An Overshadowing of Events

I’ve never really been one for planning; taking things as they come, with opportunities galore for spontaneity and improvisation, is more my favoured route. Sadly, things in the real world seem to be in conflict with my ideal and, planning becomes necessary when it comes to grocery provisions, especially so for festive celebrations. It is my good fortune that ma belle OH is the grocery shopper, especially so since I’ve found it difficult to cope with the sensory overload from any store other than the, now almost extinct species, corner shop.

As Christmas Day approached I got into the, unfavoured but necessary, routine of pre-preparing certain food items before the big day itself. I enjoy cooking the main meals but, tend to get a little stressed by these special occasions. At least there were no great numbers to prepare for, our elder daughter staying with us through Christmas Eve evening until Boxing Day late afternoon whilst the younger sibling was coming over at about 2.00pm, on the day itself, together with our grandson, following his mid-day nap.

The evening before Christmas Eve day I started experiencing very dramatic floaters in my right eye and, found myself stretching out to remove a soot covered cobweb from a corner of the loo. Of course neither the soot covering, nor the web itself, existed out there in the room but were rather hyper 3D-ised visions stemming from false retina readings. Shortly afterwards I started to have rather strident flashes of light appearing beside my right eye which I found quite disturbing. Christmas Eve morning, ma belle contacted my GPs surgery which arranged a call back from one of the doctors on duty that day.

A short while later, the ‘phone rang and ma belle OH passed the handset to me, at which point I was told about arrangements for the operation, with the sudden realization that this call was for my beloved. After months of waiting, they were now informing us that, all things going well, her aortic valve replacement would be taking place on 15 January. This news cast rather a shadow over subsequent proceedings as I am, to quite an extent, dependent upon Helen as my primary carer. At the same time, I gratefully acknowledge that the operation can give her a whole new quality of life, after several months recuperation from the cardiac surgery.

The next time the phone rang; a doctor from my local practice spoke to me and arranged for an appointment that afternoon. The doctor I saw gave my eyes a thorough examination and she put through a referral to the eye clinic at the District Hospital. A short while after arriving home, the phone rang once again; this time, the message was to inform me that an appointment with a doctor at the eye-clinic had been arranged for 10.00AM on Christmas Day. This was turning out to be an unusual Christmas Eve and Day, but having undergone a thorough examination at the hospital, I was back home in time to continue preparations for Christmas Dinner.

Ever since my wife’s cardiac surgery seemed quite imminent, last summer, I have once again succumbed to anxiety and depressive episodes, randomly tearful and unduly angry with people and events. When I saw a doctor about this experience in August, all she would suggest was CBT as she wanted me off all my medications, not adding something else. My anxiety intensified after that visit as the medications I am taking are for the heart, following a minor stroke, for long-term abdominal problems and for pain and restless leg control. As the operation date, for my beloved, is once again imminent, the anxieties have intensified so, yesterday afternoon, I saw a different doctor who is consulting with a pharmacist and the mental health team to see if there may be a suitable course of medication etc.

This afternoon I attended the opticians, for an overdue eye test, and have been referred to the cataract clinic with regard to my right eye. So, things are moving and I’m struggling on…

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.

The Eye of the Storm – of health & non-well-being

The general state of my joints, muscles and general viscera this morning (Tuesday) could best be described as disconcertingly enervated. At least last night granted me a little more sleep, albeit rather unrefreshing, than was the case on Sunday night. On the latter hangs a story.

****

The story continues from my previous post.

Thursday morning I duly attended my appointment with a locum doctor at my usual GPs practice. The symptoms of either-or/ both-and gall bladder and diverticular infection weighed heavily on body, mind and spirit; either cause being an additional concern on top of my familiar chronic illness symptoms.

The doctor had me lay down as he proddd and poked my abdominal region, frustrated by my inability to either be or feel relaxed. When I started to sit up, post-examination, I was overwhelmed by an extremely acute vertigo type attack. Either the room, or the top of my head, spun violently around and a sensation of either falling to the bottom of a vortex, or that base/floor rushing up towards me, made me feel quite faint and nauseous. The GP advised me to lie back down for a few minutes before attempting to sit-up again. Next attempt at sitting upright produced the same sense of disequilibrium as I felt forced to throw my torso back down. A few more minutes rest were required as my heart rate was greatly elevated.

Once a degree of stability was restored the physician seemed to then ignore these vertiginous episodes as he prescribed a course of antibiotics for suspected diverticulitis. He added that I had no immediate need to obtain the prescribed medication unless the smptoms intensified. By Saturday lunchtime the diverticular symptoms receurred with a vengeance, so my beloved headed across town to an open pharmacy to obtain the medication and I duly started the prescribed course.

On Sunday lunchtime, my beloved having returned from taking the service at Trinity, I had dinner peparations well underway; as I stood up again to check on the cooking progress, a violent vertigo sensation once again overwhelmed me and, my natural panic response brought on a sense of tightness across the chest.

