Self Pity?

I currently seem to be sinking into the kind of morose, self-pitying frames of reference that used to be the result of excessive alcohol consumption. Perhaps the cause is the teetotalism that I’ve been practising these past few days; there’s just no winning in these situations.

Truth be told, self-pity is barely part of my vocabulary these days; I tend to cope reasonably well with the slings and arrows that ME/CFS ensures my flesh is heir to, I don’t really have much choice in the matter. Ever since Julie, at the Chronic Fatigue Unit, grounded me in the principles of pacing, I’ve managed to avoid the worst excesses of my former ‘boom and bust’ circle of activity/inactivity and, for that I’m extremely grateful.

What I’m finding difficult to cope with is the viral attack that my beloved currently has to cope with. I was already at a fairly low ebb, stamina-wise, before I started to apply myself to my nursemaid duties and, what really startles me, despite my youthful training as a student nurse, is that I’m finding it really difficult to cope with Helen being poorly. She is my life, my raison d’etre and, I just want to do more for her but feel quite helpless into the bargain. The self-pity is more rooted in this sense of helplessness, rather than the everyday reality of coping with me.

Q and E mirrored on Mal's Murmurings

A sequel, titled Mirror, Mirror ..., to the preceding two or three posts can be found on Mal's Murmurings.

Quasimodo and Esmeralda

The past few days have witnessed a hobbling Quasimodo climbing up into the tower to look after an ailing Esmeralda. Crookbacked and crablike I’ve ventured up the stairs, trying to tempt my beloved with a few hot drinks and the occasional poached meal. My Esmeralda’s complexion seems to keep ringing the changes between flushed and drained, as she shivers whilst simultaneously burning up. I actually find it quite disturbing when ma belle is reluctant to take on board either fluids or solids, yet at times she’s even finding it difficult to quaff sufficient water to aid the swallowing and absorbing of the paracetamol. In more normal times I suspect that the reservoirs must have difficulty in providing the copious volumes of liquid consumed by my good lady.

On the positive side, although I’ve not ventured outside of these four walls, I’m getting plenty of exercise – against my backs resistance and legs reluctance – as I tread the stairs. My beloved keeps saying that she shouldn’t feel so rotten because it’s only a virus; meantime, I keep thinking a virus is only a bug that the medicos fail to understand and are unable to deal with!

Spasmodic doses of co-codamol, together with rubs of ibuprofen gel, seem to keep the worst of my back pain in check, though neither supplies an adequate counter to the occasional locking of the spine.

La Rue des Invalides

Have you ever tried walking down the High Street whilst attempting to clasp a tennis ball between your upper thighs? That’s exactly what it felt like as I ventured out to the local bakery this morning and, I could have done with a pair of reversible knee joints to hasten my errand. Any attempt to modestly stride out seemed to return the back muscles to the state of spasm which started yesterday afternoon. A combination of Co-codamol and externally applied Ibuprofen gel helped me to get a reasonable night’s sleep but, getting dressed this morning seemed a terribly arduous process.

Our homestead feels like a regular maison des invalides, as my beloved has had to return home from work with sundry flu-like ailments, a general feeling of nausea now accompanying the chest infection which has been honking its presence for the past few days. The nurse, at the practise where Helen works, thought it a bit odd that ma belle should need to wear an overcoat in the office, a classic case of burning up and feeling cold. When ma belle is off her food there’s definitely something wrong and, this morning she’s even finding it difficult to drink – that pervasive sense of nausea has much to answer for.

Meantime, my younger (step-) daughter, who lives just around the corner from us, has been and still is struggling against a host of virulent bugs. Perhaps a quarantine order needs to be applied in these parts. Ironically enough, the town which we are privileged to inhabit was once a celebrated Health Spa! Still, I suppose that means it’s used to having a lot of old crocks in residence.

BODY TALK

There’s something simultaneously amusing and disconcerting about an erratic body thermostat. Recent days have seen a return of both excessive night sweats and diurnal frozen extremities – oh that the power of reason could overcome these apparently irrational somatic dispositions!

Elsewhere on the health front, the antibiotics prescribed for an intimate abscess (on the dark side of the moon) has also served to clear up a painful tenderness in glands in the neck and under the chin; that’s what I call getting to the top and bottom of the problem. I’m so familiar with tenderly swollen glands, a traditional component of my ailments, that one so easily overlooks the probability of infection.

