11.00am. It seems that, these days, regardless of my levels of activity / inactivity, my bed rest requirement is generally between 11 and 13 hours.

Earlier attempts to write this blog were thwarted by a nausea inducing discomfort emanating from the armpits. It’s really hard to describe this sensation, which forces me to clamp my arms tightly to my side or stretch them behind my back but, it totally disrupts any attempt to concentrate on reading or web-surfing. I’ve discovered that this type of discomfort can, occasionally, be moderately alleviated by applying my arms to a more directly physical activity but that’s entirely dependent on my having a sufficient reserve of stamina.

Of (Arm)Pits and Pendulum

A private resolve, to refrain from further postings until I felt more upbeat (on the health / well-being front), has now dissolved; I’m afraid that you’ll just have to take me as I am! I have no particular desire to be / become a moaner but, nor do I see any point of omitting mention of the sundry aches and, occasionally searing, pains ones flesh is heir to. For good or not so good, I am the result of all my life experiences whether chosen by or imposed upon me.


You may have previously gathered that this has not been one of my better years, any kind of relapse is unwelcome but, I still remain grateful that I have not had to plumb the most excruciating depths this wretched illness (M.E.) can deal out. I am most fortunate in only being a moderate sufferer but, even that moderation has at times proved quite intensely disabling.


And now, for the fifth or sixth time in as many days, I return to this same page in ‘Word’ in the hope that a sufficiency of stamina and a release from having to clasp my upper arms tightly to my torso (to alleviate the intense discomfort emanating from my armpits in normal free flow positions) may coincide to enable the completion of this posting.


The sharp nauseating ache and throb in the armpit is a tactile equivalent to chalk “squealing” across a blackboard. At other times an unexpected sound, not even necessarily of sufficient decibels to call a noise, can seem to sear through my flesh and crush the ribs. It’s almost as if my nerve-ends, in attempting to tread carefully on eggshells, all too startlingly draw ones attention to their own discretionary priorities.


I must admit to some uncomfortable guilt feelings in, once again, being / feeling unable to contemplate a few days away whilst my beloved has a break from work; to be honest, I even have to steel myself to cope with trips out to locations within ten or twenty minutes drive from home.


On the plus side I did manage a visit, with ma belle, to a local garden centre on Thursday and, we really enjoyed a visit to ‘Brio’ for a delicious meal yesterday afternoon. In the evening we immersed ourselves in Almadovar’s movie ‘All about My Mother’ which we’d recorded from Film 4. At lunch time today, accompanied by Cathy, we popped around to Café Culture for a little light lunch before returning home to wallow in the emotional riches of ‘Toy Story 3’.

a painful disorientation

I must admit that a combination of feeling totally drained and exhausted, with a subsequent nocturnal pattern of discomforted sleeplessness, didn't bode well for this new day. Bearing this introit to the day in mind, I shouldn't have been unduly surprised by the morning's turn of events. After a familiar lazy start to the day, emerging at around 10.30am from the duvet lair, I decided to venture down to Open Church for coffee and conversation. Although it's only about a ten minute slow walk, I already felt quite tired on arrival, a dull bruised ache across the chest at collar bone level being sustained against an erratic cramping counterpoint from the abdomen, provided a somewhat disconcerting background to an overall sense of light-headed giddiness. Suddenly, apparently out of nowhere, there emerged floods of tears from yours truly, an involuntary response to an all pervasive fearful sense of disorientation.


A generalized sense of disorientation and  bodily discomfort,spasmodic griping cramps in the abdomen, and a head best described as a bruised hollow floating dysfunctional globe of giddyness - had already provided the keynote (for considerable portions) of the past several days. On top of that, a sharply bruised tenderness around the ribcage (dx costochondritis) has done little to encourage any real sense of well-being. In fact my whole colonoscopy debacle (recorded by my OH, as 'My beloved's bad experience', on her Bright Light blog) seems to have caused a general setback healthwise; of course the timing may be completely coincidental.


I have an appointment at my GP's surgery this afternoon for a general checkup.

***********

PS 17.12hrs I saw my GP this afternoon who gave me a general maintainance check via stethoscope & sphygmomanometer and he feels that it was a panic attack alongside all my old familiar aches and pains. He has also given me a booklet 'Panic : a self help guide' and a mental health questionnaire as well as arranging a follow up appointment in 10 or 11 days time.

as boldness dissipates

Last night, once again, sleep had no intention of meeting a need; for hours on end it refused to intervene in response to my bodies requirements, restlessness reigned supreme. As we moved into the mid-morning hours a familiar quandary returned; do I just rest here in the hope that much needed sleep will catch me out or, do I get up and put on a bold face as I struggle to stay awake.