As the episode gradually subsided, Helen drove me across to A&E at the District Hospital, thinking that it was perhaps a recurrence of the labyrinthitis, to which I had previously succumbed some 15 years ago, and on that occasion succesfully treated/controlled with medication. We arrived at A&E, where probable waiting time was estimated at 4 hours, shortly after 14.00hrs. Not long after arrival my blood pressure, heart rate and temperature were checked by a triage nurse before returning to the waiting area.

When I eventually got into a cubicle, to be seen by a doctor, a nurse took some blood samples, rechecked blood pressure and wired me up for an ECG. The A&E doctor had me lay down whilst examining my abdomen listening to my chest as I took deep breaths in and out the, after a few minuteswhen he asked me to sit up slowly the vertigo recurred. Even after resting a little longer the same thing happened again. He also noted that my heart rate was considerably elevated and, was reluctant to let me go home. The doctor then went to consult with more senior staff.

By 18.20, I was transferred to CAT ward and, within a couple of  a hours moved to a bay in Acute Medical where the environment was somewhat more settled. I’ve often felt that Hospitals are those paradoxical places which are both the worst and the best place to be confined when you’re feeling unwell!

At 01.50 on Monday morning, a duty doctor came to examine me and, by this stage things had settled down a bit as I’d rested. A senior doctor came to check me over at about 11.30 and felt tht I had stabilized sufficiently to be discharged, and duly prepared notes for my GP practice for follow up, confirming that vertigo/labyrinthitis (middle ear infections) were the primary suspect and suggested that they may consider repositioning manoeuvres for BPPV. No new medicines were prescribed.

Ma Belle chauffeuse, aka Helen, my beloved and my OH, came to collect me and, it was wonderful to be enthusiastically greeted by our gorgeous hound Piper as we went to the car. We were back on home territory shortly after 13.00 and much rest was needed. It was really good to both listen and relax to the music on Radio 3 (classical) an option not available on the over bed radio in the hospital.

still rambling on ... and further words

Life races by, with a generous sprinkling of love, received, given and shared as the most vital portion of each day. I am blessed with a catholicity of musical taste, ranging from early music, through classical, romantic, all the way to contemporary; my taste in jazz extends from traditional New Orleans to freeform and experimental sounds. An appreciation of popular music, from the great American songbook, through folk, blues and rock, also provides me with much auditory pleasure.

Admittedly, my listening to music for the past several years is confined to vinyl, cd, radio, mp3 recordings, rather than the “live” experience. Since 2003, when I succumbed to ME (myalgic encephalomyelitis) I have been unable to cope with theatre, cinema, concerts and gigs, and rarely venture far from my home as shopping, travelling, and crowds, easily result in sensory overload. I am fortunate enough to manage an evening walk with our rescue dog Piper, which far exceeds my expectations / abilities from a few years ago. Piper both provides and receives an enormous degree of therapeutic affection and attention.

My greatest blessing is the love and support of my beloved OH, Helen, who manages to put up with me, even through my far too common periods of pain and frustration induced foul moods and vocal declamations.

Anyway, all this is by way of an intention to apologise for the irregular postings on my blog.

Even when postings are sparse, on this particular blog, you may well find some of my poetic utterances on my poetry and prose-poem blog Mal’s Factory – for those who don’t click on links, it is to be found at https://malsfactory.blogspot.co.uk

On the Opening and Closing of Doors

ON THE OPENING & CLOSING OF DOORS

Well, life has certainly been eventful, and frustrating, since my fall (http://sinnaluvva.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/a-fall-becomes-set-back-and-shaggy-dog.html & http://sinnaluvva.blogspot.co.uk/2017/09/gratitude-for-nhs.html) but, nothing really much in any way I could regard as positive. Because my PPI (omeprazole) was not compatible with the clopidogrel, the GP switched my prescription back to lansoprazole; I had taken lansoprazole for a number of years and had discovered the most effective dosage was 30mg twice per day, morning and evening. It, therefore, came as something of a surprise to find that I had only been prescribed 15mg once per day.

The new medication regime began on the 19^th September but, so painful and discomforting had my GORD and IBS symptoms become, that by the 27^th September it became essential for me to have an emergency appointment at my GP surgery. The appointment was with a nurse practitioner who duly increased my dosage to 30mg once per day.  Even with this dosage, I still had to resort to a strong antacid each evening.

Meanwhile, I was twice proffered an earlier appointment (in a saga which began a few months back) with the surgeon to discuss removal of my gall bladder but, I automatically declined as I now needed to get into a pattern with the amlodipine & clopidogrel and, I realized that if an operation was to take place I would need to be off the clopidogrel for around one week.

By way of diversion, we have an additional resident chez nous. Beth, the eldest of my two step-daughters, was discharged from hospital in York on 10^th October following a bicycle accident on the 3^rd. She has a fracture in the neck of her humerus, necessitating immobilizing of her right arm and plates in her jaw at the sites of two of her three jaw fractures. This latter condition means that she is only able to manage soft / pureed food. My beloved OH has to help her both to dress and to bathe / shower.

