A Slow Deliberate Dance

You put your right leg in,

Then you scream and shout,

hang the limb over the edge,

let it all hang out …

Once again my old-time bed dance routine has been resurrected; the agonizing back and lower limb pain has returned with a vengeance; a painfully laboured tossing and turning is the only response I’m capable of, in my attempt to overcome the two pronged attack of sundry sharp shooting pains and excruciating dull bruised aching numbness. It’s uncomfortable to sit, whether on an upright dining chair, a firm supporting comfortable chair, or even on the edge of the bed. After struggling to attain an upright position, hindered by locking of knee, ankle and back, (slyly preceding a crude collapse back onto the surface from which one was attempting to elevate oneself), the relief felt, albeit very temporary, must be tangible to anyone within a few miles radius. A few steps, assisted by a couple of walking sticks, managed to tease out a sigh of release from every screaming muscle, joint, or nerve-ending.

Then follows a real brain teaser; does one attempt to sit down again when body and spirit together urge one to have a lie down? The problem is that any recumbent posture soon becomes a source of discomfort.

Earlier in the day, I’d taken a slow deliberate walk around the block with my beloved in the misguided belief that this little stretching exercise would prove beneficial! It turned out that I was locking up even more after this little outing. Things got so bad that my beloved actually managed to persuade me to talk (telephonically) to an “out of hours” doctor, who then arranged that ma belle chauffeuse would take me down to the “out of hours” practice at the District Hospital.

After a tediously painful one and a half hours waiting time, the duty doctor was really good and, managed to sort out which of my sundry medications could be safely (and effectively) taken in combination, and wrote me a prescription for a further supply of Tramadol SR 100mg which she has doubled up to two to be taken twice a day. It’s also safe to continue with the Meloxicam (anti-inflammatory) although my daily dose of Lanzsoprazole (a ppi) has to be increased whenever I take anti-inflammatories. Other medication continues as normal.

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

Contrary to appearances, I don’t like resorting to pain-killers and, it is only with the greatest reluctance that I visit the GP. The sole reason that recent postings have centred on health is the intensity of my current dis-ease, precluding the possibility of resorting to my beloved distractions.

collapse of the stoical front

Occasionally the stoical front collapses and tears catch one by surprise. That sudden inexplicable low, amidst the sundry serial and perpetual ailments that beset one, tips the balance. Is it the constant pain, the seemingly interminable incapacity, the sense of isolation resultant from that same invisible disability, or a more general existential angst? Perhaps it’s the combination, of all those things, that sets the tears flowing; for a while I teeter on the brink of self-pity and it proves a real struggle to regain my general positivity. [No sooner have the symptoms of a recent chronic bout of sleep disrupting sciatica receded than a case of TMJD (temporal mandibular joint dysfunction) takes pole position in the table of well-being assailants.]
I’ve always suspected that it’s much harder to witness and share the suffering of a loved one than it is to suffer oneself but, when one does suffer from any ailment, or dis-ease, the awareness that those who care for, and about you, somehow share your pain, intensifies the sense of spiritual suffering. The sufferer also feels guilty at imposing, on the one who loves and cares for them, some of the restrictions (on the socializing front) implicit in one’s own condition. I frequently find myself apologizing to my beloved for my, all too familiar, achingly fatigued condition, and the consequent wearyingly low stamina levels; it’s not that I blame myself for being ill but, to be honest, I’d prefer to be an enabler rather than a burden.

This posting is also on Mal's Murmurings.

The Art of Affirmation

 

Sometimes I think that I’ve grasped it, at other times the whole technique seems to elude me. That sense of gratitude for the many blessings that have come my way is so easily submerged beneath current setbacks, whereas the fact of these setbacks should serve as sufficient reminder of those blessings, rather than a blanket which veils them from view.

 

To give thanks, show appreciation for, the simple fact of being, ensures that the simple ‘given’ takes pride of place. It’s always easy to celebrate a great step forward but, the more consciously we are able to affirm each action, each moment of our lives, those instances become more worthy of affirmation.

 

Sometimes it feels as if one should squeeze the last drop of pleasure out of each experience, wallow in the moment and, if possible ….  What am I talking about, we should try to squeeze the last drop of pleasure, out of each experience, all of the time!

 

Right, I’ve grasped the theory, now all that’s needed is the determination and stamina to practise this affirmative art.

John Pilger: Kafka has a rival. Today, the Foreign Office lectures us on human rights | Comment is free | The Guardian

 

John Pilger: Kafka has a rival. Today, the Foreign Office lectures us on human rights | Comment is free | The Guardian

A Nudge and a Wink

Night-time trips between bed and bath rooms are fraught with a sense of adventure; my faith in the stability of bed end, stair rail and wall, has not been undermined so far. As long as the muscular and joint pains remain discomfortingly persistent, I remain on guard for the possibility of a random stumbling collapse; at least, in this one respect, the rest and sleep destroying acute discomfort seems to serve a useful purpose!