The boldness swiftly dissipates as excruciating discomfort becomes the latest manifestation of tiredness; Malcolm the bold crumbles into Malcolm the wimp. By the time in the early afternoon that my physio arrives, for a chat and application of the magic needles, tears are ready to well up. The tears are sourced from a deep rooted frustration at the sundry disabling ailments that have plagued me over recent years and, the fact that they're such a cause of worry and concern for my beloved. 

situational frustration

Frustration intensifies, normal ‘healthy wellness’ is becoming too much like a vague distant memory; I struggle to recall what it was like to be able to freely socialize. The once taken for granted now seems to define the height of luxury; to just pop around to visit a friend or go out for a drink, to go to a cinema, a theatre, a concert or an exhibition without having to weigh up whether my resources of physical and / or emotional stamina are up to the task, all that seems such a long time ago.

It’s even many years now since I felt able to attend a church service; just the fact of having more than a couple of other people in close proximity, without feeling able to freely escape (without causing a disturbance / disruption) is sufficient to bring on the cold sweats and palpitations. It’s like a strange variety of claustrophobia, the peopled environs seeming to act as a creeping tourniquet being applied to my chest and abdomen, the presence of these others, coupled with the functionally imposed duration, seems to overload my senses; at times, even just having a couple of visitors at home can cause a similar discomforting sensory overload but, at least in these circumstances I am able to retreat elsewhere in the house.

Of course these situational responses can’t really be separated from the sundry aches, pains, and muscular spasms which are the situation's all too frequent accomplices.

The Art of Revival

Last evening, after a day of acute discomfort, I set myself a task by way of a distraction from my ailments. An old laptop of mine had become frustratingly sluggish, to a point where it seemed to have discovered the secret of backwards time travel; a simple update of MSE antivirus took on the proportions of installing a new service pack (and that in an imagined scenario when one had failed to install any intermediate patches). So, you may well be thinking, you utilized frustration as a distraction?



The mission this time was to do a clean install of XP Home SP2 followed by SP3, a few drivers needing to be installed in the process. I even managed to install a full Office Pro system, ready for handing the machine over to one of Helen’s students at the Acorn Centre. Having done all this work, it was amazing to see how fast it responded to any command – almost like new; the fact that many of the letters had worn off the keyboard soon allayed any confusion on this point.


The distraction did little to alleviate my painful discomfort but, I feel certain that the time passed much more quickly (and constructively) than it would otherwise have done. I’ve even got another discarded PC in my sights, to attempt another resuscitation operation.

The Opening of the Floodgates

Just suddenly found myself to be a totally blubbering wreck. I've no idea where the floods of tears came from but, it certainly must have performed some type of tear duct flushing. I was quite happily surfing the net when, suddenly, the armpit discomfort forced me into pressing my upper arms tightly against my torso; it was also essential to put on a wrist support / splint to remove the numbingly aching pain in hand and forearm. Having, from necessity, shut down the PC, I went downstairs to join ma belle.

As my beloved will be seeing her friend this evening, she wondered what I'd like for lunch and profferred the suggestion that maybe I'd like to take advantage of the OAP concession at the local chippie. The fish and chips from this particular outlet are really delicious, a wonderful inexpensive treat, so the suggestion should have been greeted with unconditional enthusiasm! Unfortunately, with my haphazard assortment of gastric disorders, the last couple of times I've enjoyed this feast there have been subsequent repercussions. As this thought passed through my mind, the almost hysterical tearful effusion occurred.

At this point my total distrust of the GPs I've visited recently came to the fore; I've increasingly been made to feel that I'm a nuisance and a waste of their time (wittingly or unwittingly I don't know). Since concentrating on treatment of GORD, any mention I, or my beloved, make of my underlying ME-CFS symptoms / ailments, are swiftly brushed aside / ignored. On the last visit I was asked, in an accusatory manner, why I'd been seeing different doctors (from within the practice), ignoring the fact that on several occasions follow-up appointments booked with the same GP, either online or at the surgery, have subsequently been cancelled, via 'phone calls from the surgery, and alternatives have had to be arranged. I'm also dependent on the availability of ma belle chauffeuse, to get me to the surgery, so also have to work around this; the alternative would be a two bus journey each way and, since 2003 I have found this mode of transport extremely stressful.

