Monthly Archives: June 2013

Jun 30 2013
80 Comments
My Ramblings

Do You Have MS? Take The Quiz!

quizThere’s a good reason our neurologists and MS nurses warn us not to google MS. A tweet went round recently with a link to a website that promised to diagnose you with MS or not, just by answering 12 simple questions (here).

I took the quiz, with the knowledge I have already been diagnosed with highly-active relapsing MS. The website’s Androctor Anna, however, gave me unexpected news – ‘I screened you for multiple sclerosis. Based on your answers, you don’t fit the diagnostic criteria for the screened disease.’

I admit, when my neurologist first diagnosed me with Clinically Isolated Syndrome, which may or may not lead to MS, then told me not to look for answers on the internet, the first thing I did when I got home was pour myself a stiff drink, boot up the computer and surf. Endlessly. I’ll bet most of you guys did too.

I can laugh at these quizzes now, but if I had found them back then, would it have been a more serious matter? Would it have reassured me? Through trial and and a lot of errors, I eventually stuck to only two websites – The MS Society and the MS Trust. Friends were just as naive as me though – my inbox was flooded with links to various websites. One admonished me for drinking diet Coke, whilst others offered amazing herbal cures or secrets to beating MS, if only I paid hundreds of pounds for the privilege.

More worryingly, other websites chastised me for putting sun cream on my son. By ‘denying’ him vitamin D, I had unwittingly increased his chances of developing MS. And it’s not just internet websites. Have a look at some of the books for sale about beating MS:

  • The Hippy Guide to Eliminating Multiple Sclerosis (Sugar Diet Illness)
  • Talking Back to MS – How I Beat Multiple Sclerosis Using Low-Dose Naltrexone
  • Fighting the Dragon: How I Beat Multiple Sclerosis

I’m sure some of these books have merit, but MS is still an incurable disease. Providing false hope through books, diets or remedies is cruel. MS can be managed, not cured. And are we under pressure to fight back at all costs, rather than concentrate on disease modifying drugs and adjusting to a life with MS?

One thing is certain though, where there is illness, you can be sure there are people out there making money off the back of it.

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Jun 28 2013
9 Comments
Daily Life

Stumbling Vs Kettlebell – The Smackdown

Cardiff-20130627-00217After weeks months of staring each other down, I finally decided to pick up my kettlebell, even though it was a very handy doorstop.

On my fridge I have a printout of a nubile, semi-clad, skinny female (not jealous) doing all manner of strange exercises with one of the blasted things and the write up was suitably encouraging – ‘kettlebell training is fun and varied, never boring, safe for any age, shape or size.’ Not only that, it also promised me ‘explosive power.’

Last night, with nothing left to lose except my dignity and a good few pounds, I put down my Walnut Whips and tentatively picked it up. Then swiftly put it back down again and attempted to unscrew two of the weights to make it a tiny bit more manageable. Exhausted from the effort, I rested long enough to watch the last episode of Mad Men and finish the last Whip before trying again.

I hid myself in the kitchen as The Teenager is fond of rushing downstairs yelling out sports results at regular intervals throughout the evening and the humiliation would be too much. Ok, squat and lift. Creakily I lowered myself downwards holding the much-lighter kettlebell. And stopped. Just had to stand up straight again. My calf muscles, one of which was fully-cramped with MS pain, protested loudly. I down-scaled the reps from 10 to 5, then 3.

Next exercise, I just had to swing the thing round my body, switching hands halfway through. Easy. I happily did this for a while, feeling smugly in the rhythm until disaster struck. My dodgy MS hand decided to simply let go. The kettlebell flew towards the cat food bowl, scattering crunchy biscuits across the floor and landed with an almighty thud. Luckily the cat wasn’t eating at the time or we’d be holding a memorial service today.

The Teenager rushed downstairs. I stumbled out to stop him in his tracks.

‘Muuuuuuum! What’s wrong with your face? Why are you all sweaty and red?’

‘Oh, you know. Just washing up. So what’s the latest score?’

I tried one last exercise. This ball of fear was not going to get the better of me. I raised it above my head, slightly to the left just in case my hand decided to play another joke and I knocked myself unconscious. Not bad. I could feel my muscles stretching. Three reps and I was done.

Amount of exercise? Two and a half minutes. Time spent clearing up the mess and cooling down? Half an hour. Not bad for a first attempt. We will meet again tomorrow, same time, same place.

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Jun 26 2013
23 Comments
Media

The Peasants Are Revolting

Mark LittlewoodMark Littlewood, Director General for the Institute of Economic Affairs, a free market think tank, wrote an inflammatory article for the Mail on Sunday last week, urging the government to publish the names of every benefits claimant and exactly how much they each receive.

He would like a full list on a publicly accessible website for everyone to inspect, as ‘taxpayers have a right to know exactly who is claiming what and how much they are getting…this wouldn’t be ‘naming and shaming’…after all, if you are legally entitled to a particular benefit, what is there to be ashamed about?’

Sticking the knife in, he says that ‘anyone ashamed to claim money from the State maybe shouldn’t be claiming it.’ Mr Littlewood, I claim benefits and yes, I am ashamed to be in that position but what is my alternative to not claiming benefits? Most of them top up my minimum wage. I work, I study, I am bringing up a healthy and happy child but I am also living with a disability. Are you advocating bringing back dark, satanic mills and workhouses for the poor and needy?

