of bugs and fishy business

Nausea, dizziness, diarrhoea are sadly all too frequently experienced by yours truly; as a result the symptoms have to reach some crisis point before I’ll seek medical help. Such was the case towards the end of last week when a bug really did lay me low. On the Wednesday I’d felt giddily disorientated from the moment I first attempted to raise myself from the bed and get dressed; for most of the day I rested on the sofa and, by mid-afternoon, managed to eat a small portion of poached smoked haddock in spite of the onset of nausea.

 

Later that day I was due to carry out the second treatment of my aquarium for white spot disease but, reluctantly had to delegate this task to ma belle OH. It really is quite a rigmarole changing 36 – 40 litres of water every five days, vacuuming the gravel before renewing the treatment dosage. Fortunately, today, I felt up to the task that being my primary workload!

 

By Thursday morning even sipping water made me feel like retching and just the thought of food was enough to make me feel queasy. My beloved, from her workplace, had ‘phoned my GP practice to see if she could make an emergency appointment. The duty doctor called her back and said that it could be a reaction to the sertraline, which had been prescribed for me on the 17^th October [the day I wrote my “Breach of Composure” post], at first suggesting that I should maybe try half a tablet, but then arranged for me to see a doctor later that day.

 

Having been chauffeured and hand-delivered to the surgery door by ma belle, the doctor I saw thought it unlikely that the reaction to the medication would have been so delayed. Having checked my temperature, blood pressure, and examined my acutely sensitive abdominal area, she surmised that I’d caught a bug and prescribed rest and plenty of fluids. She was more concerned about my lack of fluid intake rather than my lack of appetite (for food), she prescribed domperidone to help counter the nausea. It feels really great to have much of my appetite restored, even though my stamina reserves are even more depleted than usual.

 

 

 

A Breach of Composure

And suddenly the floodgates open, tears stream down my face and, I have to admit that I’ve slipped back into a state of (re-active) depression. A few references on a DVD to Christmas, and other (potentially harmless) mentions of future plans, supplied both trigger and detonator.

 

I cannot cope with planning on any scale; the stress of risking letting others down by not materializing (at the proposed event) almost outweighs the risk of social isolation by avoiding pre-planning. I’ve always preferred spontaneity to planning and, these days, I can only venture out to any function at such time that physical and emotional stamina levels permit.

 

For weeks now I’ve gone to bed wondering if I’ll still be around for my beloved; at other times, during the day I sometimes feel so washed out and painfully exhausted that I’m hoping and praying that I’ll still be alive when ma belle returns from work. I’m sure that the endless hours of restlessness and unrefreshing sleep does little to help the situation.

 

Randomly recurring chest pains, most probably related to my digestive problems, sometimes take on a terrifying aspect, especially when accompanied by a whirling light headed giddiness, racing pulse and sudden pallor. I’d never have believed that one could change from shivering to sweating and back in the course of a few minutes, without any changes having occurred in one’s immediate environs, were it not for my frequent experience of such a phenomenon.

 

A spastic colon and mild diverticular disease tend to optimize the de-energizing  effect of the other muscular discomforts; frequently having to rush to the loo at very short notice (uncertain as to whether it’s flatulence needing release or a more explosive expulsion of organic matter) leaves one with little opportunity to regain their composure.

Progress or Regress

 Over the past few weeks I’ve managed a bit of gentle socializing, a couple of meals out at Al Bivio, lunch at Café Culture, and even a wonderful buffet lunch at Wesley followed by a stimulating talk, necessitating conversation with ones neighbours at table, from the President of Conference.

 

Essential as these socializing occasions are for one’s morale, I once again, misjudged the amount of activity I could manage without payback. I’m afraid my payback threshold is much lower than I’d hoped. Payback rewards usage of reserves of both emotional and physical stamina.

 

Shovelling compost from bin to wheelbarrow, not much more than a dozen shovel loads at that, and hence to a small section of garden border proved several shovel loads too much. Not only the refreshed aches and pains in the lumbar region but, a full torso and limbs spread of irksome twinges, peripatetic clog dancers stomped their repetitive way across and along muscles of upper and lower limbs whilst a vague dull headache gave way to waves of giddiness, as if to emphasise my reward for a job well done.

 

On another occasion, just changing twenty litres of water from my main aquarium was the camel’s backbreaking straw. At least the far too regularly recurring shooting pains in the upper arm (armpit to elbow and vice versa) have withdrawn their attention, in response to a more regularized tramadol habit!

same old pains regaining confidence

A plan to wait for an upturn in my state of wellbeing, before writing another blog post, has had to be withdrawn from my agenda.

 

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Apart from the griping gut churning abdominal spasms, a combination of regular IBS and diverticular problems, there always seems to be something extra to grab the focus of my attention. Flatulence and dyspepsia are so commonplace as to go unremarked; I only wish I could ignore the gastro-oesophageal reflux!

