and suddenly they flow

and suddenly they flow

“pains come and go

and tears flow

a creeping fermentation

of an odious decay … “ - Malcolm Evison 060818

Today has not been the best of days, nor yet the worst; it has been one helluva roller-coaster ride of both sudden and slow onset aches and pains, a turbulent discharge from both physical and emotional reserves of stamina. Tears have flowed abundantly on a few occasions as I’ve attempted to explain the frustration of living with a chronic illness, along with several subsidiary ailments, each randomly producing varying degrees of aches and discomfort, ranging from reluctantly accepted background throbbing, rumbling aches, to sudden sharply acute attacks of pain.

As I’m also in my mid-70s (age wise) thoughts of mortality are all too rarely far away, but come to the fore with each new acute onset of pain and discomfort.

Over the past weekend I’ve experienced symptoms quite akin to a flare-up of both gall-bladder (cholecystitis) and diverticular disease in relatively acute form, neither of which do much for one’s morale! At times I had to wonder if my alto and tenor burps could present a non-dissonant counterpoint to the bass line of flatulent release.

An underlying throbbing ache and discomfort in the abdominal region is interspersed with a sharper more stabbing intermittent pain. I’m still struggling to come to terms with a sharp stabbing pain which intermittently occurs at a point apparently just behind the bottom left hand side of the ribcage. Erratic bowel behaviour has long been a problem, swiftly putting paid to any notion of getting away for a break, but in any case the sensory overload of a short car trip into town can frequently prove overwhelming.

An attempt on Monday to hold and read a rather slim paperback book led to a need to don wrist & palm supports, elbow supports, as well as having to stretch my arms across my back, in an attempt to overcome a nausea inducing hollow ache emanating from my armpits. These are not at all uncommon symptoms as they tend to occur when holding a newspaper, using a laptop or tablet PC, just one of the little joys of being.

Attempting to explain the frustration I felt, bordering on despair at times, to my beloved OH just led to an overwhelming flood of tears from yours truly and, quite understandably caused upset to her.

***

This morning, Tuesday 070818, ma belle called the GP practice to see if I could get an appointment, as whenever I check up online they never seem to have any appointments available during the next couple of weeks, and thought they would maybe prescribe some antibiotics. (Regular readers may remember my report of a previous gall-bladder flare-up being recognized and successfully treated with antibiotics by my own GP, and the following arrangements for  a cholestectomy –  an operation which had to be cancelled as, in the meantime I succumbed to a minor stroke - http://sinnaluvva.blogspot.com/2017/06/on-mend-and-back-again.html and http://sinnaluvva.blogspot.com/2017/10/on-opening-and-closing-of-doors.html

are the posts that refer).

I duly received a call back from a nurse practitioner who decided that as I wasn’t at that moment in discomfort, I was still abed and not yet having breakfasted, an appointment with a locum for Thursday morning was made. As I explained that I hadn’t attempted to eat anything this morning still being in the duvet realm, she commented that still being in bed at shortly after 9.00am was a wonderful luxury for the retired. Fortunately I refrained from cussing as I explained to her that no, it isn’t a luxury as for the past 14 years I’ve required a bed rest of  around12 hours per day, sometimes more, (non-refreshing sleep being a component of, and exacerbating the distressing symptoms of ME).

Well, I’ve managed to get thus far without any tears but am now desperately in need of a rest; well it is 11.30am … time for wrist and elbow supports once again, the armpits … etcetera, etcetera …

And on it goes but, at least for now, I’ve staunched the flow.

Of genuine woes and fraudulent transactions

Today provides one of those unusual mornings, at only 11.45 I feel almost awake; a rare instance indeed! Just over a week ago I intended to write a posting, more a catharsis for me than a word for others, but an intolerable lethargy weighed far too heavily. My scribbling that day went as follows :

“And wimpishness knows no bounds, the tears flow freely, the sinuses discharge an uninfected load as earth’s rotation slows right down A flood of fear and selfishness combines

A flood of fear

And selfishness

Knows no bounds –

The tears flow freely

And sinuses discharge

An uninfected stream

Of hopelessness …”

My brain seemed blocked; no words would flow until, some twenty-four hours later, the above emotion transmogrified into the following doggerel:

                                            Dog Errol

                                          It never pours

but when

there’s more

to follow.