Eventually the pre-arranged appointment, on the 23^rd October arrived and ma belle chauffeuse accompanied me to the clinic at the District Hospital. The doctor soon explained to me that as I had recently had a stroke, albeit a minor one, she would be unable to carry out the operation as the anaesthetic required could trigger a further more severe stroke and, although I could apply for referral after six months of reasonably good health, she personally didn’t seem much in favour of this, as she felt there would still be the risk of a more major stroke. When my beloved asked the surgeon what should happen if I had a further infection of the gall bladder, she suggested that antibiotics, albeit with the possibility of increased antibiotic resistance, were much preferable to a risk of paralysis. She was of course aware of my family history [my mother suffered a major stroke within seven days of experiencing a TIA – spending her remaining years with total paralysis of one side of her body – when she was of an age only marginally advanced from my current state of being].

Whilst I was somewhat relieved that the doctor hadn’t pussyfooted about the rather stark options, it did seem to emphasize the whole mortality issue as, later in the day, I began to feel a sense of desolation regarding an apparent futility of existence. I wondered, for a while, if I was reverting to a state of depression! In the clear light of a new day, chronic illness notwithstanding, I was so blessed with a loving wife and family, a catholic taste and enjoyment of various musical genres, literature, fine arts, and a faith that never lets go of me even when belief has evaporated.

Gratitude for the NHS

Saturday and Sunday I still felt somewhat shocked and shaken, by the fall I had on Friday evening, as full sensation and feeling hadn’t yet returned to my right foot and ankle. As I stood up it still felt as though I had a spongy platform sole on that foot.

My beloved rang my GPs surgery first thing on Monday morning and, she explained to them what the paramedics recommended, so the Wednesday appointment offered wasn’t soon enough. About half-an-hour after that, a practice nurse ‘phoned me back and, when I explained the situation, I was soon granted an appointment with Dr Desha at 12.40pm. Although there was a delay before getting in to see the doctor she was extremely thorough in her examination of me, blood pressure, reflex, touch, response to hot & cold in the foot etc. She prescribed 4 dispersible aspirin to be taken immediately, Clopidogrel and Amlodipine, to be taken each morning, to deal with my high blood pressure, and prepared a referral to the TIA clinic at Harrogate District Hospital.

As the time was getting close to that for the House Group / Bible Study chez nous, my beloved left me waiting for my prescription at the local pharmacy whilst she went home for the car to collect one of the attendees at our meeting. Sat in the over-chilled air conditioned pharmacy I suddenly felt quite shaky and weepy. The pharmacist kindly phoned my beloved to see if she would bring the car around to collect me.

The house group had already started in the meantime and I was eager to participate rather than sit on my own, feeling broodingly sorry for myself. Around 3.00pm, mid-way through the meeting, the ‘phone rang and, it was the hospital informing me that I had an appointment at the TIA clinic at 10.00am Tuesday.

Next morning I saw Dr Brotheridge at the clinic and, as the symptoms had not completely cleared within 24 hours it couldn’t be classed as a TIA but was likely some kind of minor stroke. Within an hour I’d had a CT brain scan done and, on returning to the clinic he informed me there was no sign of a bleed and the brain looked normal and healthy. He also said that the medication my GP had prescribed was exactly right and he would expect me to remain on that. Meanwhile an appointment was made for me to have an ultrasound of my Carotid and Aortic arteries at 1.00pm; this left time for ma belle chauffeuse and I to pop home for a cuppa and a snack, but before that we had time to go for some blood tests which my GP had requested.

The attention given, and the efficiency, in each department was really special.

REFRESHED or NOT

To sleep, perchance to dream; no that’s not it, I dream that I may once again experience a sense of refreshment from my sleep. I have, quite simply, lost track of how many months, or even years, have passed since I last remember having felt really refreshed after a night’s sleep. The one thing that’s for certain is that I now require at least eleven hours of bed rest per night just to function quite modestly.

What has brought this state of affairs to a head is the (apparent) payback I’ve experienced the past couple of days, a result of having an early appointment at the local hospital on Monday morning. By early, I’m talking a 9.20 appointment which incurred my curtailing my bed-rest by just over two hours; that experience may, perhaps, demonstrate that I do in fact receive a certain amount of refreshment from my normal extended bed rest, hence the payback yesterday and today.

Yesterday was the first time, for a while, that I was totally unable to tackle the short evening walk with Piper; a sudden onset giddiness alongside unsupportive (de-boned sensation) lower limbs. Today, I started the evening walk but was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of breathlessness / gasping for breath accompanied by a not unfamiliar discomfort in the upper abdomen, alongside a bruised tenderness in the armpits (axillary lymph nodes).

Apart from the sleep deprivation (early appointment), the hospital visit went well; I saw consultant, went for X-Ray, saw consultant again and, in spite of having heard an apology for delay in the clinic, was back on the road home, with ma belle chauffeuse, within 80 minutes of the clinic appointment time. I now await an appointment for an arthroscopy of the right knee.