Thursday afternoon saw a welcome visit from Helen A, physiotherapist and acupuncture practitioner, and after quite a break from this treatment, I once more welcomed the wonderful drowsy zonked-out aftermath of being a pin-cushion.

This afternoon, shortly after lunch, it was the turn of my lower back muscles to go into painful spasm, moderately alleviated by a dose of Co-codamol but, at least it has turned my attention away from the omnipresent hollow ache in the left armpit (frequently accompanied by a gnawing numbness in the arm and wrist) and the self-locking right knee joint.

The rest of the day is set to pass with me seated on a comfortably supportive upright armchair beside a warmly glowing fire; a necessary luxury.

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PS 7.15pm A further posting,on a somewhat different topic, PLAYING BY THE RULES, can be found on' Mal's Murmurings'

No Contest

The greatest privilege of the Christmas period, apart from celebration of the Christ child, has been the opportunity to luxuriate in my beloveds presence 24 hours a day for the past ten days! Tomorrow, I’ll be back to my solitary existence, through the daylight hours, as Helen returns to the world of paid employment.

Of course, New Years day being a public holiday, I will once again be blessed with her presence on Tuesday and, that will provide another opportunity to demonstrate that it’s impossible to have too much of a good thing!

For the past few days, ma belle amoureuse has had the opportunity to catch up on some much needed rest, but one has to admit she can’t manage my (exhaustion imposed) twelve hours bed rest per diem!

There are some things in which there’s quite simply no competition.

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P.S. A posting for 26 December, CELEBRATING CHRISTMAS, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

On Christmas Day In The Morning

Well, Christmas Day certainly started with a bang, as Beth tumbled down the bottom half of the stairs. Our traditional champagne and smoked trout breakfast has been put on hold. Following the tumble, Beth took a few tentative steps, said she was OK and, as if to prove the point, immediately crumbled (well more like rigidified) into unconsciousness. A few minutes of unresponsiveness later, a groggy emergence made our beloved daughter into a legless wonder, so there she was resting against the hall wall, swaddled in blankets and, compared to her pallor Jacob Marley’s ghost is the figure of absolute health and vitality.

Helen had a swift bite to eat before running Beth down to casualty to get checked out. Unfortunately, ma belle was unable to wait with her as she had to get down to Wesley to lead off the Christmas Morning service. One and a half hours later, Beth has been safely returned to the fold – thank God for Christmas Taxi service, though God help us with the charges for same.

Meantime, we hear on the grapevine that Sina ( Beth’s ex-partners son) is enjoying his Christmas in Birmingham with a full-blown case of Food poisoning. The day can only improve, can’t it?

Look Elsewhere

Today's posting, A Light in the Darkness, can be found on 'Mals Murmurings'.

A Change of Venue

What a topsy-turvy world I’m living in; yesterday the attention was focussed on an abscess in the lower part of my body, early this evening the focus shifts up to a point above the torso. All of a sudden a large blood blister erupts onto the scene; actually, I wish the eruption had climaxed rather than remain the swollen possibility of such action. That would certainly have eased the discomfort.

This intruder has made its home well back on the roof of my mouth. Applying ‘anbesol’ (anaesthetic & antiseptic solution) to this discomforting blob is, to say the least, a tricky business. Life is certainly never dull around these parts!

A Little More Consultation, A Little Less Action

Soundtrack: music from ‘Jaws’, it pounds through my brain. He rolls on the latex gloves, applies lubricating gel and slowly approaches. He’d already done the abdominal pressure test but now, it’s down to the real investigation. Almost before the investigation begins, a pre-existent painful area seems to be crying out for attention but, all I can do is lay on my side and think of England. Thankfully, the investigation is not too prolonged; this could never be my idea of a good afternoon out!

Anyway it seems like an abscess has been the cause of the problem and, the GP swiftly prescribes a 7 day course of antibiotics and a hydrocortisone laced ointment to apply to the affected area and arranges for a follow up consultation.

So, that was the late-afternoon highlight of my day; it certainly woke me up. This morning I’d really struggled to remove myself from the duvet lair; a struggle still reflected in my sense of jadedness through to mid-afternoon. Last evening I attended a Christmas Party, with my beloved and Beth, at the Acorn Centre where ma belle is a volunteer assistant; a bit of socializing that I managed to cope with far better than I’d have anticipated but, I still have a price to pay.