Yet again, the most vulnerable and weakest members of society are being put in the village stocks and blamed entirely for this country’s financial woes. So let’s investigate a little further.

Mr Littlewood pleads, ‘I’m simply asking, on behalf of all those who pay for the welfare state, for a bit more information and transparency.’ Strange, that. The IEA is a registered charity. In 2011, Guardian journalist George Monbiot requested their sources of funding. The IEA declined to reveal these. Transparency? Furthermore, the American Friends of the IEA, whose sole purpose is to provide funds for the IEA, has received $215,000 from two secretive funds as of 2010.

Mr Littlewood attempts to fan the flames further by writing, ‘surely no one needs worry about violent retribution against claimants. The British are far too reasonable to start taking up pitchforks and burning torches and assaulting imagined benefits cheats.’

An interesting choice of words – I imagine that’s a scenario he would love to see transpire, which would at least deflect attention from the £89.5 million paid to MP’s in expenses a year, to top up their wages (is ‘expenses’ a posh word for benefits?) and the £1 trillion or so in bankers bailouts over the last five years. Benefit fraud is apparently £5 billion a year. Tax avoidance and evasion? £120 billion a year.

It’s much more fun to pin the blame on those with no voice though, isn’t it, Mr Littlewood?

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Jun 24 2013
16 Comments
Media

Like, Really?

stupid high heelsBless her diamond-encrusted heart. Shortly before her £7 million wedding, Tamara Ecclestone was sent five pairs of designer flat shoes by InStyle magazine – totaling £2040 – and ‘challenged’ (yes, they used that verb) to hang up her heels and spend a week in flats. Like, OMG.

Tamara informs us that she has hundreds of pairs of heels. Well, of course. She confesses that when the box of flats arrived, ‘I was worried; to be honest, my heart sank…they kind of offend me.’ Flat shoes offend her? Oh, to face Tamara’s totes tragic challenges.

But for the sake of the article and no doubt the hefty fee and the chance to promote her new beauty line available exclusively at Harvey Nichols, she bravely found a pair she could tolerate and went to dinner. Sadly, she ‘felt really unglamorous and I think people were probably shocked to see me not in heels.’ Tamara lasted just two days, claiming ‘the shoes didn’t make me feel good…I’m definitely not going to buy any.’  Ok then.

Sharing the same article, I was expecting more of Dawn O’Porter, the TV presenter and author who was flogging her new book, yours for only £7.99. However, she went to a business meeting in flats ‘looking like an embarrassing auntie. I felt ridiculous. The meeting didn’t go well.’ Because of a pair of flats?! What planet, etc, etc.

She rose to the challenge though, and soldiered on, despite cheating by wearing a pair of Marc Jacobs heels on a night out with her husband. The next day she had dinner with her girlfriends, in, gasp, a pair of flats, and splutters, ‘I felt like Nora Batty.’ One of her friends gleefully told her she looked like her gran.

What can we possibly take away from this insightful piece of investigative journalism? That wearing flats somehow morphs previously vibrant personalities into embarrassing aunties, grans or Nora Batty? Do these outgoing women really need a pair of heels to feel normal? I fear their psyches are more fragile than they would have us believe.

Anyway, before you chuck the flats in the bin, girls, send them my way. I’m a proud member of the Flat Shoe Club (TM) and we didn’t really want you as members anyway. So there. I’m also proud to be an embarrassing auntie and am more than happy to be stumbling in flats….

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Jun 22 2013
4 Comments
Daily Life

Keep It. Store It. Chuck It.

Cardiff-20130621-00215As I approach an, ahem, milestone birthday (stop sniggering at the back) I took a long hard look around my house and finally decided to put my student years behind me.

I faced up to the fact that my attempt to channel a New York loft vibe was just never going to work in a tiny, 160 year old cottage in Wales.

Every corner was stuffed with random artwork, quirky finds, mismatched crockery, a growing Teenager and a cat. Something had to give. So I put the cat up for adoption. No, not really, but I wanted a clear-out, a fresh start, preferably without resorting to hiring a chanting shaman to wander round the house burning bundles of sage.

Yesterday, my ruthless mission was completed. Every single item in the house has been thoroughly assessed – keep, store or chuck. That sewing machine I bought with the whimsical notion of spending delightful evenings running up curtains, Cath Kidston duvet covers and cute little jam pot covers? Donated to a friend. The crafting glue gun stays however, for the sheer comedy factor. Hours of fun guaranteed.

My books were culled, boxed up and stored in the attic. I took down half my pictures and paintings, ornaments were decimated and I got rid of the sofa in my bedroom. I rifled through my wardrobe, trying on everything and parting company with all the clothes I was keeping just in case I magically lost three stone. If that miracle ever did occur, believe me, I would write begging letters to Gok Wan, pleading with him to help me find my new fashion direction.

MS has been a great opportunity to audit my entire life from top to bottom, but it’s not always been as much fun as deciding whether a ‘novelty’ toothbrush holder can stay or go. My career path has altered drastically, cherished friends have disappeared overnight and I’m still finding my way in this brave new world. From the depths of despair though, my life is being rebuilt and I  won’t be dragging junk along for the ride, both metaphorically and physically.

If only my emotions could be sorted through so systematically, but in the meantime, I am still undecided. Should I still have a collection of ransom note magnets on the fridge? At my age?

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