The excitedly enthusiastic welcome home from Piper, our delightful hound, was overwhelming; he re-acted as if he’d missed the pair of us (ma belle et moi) for at least a couple of weeks. Of course my excursions away from the immediate vicinity of the homestead are quite rare occurrences so, the simultaneous absence of both his people may prove a little unsettling for our boy Piper.

THE PIPER's TALE Wags

No matter how long, or short, the time spent out of sight of our beloved dog, the welcome back we receive is heart meltingly, heart warningly, touching and enthusiastic.  Wherever he’s sat or resting, his tail beats a rapid drum roll, on the adjacent surface, as he welcomes us back into the (his) room. A hind leg is raised by the reclining Piper, as he rolls onto his back in preparation for a chest rub from his sentimental chattels (ma belle Helen & myself). The invitation extended is usually enthusiastically acted upon.

My beloved OH has usually taken him on an extended morning walk sometime before I, myself, emerge from the duvet lair. His early breakfast, and morning exercise, seem to provide (or ignite) a core of boundless energy, in Piper, as he leaps over armchair and sofa arms and back, to give me a most enthusiastic, amusingly vocalised, welcome into the world of the day people.

The afternoon/ early evening walk, usually, finds him in the company of both Helen and myself, as I can manage him better on the longer lead (5 metres), a retractable lead for dogs weighing twice Piper’s weight, proved too weak for him; original and replacement both failed. My beloved can sometimes manage him with a stronger extendable lead, dependent on ground conditions. He has demonstrated rather worrying Houdini like escape routines on a few occasions but, this morning, he launched a powerful forward surge, on sighting or scenting a squirrel, which necessitated my beloved releasing her hold on the (manageable?) short lead, returning a few minutes later minus lead!

At present I’m undergoing rather more rapid onset bouts of pain, ranging from throbbing, to burning, cry out loud varieties. The sites of these pains fluctuates between knees, wrist, elbows, shoulders and, especially at night, a burning sensation in the toes which makes even an normal contact with the bed sheet a quite excruciating experience. Problem is that the dull, low level, aches and pains that have been a long-term companion, have a habit of metamorphosing into more intense, nausea inducing varieties. Apart from this, I have little to complain about and continue to enjoy life & love to the full extent physical and emotional stamina permits!

My beloved not infrequently refers to Piper’s adventures on her BRIGHT LIGHT blog, alongside her reports on services at her chapel, and chapels where she is leading worship as a local preacher, and other more general personal / family events.

Those who pay the Piper are made to follow his tune

It really is amazing how quickly the world, at least in one’s personal sphere, can be turned upside down and inside out. Less than two weeks ago Piper came to visit us and, different facets of his character seem to appear almost daily. Compared to his physical stature, 15 kilograms of energy – his personality is absolutely enormous, lets imagine it in weight – 1500 kg as a minimum!

It seems quite strange, to me at least, that a creature always so eager to please can at times prove even more stubborn than the proverbial mule! Piper knows his own mind, and, he’ll always jump at the least opportunity to turn our will into a mirror of his own desire. He has eyes that could melt the hardest of hearts and a mischievousness that entertains substantially more than it irritates. By now you may have guessed that I love him.

Alongside the love, there is a modicum of anxiety at the way he frets when my OH goes out of the house and, I start to wonder how he’ll react when she goes away for a couple of days. At least his little whine at the door as she departs, sans Piper of course, now dissipates rather quickly as he manages to attract my full attention. The settling down period also involves his desire to run upstairs, bound up on the bed and placing paws on the headboard as he looks out of the window for any sign of his mistresses person. The next step often involves placing his paws on my knees whilst I tickle and stroke him under his chin and the top of his chest.  Of course, he’s always on the lookout for treats having the appetite of a Desperate Dan (with his cow pies) and, proffers a downhearted look of dismay if a food treat is not forthcoming.

At present, I have a cast-iron resolve not to yield to his (innocent) greed; but he still loves me, I think. His bouts of apparently boundless energy are balanced with more than an equivalent amount of relaxation and sleep; admittedly I have little record of what occurs when his master and mistress are upstairs asleep. He quickly started to recognize my nocturnal routine, as I put on the outside light whilst he bounds, or slowly meanders, following a multitude of scents, around the garden.

My beloved, Helen, invariably heads off to the land of nod a little while before me, but once I start to switch off TV or radio and the aquarium light, he settles himself on the sofa, having first made a little nest out its sundry throws, but is sometimes distracted as he grabs and growlingly shakes a soft toy. Even then, as I move towards the door of the sitting room he casts a doleful glance my way before I switch off the light and wish him “good night”.

As well as the sofa, which he often shares with ma belle during the day, he occasionally has a penchant for my armchair, and thereby hangs a tale / tail! On Monday my beloved went out for an early evening meal, with her friend Hilary, at a time shortly before Piper’s feed time. As my beloved went out Piper seemed quite sleepily settled on their shared sofa. At that point I went through to the kitchen to prepare his evening feed, knowing he would dash through as soon as the food sounded into the bowl.