 

I still seem to be undergoing some kind of relapse, intensifying over the past few days, as acute chest, joint and muscle pains, tenderness in armpits and under jaw, join forces with the above mentioned ailments. A recently refreshed collusion between GORD and post nasal drip seems to further conspire against any hoped for sense of well-being.

 

Mid to late afternoon, almost as a matter of routine, that grinding nausea inducing hollow ache in the armpits sets in. On a good day, ten minutes sat with my arms pressed tight against my back alleviates the ache, to some extent; on most occasions it’s also accompanied by aching pains in elbows and/or wrists. Sometimes supports applied to wrists and elbows bring the necessary relief but, increasingly, I find that I need to resort to some strong painkillers.

 

Although I rarely spend less than twelve hours (night & morning) abed, I increasingly have to resort to an hour or more lying down in the course of the day, the need usually prompted by aching limbs and an unsettling aching giddy light-headedness.

Aching Days and Restless Nights

Do you ever get the feeling that the soles of your shoes are sprung lead platforms; the bass notes, from each drudge-like clomping step, resonating through the apparently hollow tubes that connect each ankle to the knee bone. Forgot to add the feeling that the tube walls themselves are composed of compressed felt, specially treated to retain an aching bruised sensation. Each several yards travelled feels like a half marathon. To be quite honest though, those are not my best days, and as for the worst days even those several yards would be well nigh impossible!

At other times there are the joyous shattered sleep deprived nights, frequently starting with a disconcerting and discomforting acute ache in the upper arm, armpit and elbow, or fitful muscular spasms in the lower limbs, a generalized sense of disorientation swiftly takes over. A complete nauseating distraction from the sleep intention seems itself incapable of distraction; sore throat, nausea, tenderness of lymph nodes, and a refreshing of one’s IBS symptoms are just about par for these wee small hours disturbances.

It always seems quite ridiculous that the more one requires refreshing sleep, the more difficult it is to attain. Neither striving nor yielding seems to result in the anticipated balm!

Ailments aside, I feel truly blessed in the warmth of my relationship with Helen, my beloved OH, and constantly wallow in (and yearn for) her presence. Although I can no longer cope with cinema, theatre, jazz club or concert going, I still have, and revel in, the opportunity via sundry technologies to enjoy music, film and concerts. This enjoyment is always enhanced when the experience is shared with ma belle!

At times our garden is so full of avian activity that it is a privilege quite simply to be sat in my armchair observing all their comings and goings. Come to think of it, I am truly blessed and surprisingly content much of the time!

that old familiar routine

There seems to be an increasing amount of times that I begin to feel (unjustifiably) guilty; at the same time I’m perhaps forgetting many incidents about which I perhaps should have felt guilt. The recent feelings of guilt are invariably related to my (chronic) illness; I can’t help but feel that my inability to socialize, or even far too frequently not being able to go out anywhere at all, places an unfair imposition on my beloved OH.

For the past several weeks I seem to have reverted to an older pattern of routine discomfort. Shatteredness is my routine daily state of being; far too frequently my sluggish emergence from the duvet lair necessitates a further rest after the effort of getting dressed. 

My gradual emergence into the new day, from the nocturnal duvet realm, usually takes place between 10.30 and 11.00am. On a good day, after a reviving intake of caffeine, I’ll go up to the garden pond to feed the fish and, stamina permitting, water the tomato plants in the greenhouse. If it’s a really good day I’ll maybe saunter, stout walking stick enabled, to the neighbourhood parade of shops; other times it will simply be back indoors for a rest.

Unfortunately, at present, I lack the concentration or attention span to settle down to read and enjoy any of the seductive volumes that can be found in abundance chez nous. Where once I enjoyed reading, both for pleasure and study purposes, I now impatiently await those rare intervals when a sufficiency of both physical and emotional stamina is available.

A variability in times it takes for sundry muscular, joint, and other aches and searing pains to set in (and drain my stamina reserves) means that my body imposes a need for further laying down rest any time from early to late afternoon. By this time I’ve often had to don wrist and elbow supports to help ease quite severe discomfort in my limbs. When ma belle is at home she easily recognizes when such rest is needed as pallor suddenly sets in.

By 9.00pm, or shortly thereafter, acute tiredness envelops me, and aided by a dose of amitriptylene and some tramadol to ease pain and muscular spasms, I head up the wooden stairs in anticipation (rarely, if ever, fulfilled) of a good nights sleep!

a little bit forward and a few steps back

 After thirteen hours bed rest, and subsequent slow saunter downstairs and into the kitchen, I boldly strove to prepare a curry for Sunday and at least one subsequent day’s dinner. It turned out to be one of the most satisfactory curries I’ve ever produced from scratch; a subtle balance between heat and flavour (or spice and other ingredients) proved most enjoyable.

