Wreckage & relief

This is a post I hastily scribbled down, primarily for my own benefit, several days ago. Having just stumbled across it again I thought it was maybe worth sharing 

            Wreckage & Relief 

 Where to begin, where should I have started in trying to understand my current drought of both emotional and physical stamina. The easy bit is accepting that we are psychosomatic beings, it’s pretty obvious that when one is physically, and not infrequently painfully, well below par it inevitably has an impact upon one’s emotional/mental sense of wellbeing.

 I’ve returned to a pattern of restless discomfited nights far outweighing any restful ones. I am fortunate that my combination of amitriptyline and tramadol about an hour before bedtime, (the efficaciousness of which has been reverse demonstrated on those occasions when I have omitted this cocktail, either accidentally or purposefully), still serves to keep full-blown restless legs at bay.

 Discomfort in armpits, elbows, wrists, feet and knees seem to come and go in quite random fashion both nocturnally and diurnally. On another level, reading has become difficult (once again in random fashion) as I seem to lose concentration after just a few lines and futilely return to the beginning. Emotionally, tears are erupting with very minor prompts such as hearing of the death of one time friends and comrades, even though I’ve not been in contact with them for some time. Listening to music, frequently makes me think of, not too far distant, times when I’d have been enjoying the same music or song with my beloved Helen, who of necessity has had to reside in a nursing home since January of last year, following a few years of severe physical and mental health problems. Those recalls are invariably of a bittersweet nature, and I find myself having to reach for the box of tissues.

 Much of what I’m experiencing is reminiscent of when I succumbed to moderate ME, back in the noughties, which led to my premature retirement from any formal wage-labour! 

 The attempt to write down my current physical/emotional state of being has somehow driven the darkest clouds a little bit further away. 

 Malcolm Evison 08/03/24

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. 

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

Transitions

Yesterday, a (temporary?) reprieve from a snow-laden garden brought out my latent - albeit limited - energy reserve as I manfully retrieved a spade from its hibernation; the wheelbarrow was also rescued from its angled reclination as I set to work. The task I set myself was to transfer some of the contents of the compost bin onto the garden's flowerbeds. Fortunately, I had the good sense to limit this exertion to two barrow loads; my state of being, this morning, confirmed that any further exercise could have proved disastrous. Shattered-ness has been retained at a degree only marginally greater than is my norm. Pacing is all!

Meanwhile, a slightly more passive pursuit has been the commencement of a project to transfer some of my vinyl and audio cassette collection to mp3 format. For far too long these musical and dramatic artefacts have been squirrelled away in sundry, non too easily accessed, hidey holes. I must own up to my preference for the sound spectrum derived from vinyl rather than CD but, unfortunately the turntable that obtains the best performance is also the most temperamental! For the vinyl transfer I'm using this hand-built turntable via a USB powered and connected phono pre-amp; for the cassette transfer a USB connected tape2pc deck suffices.

The transfer operation has more to do with potential ease of access, to the performances, than the overall sound quality; it has certainly taken me long enough to embark on this mission and, I'm hoping not to be too disappointed with the result! First transfers have come out better than I'd anticipated but, there's still a long way to go!