As he entered the kitchen he appeared to have a shamed look on his face, tail curled beneath him. This seemed most unusual as he’s usually so eager to ‘wolf’ down his food. Now I have to explain that I have a table beside my armchair, on which I keep and use, my laptop; on this table my beloved had left some buttered bread and a package containing Shropshire Blue cheese. As I moved back to the armchair I began to understand Piper’s signs of guilt, when I saw the cheese, now partially unwrapped, on the seat cushion of the armchair, the dairy product itself displayed some give-away canine (no, not human canine teeth) toothmarks. In a matter of a minute, the drowsy canine had moved across the room from sofa to armchair and found the proximity of,  cheese bearing, computer table to his olfactory organ overwhelming!

The day that the boy arrived, chez nous, Beth brought him (amongst other delights) a synthetic chewing bone with a tasty filling. During the following days it has been buried in gravel adjacent to the house, in previously compressed ground near to the summerhouse  and, in ground behind the large shed, In that bone he’d met his match; long lasting chews or Bonio biscuits are devoured almost as swiftly as they’re presented to him, but that bone really took a gnawing between the intermittent relocations.

Today, when Helen went out to the local shops, Piper came through to join me in the front room, before jumping on the sofa in the sitting room. Next thing, I noticed him bouncing upstairs, quite obviously to his lookout point to check on his mistresses whereabouts! When I heard a burst of growling woofs, emanating from the bedroom, I went upstairs to check on what was going on.

Piper was on the bed with his nose, snuffling away, underneath my pillow. Having told the boy to calm down, I lifted the pillow only to find the soil laden bone, and a generous selection of paw spread soil paintings on the undersheet.

 No doubt about it, a complete change of bed-linen was called for and the “buried treasure” has found its way into a waste disposal bin. There’s maybe more I could tell you but I’m beginning to tire; so I bid my readers a fond adieu.

Times they are a changing as the Piper calls

A time of change; as all things turn, there is always a return made, an apparent centring to what has been a slow created essence of one’s being! Quite why I scribbled down that opening line, I’m a little uncertain but, I am aware that certain changes, so rapidly, assimilate to one’s sense of place that they swiftly seem as if they had always been!

We have swiftly adapted to the revamped home, following the many weeks during which the extension work, chez nous, took place. Somehow it seems as if the adaptations had been made to accommodate our family’s latest arrival. As yet we await confirmation that we will be able to adopt our foster boy ‘Piper’.

Piper is a beagle and (assumed) Labrador cross, he certainly has many of the traits that are typical of beagles, always following scents of potential prey wherever he goes, and he has an insatiable appetite for food. The beagle trait is unmistakeable in the head and his colouring is quite like a less saturated version of a red fox Labrador.

Having spent five years in a pound in Spain, where he was bullied and attacked by other dogs, he has a slightly nervous disposition but, has settled in wonderfully into our household. At first he seemed to have a wariness of homo sapiens males, much preferring the female of the species but I was surprised how quickly he accepted me. Piper is definitely a people dog, and has swifltly re-organised the days for ma belle et moi. He’s just so endearing!

Ma Belle generally takes him for morning walk before he has his first meal of the day, so she’s getting the most exercise she has had in quite sometime, sometimes I accompany them both, for at least some of the time, in the evening! Thursday evening I actually managed the longest walk that I’ve had since 2003, and only had minimal payback in terms of a minor degree of shatteredness. Admittedly the back support came into play last evening, as I’d sprained the muscles on the left hand side of my back, probably caused when competing for space in my favourite armchair!

In the morning it’s wonderful to be greeted by the bounding energy ball, that is Piper, as he races upstairs and pounces upon the duvet,  expressing his joy in being here to share my life. Usually a quite boisterous greeting but, this morning, as if acknowledging my back-aching jadedness, he just flopped beside me, forepaws placed gently over my arm.

We are fortunate in having a reasonably well secured, sizeable garden which he always enjoys exploring, in his preparedness to see off any trespassing felines. Just like us he enjoys a reasonably sustained chilled out flop, between bouts of exercise and/or feeding.

In the eight / nine days he has been with us I’ve not needed to resort to wrist, elbow, or shoulder supports, nor have I needed to increase my pain-killer intake. If being part of our family is as therapeutic for him as it is for me, we are both well and truly blessed. My step-daughter Beth who lives, with her four cats, across town is totally smitten with the boy and happily proffers her dog walking services for Piper.

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.

From Storm to Calm

That all too familiar nausea producing tenderness of lymph nodes, particularly axillary & cervical, has returned; the accompanying discomfort frequently seems to precede a more acutely throbbing pain in the upper arm.

Wrist splints and supports, tubular bandages, elbow supports and tramadol are very much in demand at the moment. Omeprazole, mebeverine, and mometasone fuorate seem currently (but hopefully only temporarily) rather less effective, in tackling reflux, IBS, diverticular problems, and rhinitis.

Quite frequently, a variant (as opposed to my more regular nocturnal tradition) of restless leg syndrome seems to take control in the hours out of bed. As I arise from a seated posture, it feels as if I have to make a conscious effort to issue the necessary commands to my lower limbs, to ensure they travel in the intended direction, rather than making a random displacement / detour,  and assuring them that they’re quite capable of supporting my torso.as I move across the room.