Rain never follows

an unending drought.

If once a mouse

should catch a cat

the fox would say

I smell a rat

Whereas earlier in the year, despite all too familiar aches, pains, and wooly confusion, I managed to remain quite upbeat, by early March my reserves of emotional and physical stamina had fallen from their quite low plateau. Even the most modest exertion seemed to wipe me out. It was as if I had to make an exhausting conscious effort to persuade my legs to move in the right direction, as I ventured out into the hallway; this would occasionally be followed by a strenuous mental effort to remember why I’d headed there in the first place.

Earlier today it seemed as if the sun would make an appearance but, as I turn back towards the window, hailstones are flailing down from the heavens, their rebound, as they leave the ground, makes mockery of my prevailing inertia.

No sooner had I jotted down the previous paragraph than the sun, in full glory, burst through the residual cloud cover as grey skies turned to blue. The swiftness of this transition would be hard to believe were it not experienced first hand by one’s own senses. So, you may add, “your senses are working, even if much else of your corporeal being seems to be giving up on you. Why don’t you stop moaning?” the latter question I’ve frequently asked myself but, it’s far too easy to succumb to more negative attitudes when your feeling several degrees below an iffy par.

*********

A gum infection, and accompanying toothache, really set me back and, as is its wont, the worst flare-up occurred on a Friday night and the dentist doesn’t work at weekends. Strangely, the pain seemed to emanate from beneath a crown; intellectually this made little sense as I knew that tooth had been root-filled many moons ago. The worst of the pain then presented itself under a wisdom tooth; when I had an emergency appointment with my dentist she noted that I nearly went through the ceiling when she tapped the offending tooth. She duly prescribed a course of antibiotics to combat the infection, halfway through which the pain seemed to have magnified, and with my somewhat iffy immune system sundry familiar ME symptoms returned to bite me, affecting my balance, brain fog, aching muscles, chronic IBS and diverticular disease symptoms seemed to think it was carnival time; they rejoiced as I slid further downhill.

I was feeling so dreadful that when I realized my beloved was going to visit her brother, and would be away overnight, the floods of tears mentioned at the beginning came into play. My only utterance, through my wimpish blubbering, to ma belle was that I was afraid that I was going to die alone.

Matters weren’t helped when an early morning ‘phone call wakened me from my fitful slumbers on the morning of ma belle’s departure. The call was from a credit card company suspecting there may have been a “fraudulent use” of my credit card and, I must contact them on an 0845 premium number. I went immediately to saynoto0870.com where I found an alternative number to contact card services. Just as well that I used a free number as I was talking to (or being talked at) the bank for 40 minutes when palpitations and breathlessness took over. My beloved fortunately had not yet set off, as she had to take over the conversation from me.

The annoying oiks on the banks end of the phone line endlessly repeated the same questions re a gambling website that I’d never heard of and had I made a £500 payment to that site on that morning. Although they acted on the basis that a fraud had been committed, somehow this payment had been accepted and would appear on my next statement. They then explained that in a fortnight they would be sending me a legal letter which I would have to sign to say I had not made this payment. The attitude of the people I spoke to left much to be desired, especially when dealing with people who have a chronic debilitating health condition. I was definitely made to feel that I was a prisoner in the dock being grilled by a particularly abrasive prosecution counsel.

The card was only renewed earlier this month and has never left the four walls wherein I live, breathe and have most of my being! It had only been used a couple of times online at companies with whom I have had regular secure transaction completed via a “verified by” security check so, one can only surmise that there is somebody either at the bank or one of these companies who has filched my card details.

Sorry for such a sustained moan but, it only serves to illustrate my roller-coaster ride.