When I went to the hospital's phlebotomy department yesterday, for sundry samples to be taken, I was reminded that a consultant endocrinologist had informed the practice that certain of these tests, to monitor my condition, should be carried out at least every six months; this has not happened for the past few years (probably since the previous senior partner, who was my primary reason for remaining with the practice, retired from the practice).

Perhaps the fact that I'm currently on antibiotics, in addition to sundry other medications, suggests that I'm at a particularly low ebb. The opening of the floodgates proved difficult to understand, nonetheless, as I haven't been feeling at all depressed (just ill)! Maybe I'm  a little more frail (and vulnerably de-energized) than usual having missed my most recent physio / acupuncture treatment; the physios services were required, to deal with some very urgent cases, by another district within the health authority, which no longer employs anyone in an equivalent position, quite likely a result of the ConDems ideological cuts. 

*********************

P.S. a rather more upbeat postscript to this posting can be found on my 'Mal's Murmurings' blog, apropos the floodgates.

Unrefreshed

Last night, I once again pursued a pattern of erratically intermittent unrefreshing sleep; the primary evidence that I slept at all is the vague memory of awaking from rather fraught dreams. Of course there’s always the possibility that the memory itself is a false one.

That old familiar sensation, of sharply bruised aching discomfort emanating from the armpits, returned with a vengeance and, I was forced to remove my (not overly tight fitting) pyjama jacket to escape a sense of torso choking strangulation – armpits replacing the neck as the constricted airway. At this stage even my PJ trousers seemed to become an instrument of torture, the groin area coming out in sympathy with the armpits, and so were duly removed.

Unfortunately, as a result of the restless night, I lacked sufficient stamina to attend the funeral / thanksgiving service for a friend of mine and I am struggling to prevent this non-attendance adding to that burden of guilt about which I wrote yesterday.

On a more positive note, my beloved is finally starting to show signs of recovery from the events of last Monday and was able to attend the service along with Beth.

Snakes and Ladders

Having spent some time on Saturday morning, ladder and beloved assisted, picking awkwardly out of reach Bramley apples from our tallest tree, I took advantage of the bright dry day to lop some of the more rampant growth from the top of the tree. This task required the use of both secateurs and long handled loppers as one side of the tree is in extremely close, and ladder prohibiting, proximity to sundry thorn bearing shrubs. The shrubs themselves are a valuable part of a wildlife friendly environment so, in spite of their being an obstacle to our apple harvesting / tree pruning activity, we have no intention of moving or aggressively restraining their reasonably free growth. Amazing the contortions that I put my, achingly unsupple, body through during these moments of endeavour.

It's only retrospectively that I realized, in spite of ma belle's (partially ignored) timely warnings, I may have over exerted myself in the process. By yesterday lunchtime, I found myself suffering from an irritatingly aching discomfort and muscle fatigue; a flare up of my familiar digestive disorders did little to relieve an overall sense of dis-ease. As a result, I was in bed by 8.45pm and didn't emerge from my intermittent slumbers until 11.00am this morning. My intention to watch a TV programme, whilst abed last evening, came to naught as my eyes, and other body components, were too achingly exhausted to fulfill the necessary function of concentration. I intermittently caught snatches of dialogue, from the broadcast, as ma belle watched the programme whilst I rested; I'm grateful that she taped the programme for me to catch up with this afternoon.

This morning, having finally released myself from the duvet's warmth, a rapid donning of daytime apparel followed and, I ventured out to the bakery, braving all that the elements cast my way. To my surprise, walking (albeit stick-aided) came easier than I'd anticipated and I hastily strode down to 'Open Church' for coffee, and a little conversation, before returning home via the bakery. Once again the tramadol capsules have performed wonderfully to ease the muscular aches and spasms in the lower limbs and, a bruisingly painful tenderness in both chest and abdomen has eased considerably since yesterday.

As I cope with my sundry petty ailments, my thoughts go out to all those chronically ill people who successive governments, ably abetted by the Tory press, insist on treating as scroungers!

what a difference a day makes

The contrast (compared to "heigh-ho heigh-ho to A&E we go" - yesterday's posting on Mal's Murmurings) coudn't have been greater; last night I slept solidly from before midnight until at least 4.30am and then, completely unannounced, drifted back into the arms of Morpheus for a further spell. By 8.00am I'm starting to feel really quite refreshed, an unfamiliar morning experience of late. After listening to a 1958 episode of 'The Goon Show' and a couple of comedic programmes of a much more recent vintage (courtesy BBC Radio 7), I released myself from the duvet lair and ventured kitchenwards.