Even quite minimal exertion seems to take a disproportionate toll on my shattered constitution. I don’t think I’ve become more lax in ‘pacing’, but rather that my stamina reserves have diminished somewhat, over the years, from their already low plateau.

Apart from the foregoing minutiae of my current state of unhealth, I still feel rather blessed that I have a roof over my head, food in the larder, and other home comforts, but, the real icing on the cake is the love that I share with ma belle Helen. Love is such an amazing thing, a symbol of transcendence in a world dominated by the forces of greed.

To life and love, I raise my glass.

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.

 

                                          

what's in a day

It seems, and logically must be, impossible to know what’s going to happen one day to the next. Whenever we arrange any kind of appointment it’s usually made in good faith but, circumstances can so often thwart the noblest intention. I’ve been feeling quite vulnerable, health-wise, with a recurrence of sudden onset sundry joint, muscle and lymph node pain.

It’s rather hard to describe how (what starts as) an acute breach of one’s pain threshold transforms itself into a prolonged groan and nausea inducing pulsating bruised sensation.  Occasionally the application of wrist, knee, elbow and shoulder supports provides temporary relief but at other times they have to be accompanied by taking a couple of tramadol. For a few days in the past week, with the aid of a little preventative pain-killer consumption, I seemed relatively free of the above aches and  discomfort; even my IBS symptoms were in temporary abeyance.

That should have seemed too good to last but, I so enjoyed the welcome break that, I was rather shocked when the above symptoms alongside others returned with a vengeance. A chest crushing response to sudden unexpected sounds, IBS, post-nasal drip, sore throat, loss of appetite and sudden pallor overwhelmed me yesterday, and I became quite frightened. My body imposed a regime of rest on me; I kept dozing off intermittently throughout the day even though I’d had my normal twelve plus hours of bed-rest, with intermittent but not necessarily refreshing sleep, as prelude to this ultra-discomforted day.

At present it seems as if my sundry prescribed medications are failing in their duty, reflux, post-nasal drip, IBS are all nagging me into acute awareness of their presence. I still am able to count my blessings, welcoming each new day to bask in the love of ma belle amoureuse, having a roof over my head, water on tap, essential heating,  and food in the larder. My heart goes out to all those less fortunate than myself.

*******

This post also appears on Mal's Murmurings

Not So Smart TV

Our move into Smart TV land has been nothing if not eventful. It has always been our practice to record one or other programme when confronted by a clash of timings, or simply an inconvenient programme timing, but more recently connecting tablet or laptop PC via HDMI to catch up on missed programmes. 

More recently we started to think of a smart TV, although not many of them had the major terrestrial channels [BBC iPlayer, ITV player, 4 on Demand, Demand 5] on Catch-Up. Eventually we decided to audition the Panasonic Viera 32" Smart HDTV, which each of these services but, unfortunately the local Panasonic store was finding that model difficult to obtain. Meantime having viewed several tech reviews online it seemed that contrast and blacks weren't a strong point of this range.

Having initially been disappointed by the lack of local availability, and seen these reviews determined me to look elsewhere for a Smart TV. Samsung offered access to all the aforementioned catch up services as standard so we ordered one to be collected from our local Waitrose store on Saturday. The only minor difficulty was the assembly of the TV stand but setup of all programmes and wireless internet connection went without a hitch. Picture quality was sharply excellent on HD channels, with rich deep dark colours where black was truly black, and we felt happy with our purchase.

On Monday a blue logo appeared on the right hand (as viewed) top corner reading "Book Me" next to a green dot. Once it had appeared it remained on screen no matter what channel I switched too. A search online disclosed that this was an all too familiar problem with Samsung Smart TV's, the sign appearing alongside any of the sundry BBC trailers. They first seemed became aware of it around the time of Wimbledon (a good five months ago) and I discovered that some users had the problem resolved via 'Remote Support'. I duly obtained a PIN for this service only to discover that the support office, which I had to phone, was only open between 9.00am and 6.00pm, so I was too late on that evening.

Prior to this I had registered the purchase with Samsung, online, full rigmarole of name, age, full postal address, date of purchase, specific TV model etc; even though the set was covered by an extended guarantee+accidental damage cover from the retailer.

The following day, after listening to what seemed endless adverts for sundry domestic products, I managed to get through to the appropriate support person. On getting through, I was asked to repeat all the information re. purchase, home address and more as Samsung Support evidently have no access to Samsung Registrations - a promising start! When I quoted the current personal PIN, displayed on the set, I was informed that their remote server was down so, they'd have to talk me through a procedure for 'Factory Reset' which would sort out the problem. 

With the set in standby mode I had to press three buttons (Info, Menu, Mute or something like that) and then switch on the TV. Twice this exercise failed in bringing up a panel on the left side of the screen and just displayed the normal picture. Third attempt was successful and the panel, from which I had to select 'Options', appeared. Next I entered 'Factory Reset' and had to repeat the whole set-up procedure.