 

After my recent achingly exhausted days, I started to feel as if a modest recovery was in the offing. Before dinner I wandered up to the garden pond to feed the fish and then watered the tomato plants in the greenhouse.

 

Mid-afternoon a painful ache in my left wrist was swiftly followed by a throbbing pain in the elbow of the same limb. I swiftly strapped up the aching joints to make myself feel  a little more comfortable*. Within ten minutes my lower limbs were afflicted with a dull throbbing ache whilst I simultaneously began to feel dizzily light-headed. By this time my face had, apparently, drained of all colour – an appropriate pallor to accompany an essential lying down to rest.

 

It wasn’t long before a nausea inducing discomfort in the armpits took its rightful place alongside aching knees and ankles. All that was needed to complete the picture was a recurrence of the abdominal spasms; fortunately this symptom was only mildly represented on this occasion.

 

The adventure continues.

 

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*unfortunately this didn't preclude a necessary resorting to some heavy duty pain-killers

 

 

Pacing can be a Pain

 

 Since yesterday lunch-time the discomfort has become quite extreme, in fact I don’t know why I try to soften the sentiment by substituting the word discomfort for what has ranged from excruciating pain through agonizing, nausea inducing, aches.  For several days back pains have flared up, presumably related to the herniated disc, to the extent that it has proved virtually impossible to find a comfortable position seated, reclining, or attempting to shuffle about, for considerable periods of time.

 

For a couple of days my lower limbs have had that achingly rubbery feel that I always used to associate with a bad bout of flu. Cervical and axillary lymph nodes, in neck and armpits, have once again taken on a most disconcerting tenderness, as if striving to draw my attention away from those aches that seem to flit between elbows and wrists. Gosh, as I write this down, it’s just dawning on me what bodily excitements I bear witness to.

 

Chronic abdominal spasms, and erratic spasms of irritation in the upper digestive tract, make almost perfect companions to the not infrequent chest pains. It’s almost as if some great controller has decided that no part of my torso or limbs should feel lonesome; I must admit that my body’s erratic thermostat, with the dance between overheated and over-chilled clamminess, is beginning to feel absolutely normal.

 

A couple of weekends ago, I was so proud of my achievement in attending two events

of moderate socializing on consecutive days, but within thirty–six hours payback had well and truly kicked in. On the Monday, after the social weekend, it came as something of a surprise to hear my GP utter those unexpected words, “don’t push yourself”. When it comes to an illness like ME, there couldn’t be any more sensible words of warning. Trouble is, on those rare occasions, when one feels able to manage a modest amount of exertion, it’s not always obvious where the boundaries lie.

 

Pacing is so vital but, at times, one seems to be set on an almost interminable learning curve.  

a joyous combination

A wonderful combination of garden, sunshine, and gentle breeze helps lift the spirits. Having fed the goldfish in the pond, and watered the tomato plants (both in the greenhouse and the great outdoors), a sit down on the garden bench, slightly shaded from the sunshine’s full glare, provided a rich reward.

Birds, bees and butterflies, a kind of fluttering congregation, hovered and winged around in close proximity to me. I couldn’t really say whether they were oblivious to, or acceptingly aware of, my presence. I even enjoyed the shadow play on an adjacent wall, an animated conversation between shadow and light.

It was almost as if this simple celebration boosted the efficacy of the preceding dose of tramadol. If only thinking positive thoughts could provide a cure, today I’d be the healthiest creature on planet earth.

Unfortunately, there are too many occasions when even the necessary stamina for true relaxation is in abeyance.

a lack of progress report

It happened again yesterday, on my way back home from dropping in a repeat prescription request form; I bumped into an acquaintance of mine from my more active days of yore and His (seemingly inevitable) first comment was about how well I looked. I had to admit that I’d had worse days; after all, it’s only on those most welcome better days I get out for even a short gentle stroll.

In the past few weeks all my endeavours to walk down to ‘Open Church’ have been thwarted by a combination of rubber leg syndrome, aching joints, and a disturbingly acute onset lack of stamina. Even the utilization of a good strong back support and sturdy walking stick do little to alleviate these symptoms. At other times the erratic behaviour of a spastic colon and diverticular disease has prevented me from even venturing away from the house.

This afternoon I set off with my beloved to collect my prescription; this time after walking barely a couple of hundred yards, a return home was essential for me. My legs were suddenly heavy, it felt as if my torso was being supported by two loosely wrapped felt tubes stuffed with sodden kapok. Back in the house I collapsed into my chair as aches and pains raged and spasmed through my right hand side pectoral muscles and across my upper abdomen. A sharp gnawing pain in the left armpit and inner upper arm played a nerve jangling counterpoint.

Totally disorientated, my head felt as if it was stuffed with some heavily brocaded fabric. Sudden unprovoked perspiration oozed from my head and torso as I became frightened by the prospect of fear itself.

The order of horizontality was essential to restore my equilibrium!