 

Somehow “collapsing” sounds far more dynamic than “creaking”, at least the results are far more spectacular when, knee, ankle, or hip joint, suddenly give way. The competition between “creaking” and “collapsing” into action becomes increasingly intense.  The sheer unpredictability of which joint takes priority ensures that my enforced sedentary lifestyle never becomes boring.

 

 

What I’m missing most of all is a decent night’s sleep; no matter how exhausted / positively shattered I may feel on retiring au lit, by the time I’ve struggled out of daytime attire, donned pyjamas and, performed the appropriate ablutions I’m far too fatigued to sleep.

 

I can usually guarantee that I’m going to be alerted into wakefulness at least once or twice in every hour by some chronic jarring discomfort emanating from anywhere between small of back and ankles. I still fail to understand the logistics that require the shifting (and adjustment) of the whole of my body, in order to achieve a minor adjustment in the alignment of the right lower limb; we’re talking microns here!

 

Somewhere between 3.00 and 4.00 am, I usually seem to achieve a state of full alertness although this effect has usually been squandered some time before my beloved stirs in anticipation of preparing herself for work.

 

All being well, I manage to remove myself from the duvets hypnotic allure by 11.00 am, only to fall asleep again mid-afternoon, my wife not uncommonly returning from work to find me in a dazed stupor.

An Aching Drift

Perhaps it’s quite simply a case of living in hope, although it could just as easily be misconstrued as a fatalism of self-pity. Each day, I’ve been putting off any attempt at blogging, not for lack of ideas or, my lack of stamina (a sufficiently persuasive excuse) but rather, in the belief that I’ll soon be feeling better and hence, the possibility of having some actual events/activities to report on.

 

Pain, discomfort, fatigue and bruising exhaustion, constantly struggle to be at the forefront of my attention; for the time being any pain control medication (the primary current one being ‘Tramadol’) seems to lack efficacy! In some ways, it’s as if I’ve not been able to recover from my little jaunt to the South coast at the beginning of September. Even the most modest journeying insists on extracting a disproportionate toll from yours truly.

 

If I can’t be positive, there seems little point in bringing others down but, a good humoured resilience in the face of ill-health gets a bit tedious at times. Must admit that I’m just as worried about my health as is my good lady but, I tend not to wear my anxieties on my sleeve!

Jeremy Paxman vs Dizzee Rascal

RESTORED to ME

 

If one lives in a state of perpetual “not-wellness”, how is it possible to detect when they are ill? I refer to those kinds of chronic condition, which one learns to accept as normative, the regularly attendant symptoms of which would be construed as a real crisis condition in anyone blessed with more normal health.

 

In seeking equilibrium, I would never be so foolish as to anticipate more than 100% recovery from any aberrant additional infliction that comes my way, although the chance would be a fine thing; the real problem is being able to recognize when one’s health has been restored to its most recent pre-viral attack condition. Are the sore throat, earache, glandular tenderness, and muscular pains in the lower limbs and joints a further manifestation of the recent gastric knockout infection or, do they quite simply represent a return to my normative ME/CFS state?

 

Is there something wrong or, am I quite simply being restored to me?

   

I'll be back

 

How strange it is to feel almost human once again, frightening to have rediscovered how a few short days could hang like a leaden eternity around one’s spirit, almost blinding them to the possibility of light. Those of you who follow my beloved’s blog will be well aware that I have been quite literally “off colour” and, you may as well add to that, off food and fluids too.

 

 At least it made a change from my familiar resident aches and pains, providing me with a rather more centred point of focus. Come to think of it, the “point of focus” is a bit of a disgusting image; just imagine all the ways a tummy bug can effect one, multiply that effect by your chosen factor and, it still doesn’t quite manage to describe just how ghastly things seemed. Worst part about it was that I couldn’t even bear to be touched, in even the most caressingly gentle caring fashion, at one stage; such was my general sense of distraught fragility!

 

Anyway, I’m relieved to be back to a state of being rather than merely existing/vegetating and may even get around to blogging ere long.

Just laikin'

it's really rather strange how one Yorkshire dialect word laikin' can have two apparently similar but totally disparate meanings. In common parlance it's "playing" or "larking about" but ,it can also be used to mean "not working".

Superficially the two meanings seem to have much in common but, scratch the surface and a real difference is evident. If you're not working, that means you'll have no income and, in such circumstances one isn't likely to feel very playful!

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, the saying goes but, having no work can be totally soul destroying.