By this time my beloved took over the 'phone as I was getting really stressed (verging on a full-blown panic attack), and she was given a personal support reference number which would speed up the process in the event of further problems. 

Next day it seemed, at first, as if the problem was well and truly solved but the message did briefly flash up on two or three occasions but quickly disappeared. At lunchtime today the infamous "Book Me" logo re-appeared and stubbornly remained in situ, even when we changed channels. My darling OH decided to 'phone the support line again and quoted the personal reference number given, to speed up the process but, she was also asked name, full postal address, model of TV, when purchased etc. The person then suggested to input the same keys as we'd already applied two days earlier, which I'd fortunately written down in sequence, and ma belle quoted back at him. At this point he decided that it was a faulty set and we should return it to the retailer for refund or exchange.

Judging by the (apparently) common occurrence of this problem a refund seemed the obvious option as this rigmarole had exhausted both of us; at tea-time I disassembled the stand and repackaged the TV ready for return.Two further trips were made to the store as I realized, when setting up (once again) our old UnSmart HD ready Sony Bravia, that I'd still got the power cord for the Samsung. No sooner had my beloved set off with the power cord than I also discovered a smart card adapter and extended IR cable belonging to the offending not too smart Samsung product.

This evening, as I told a friend of these problems, the friend asked if it was a Samsung as their inlaws had a more expensive model pack up twice within about twelve months of purchase - a capacitor having blown on each occasion. At least I've forestalled such future problems.

back to NORMALITY?

So much of our lives are spent simply letting regular life experiences wash over us. Passive recipients of what ever opportunities life offers us we, of necessity, avoid reacting to most peripheral events. Life goes on as normal but we may suddenly be ambushed by limitations to what has, so far, been our normality. On many occasions the limitation may simply be with regard to the specific situation, in which one finds oneself, for which we have had no prior experience or necessary practice. 

Variety happens but, it does not always seem to add spice to life; as a matter of fact much of the variety may be of an unwelcome kind. Health-wise it has been a case of swings and roundabouts; just as one celebrates alleviation of a particular neurological symptom they seem to stumble upon a variant manifestation of the same underlying condition.

This morning, my body reminded me of the limitations imposed by a combination of neurological illness and the general aging process. It is almost as if there are (at least) two distinct normalities, that of the mind and spirit struggling with that of pure corporeality.

 It is several years now since I first had to learn, experientially (the hard way), how to pace myself; having reluctantly accepted that I must now function on/from a lower plateau, than was my earlier norm, I still feel a sense of shock when any jolting reminder of this limitation catches me out.

As the sun was shining, I set out this morning, with a walking-stick supported spring in my step, to collect a prescription from my GP’s surgery, a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk. The Surgery isn’t any  more than a seven to eight minute walk (even accounting for my limitations) and the bakery and grocery stores are passed en route. That would seem to be a little light exercise but, I hadn’t accounted for meeting up with a couple of friends during this restricted travel. I stopped and spoke to my first friend J for two to three minutes and a couple of minutes further on in the expedition encountered  friend C with whom I had a little chat. 

On arriving at the Surgery’s reception I had a couple of minutes wait before I picked up my prescription; by this time I was feeling quite light-headed and aching limbed. What I’d forgotten was that, as part of my current ‘normality’, standing to chat seems to reduce my stamina levels more swiftly than the brief walk itself! It was with great relief that I was able to sit down for ten minutes at the local pharmacy, in the same parade of shops as the grocery and bakery shops’ whilst they dispensed my sundry medications. By the time I got back home I was feeling achingly shattered!

*****

I suppose that this ‘shatteredness’ shouldn’t have been so surprising, considering that the previous couple of days had been quite eventful, even incorporating a visit to A&E and a consequent overnight stay in the hospital.

Saturday morning, at about 2.30am, a sudden sharp bruised pain down the left hand side of my rib cage, accompanied by an acute stitch-like pain emphatically (horizontally) underlining the breast bone. The pain seemed to ease as I clasped the painful area with my right hand and, it eventually disappeared after about fifteen minutes. So far, so good but, the bruised aching pain kept nagging away at regular intervals in the course of the day. Around 8.00pm, the pain returned with a pallor inducing vengeance; a hollow giddiness occupying head and torso left me feeling quite disembodied. At this time my beloved repeated an earlier offer to take me down to A&E and, this time, I instantly accepted.

The receptionist (at A&E) thought I needed to sit down and said that ma belle could log me in. Although my blood pressure went soaring, I was relieved that the ECG showed normal coronary activity. When the doctor examined me she suggested that I had a chest x-ray and blood tests but, as a follow up blood test would be required in the middle of the night, had me admitted to hospital. The doctor had inserted a cannula in the back of my hand which unfortunately, and somewhat dramatically, fell out as I moved into the X-Ray department leaving a splendid crimson blood trail on the floor. The nurse swiftly grabbed a pad to which I applied pressure to stop the flow from the distended vein, whilst he swiftly mopped and disinfected the contaminated floor area.    