First item on the agenda was preparation of a casserole, in readiness for tonight's guests; peppered chicken in a creamy green and yellow pepper and mushroom sauce, leaving the par-boiling of the potatoes for a little later part of the day.

Next on the agenda, a little stroll down to 'Open Church' for coffee and biscuits, and a little light socializing. An unfortunately familiar sharply bruising sensation around the chest and ribs, and the cramping spasms (partially alleviated by my early morning dose of tramadol) in the lower limbs, proved of little hindrance to my little jaunt. 

Unlike yesterday, discomfiture levels at the moment are quite minimal; if only it would remain that way!

Back To Normal

i seem to have fallen back onto the ailment roundabout, fortunately it has not yet transmogrified into a full rollercoaster ride at this point. Persistent irritations, of the over production of acid and mucus variety, still make their presence felt alongside the, probably related, ache and bruise sensations (with the occasional sharp nudge) around the chest and lower ribcage area.

Now the leaden ache of the lower limbs has reaffirmed its presence, as has a gnawing ache in wrist and armpits which seems to have re-appeared on a whim and then hangs around for indeterminate / unpredictable periods of time. Even as I sit and type this I'm finding it necessary to take breaks wherein I place both forearms behind my back and push my shoulders firmly back on the comfortably supporting high back chair.

Having had a little stroll down to Open Church, this morning, my legs began to ache as if I'd been on a marathon trek; to be honest they weren't really painful, just more of a gnawing discomfort. The thought occurred that maybe they needed a further stretch so, with the aid of my trusty walking stick, I set off on a brisk walk around the block. Please note that I "set off on a brisk walk", I can't make any claims to having sustained any degree of briskness beyond the 100 metre mark. I thought at least it would prove good for the morale and, it hasn't made the gnawing ache any worse or better.

By late afternoon, an additional dose of lansoprazole (to cut down on acid production) and a couple more tramadol capsules served to alleviate the more extreme edge of discomfort. That extra bit of relief allowed me to get on with preparing a meal in time for my beloved's return from work, and even enabled me to enjoy accompanying ma belle for a grocery shop at Waitrose post dining!

A Change of Perspective

Yesterday was one of those days of which I don’t wish to be reminded whilst, simultaneously, it reminded me of just how far I’ve travelled from the regular aches, pains and general discomfort that seemed to be my daily lot for several years.

Just what went wrong isn’t possible to answer, apart from the fact that, after a dramatically un-restful night, I decided to get up early. This decision was made in the belief that forsaking my usual lie-in, denying myself my normal 10 – 12 hours bed rest requirement,   would somehow ensure that the following night would prove much more restful!

By early afternoon I was struggling to fight off that light-headed nauseous feeling of total exhaustion whilst my body somehow refused to let me have the necessary nap. Concentration was at total zero, the radio played away in the background and I found myself wrestling to grasp any meaning from the words being uttered. I shuffled myself about, desperately seeking a comfortable posture in which to relax but, the effort seemed in vain. That’s when the griping clamminess began as I alternated between overheating and shivering.

 A sharp stabbing bruised sensation danced around my chest cavity, left right, centre, top and bottom randomly alternating as recipients of the phantom knuckles blows.  The bottom of the ribcage sought detachment from the throbbing ache otherwise known as the abdominal region, it felt as if it should be decorated with perforation marks allowing one to remove it at will.

On several occasions it was as if I could positively feel the colour draining from my face, although having said that I began to wonder whether one can ‘positively’ feel a negative! In the evening as my beloved applied emollient cream to my back my skin and flesh seemed ultra-sensitive, the lightest touch producing a nauseating discomfort but, later in the evening as she applied steroidal cream around the periphery of the rodent ulcer this queasy reaction had fortunately subsided.

The night proved much more restful than had the preceding one, although in the wee small hours (from approximately 2.30AM) I enjoyed a relaxing listen to Radio 3 for just over an hour before drifting back to an intermittent visit to the land of nod.

Having visited my GP, for a pre-arranged appointment, on Tuesday she contacted the hospital to arrange a endoscopy. By yesterday morning an appointment had already been arranged for this to take place in four weeks time. Once again I’m impressed by the NHS. The doctor’s hoping that I’ll be able to reduce my ppi’s (currently lansoprazole 30mg twice per day)switching me to ranitidine 150mg twice daily for a fortnight before the endoscopic investigation takes place.

After yesterday’s extreme discomfort and agitation, my regularly familiar aches and pains seem quite simply to reflect what it means to be in the very best of health!