Eventually a porter wheeled me up to Bolton Ward where they initially set me up on a heart monitor. Everyone with whom I had contact on this ward made me feel like a person, rather than a client, leaving me most impressed with their friendly and efficient attention to their duties. The clinical support auxiliary very swiftly, and without any fuss, cannulated the median cubital vein; nursing staff always seem to perform these tasks better than doctors, presumably because they have more experience.

My second lot of blood samples were taken at around 3.00am on Sunday and later the doctor told me that the tests were negative. Once this was ascertained a nurse came and removed the heart monitor. By 10.50am my discharge papers had been prepared and, I only had to await ma belle chauffeuse to whisk me back home. I was assured by both ward sister and the duty consultant that, even though the pain was musculoskeletal rather than cardiac in origin, ma belle had done exactly the right thing in taking me to A&E.

It was wonderful, and seemed extra special, to share Sunday lunch (which I had partially prepared the previous afternoon) with my beloved but then, every moment shared with my better half is very special.

FRAUD ALERT - Nutriberry Slim and Vita Cleanse

Having been enticed and misled by their (Nutriberry Slim and Vita Cleanse) advert on a Facebook page, at the end of August, my beloved sent for a free sample of each product, albeit for an extortionate post and packaging charge.

Shortly after receiving them her blood pressure was raised from her normal reading and her GP confirmed that there were ingredients which could have that effect.

Meanwhile I looked up the product online* and found that this company was defrauding people of substantial sums of money. They treat the request for a sample as a subscription agreement, so, we began to worry and immediately contacted the credit card company,
with a view to closing the credit card account/cancelling the card, but a lady assured her that they would block any attempt to take further payment.

On 9 September we received notification of RMA numbers from Nutriberry and Vita Cleanse to use with our returned product as follows:

From: Nutriberry Slim <502@helpdesk.emailcenterpro.com>
Date: 10 September 2013 15:32
Subject: RMA Notification #XXXXX
To: XXXXXXXX

RMA Notification

Order Number: XXXXXX Ordered on 08/31/2013 03:37am   Dear xxxxxxxx, This email is to inform you that we have received your request to return your order of Nutriberry Slim - Trial, which was originally purchased on 08/31/2013 03:37am for the total amount of £4.95. We have also issued you an RMA number: XXXXXXXXXX  that you can use for future reference. If you have any questions about this notification or if you feel you are receiving this in error, please feel free to contact our Customer Service team.

From: Vita Cleanse <503@helpdesk.emailcenterpro.com>
Date: 10 September 2013 15:32
Subject: RMA Notification #XXXXX
To: XXXXXXXXX  

RMA Notification

Order Number: XXXXX Ordered on 08/31/2013 03:40am   Dear XXXXXXXXX, This email is to inform you that we have received your request to return your order of Vita Cleanse - Trial, which was originally purchased on 08/31/2013 03:40am for the total amount of £5.95. We have also issued you an RMA number: XXXXXXXXXXXXX  that you can use for future reference. If you have any questions about this notification or if you feel you are receiving this in error, please feel free to contact our Customer Service team.

The next day, 10 September, ma belle dispatched the returned products by the most expensive Next Day postal delivery (where the parcel had to be signed for on receipt}.

The company waited, however, until 1.28am on 10 October before sending      confirmation of cancellation.

From: Nutriberry Slim <502@helpdesk.emailcenterpro.com>
Date: 10 October 2013 06:28
Subject: Cancellation Notification #XXXXXX
To: XXXXXXX

Cancellation Notification

Order Number: XXXXXX Ordered on 10/10/2013 01:28am   Dear XXXXXXX, Thank you for using Nutriberry Slim - Rebill. This email is to inform you that your subscription status has been recently updated and any ongoing or all future charges have been cancelled as per your request. If you have any questions about the cancellation of this subscription, or if you would like to re-activate the same in the future, please feel free to contact our Customer Service team.

From: Vita Cleanse <503@helpdesk.emailcenterpro.com>
Date: 10 October 2013 06:28
Subject: Cancellation Notification #XXXXXX
To: xxxxxxxxxx@xxxxx>

Cancellation Notification

Order Number: xxxxxx Ordered on 10/10/2013 01:28am   Dear xxxxx, Thank you for using Vita Cleanse - Rebill. This email is to inform you that your subscription status has been recently updated and any ongoing or all future charges have been cancelled as per your request. If you have any questions about the cancellation of this subscription, or if you would like to re-activate the same in the future, please feel free to contact our Customer Service team.

When my beloved received a statement from her credit card company, today, she was dismayed to find that £84.99 (Nutriberry Slim) and £69.95 (Vita Cleanse) had been charged to her account on the 10 October despite the sample product having been returned one full month earlier. So much for the credit card personnel who assured her that the would block any such attempt to charge for a product which we neither receive or use!

This evening my extremely upset wife has had to contact her credit card company once more.

*********
*

*For more information concerning this scam visit http://www.dietpillswatchdog.com/nutriberry-slim-review/