Monthly Archives: February 2014

The Trouble With Men…..

Peppa PigI love working with men.

The way they just point and snigger when I trip over and then shout out, ‘yeah, mind the step love, eh?’

And when they ask ‘is the leccy off? Can’t see the kettle on?’

I love that they can talk animatedly about cars for hours. Or motorbikes. Or the quickest way from A to B (very, very heated arguments).

What I’m not so enamoured with is their total disregard for their health:

‘Boss, what’s wrong?’

‘Oh nothing. Just that neuralgia on my face back again. And I’m soooooo tired. Do you want that last piece of chocolate twist?’

‘Really??? Have you been to the doctor?’

‘Ha! Like, no. Mind you, I’m totally spaced out on the painkillers. Neurofen are the best. Nice.’

‘Meh.’

(I then gear up for full-on nagging mode) ‘You do know, don’t you, you’re 8 years off 50. 50!!! You can’t take these things for granted….’

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. Are you having that last bit or not?’

I love my boss. Not in that way. We’ve known each other for almost a decade. We get on brilliantly. But I worry about him. I’m probably healthier than he is. He said to me this morning. ‘it’s bonkers, it’s as if I just have to get home, have to lie down, and nothing else matters but lying down on the sofa.’. Um, yeah, I’m with you on that one.

So what should I do? I’ve already been with him to hospital the last time he had the nerve pain. This time round, his eye is shutting and he can’t open it properly. He looks worn out. I’ve emailed him the NHS guidelines about neuralgia. When I left him at work today, he was exhausted, turning on the cement mixer to finish the brick-work.

My lovely twitter friend has started a hashtag, #Boss2Dr – if he listens, I will buy him a Peppa Pig Easter egg (don’t laugh, he adores that pig).

As for me, I’m back in work tomorrow…

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Help Wanted….

craftyFor the first time in years, I have an awful lot of time on my hands.

MS took my partner, my job and my career path away from me (don’t worry, I’m not about to throw another pity party…).

Also, after six years, I’ve finally finished studying, plus The Teenager has got to the age where he’d rather pull out his eyelashes one by one than sit with me of an evening, supping hot chocolate and watching Grand Designs repeats. Not that we ever actually did that, but you know what I mean.

So this leaves me in a rather weird position. Having no partner clears an awful lot of time. No more, ‘you choose what we’re doing tonight’, ‘no, you choose’. No more planning blissful weekends window-shopping or sitting in little cafes staring into each others eyes. Not that we ever actually did that….

Having lost my career-path job and hence my future career, I now work in a job that I don’t really take home with me, apart from gallons of mud on my boots when I’m on site and a head full of dust.

So now I am in want of a hobby, and this is where you guys come in. I need your suggestions and you all probably know me better than I know myself. First the ones I can’t do – no more knitting (numb right hand), no more sewing machine (wasn’t clever enough to master it), nothing that takes a lot of space (tiny cottage, bonkers cat). I’ve tried baking but am so tired in the evenings, the cake mix ends up on the floor and the pile of washing up makes me weep.

I’m saving up for a saxaphone, but in the meantime I’m looking for something creative. I scanned all the crafty magazines at my local newsagents this morning and my brain got too full to concentrate so I grabbed my newspaper and left.

What do you think? Something I can do at the kitchen table with the radio humming gently in the background? My current hobby involves dossing on the sofa, flicking popcorn at the telly and talking to myself. Help wanted….

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Maybe I’m Not So Boring After All…

boringAfter my previous maudlin blog post, I had a lovely email from a friend.

In short, she told me I wasn’t at all boring, and in fact quite interesting, and I really should write a post about some not-so-boring stuff I have done, just to even things out.

So here goes:

  • On a visit to Scotland, I went to the travel agent to book ferry tickets to Skye. Instead, I booked flights to The Gambia and was on the beach 24 hours later.
  • I moved from Austria to New York on a whim. I had a ball.
  • I can burp the entire alphabet. Ewww.
  • I met Al Pacino once. He was a bit grumpy.
  • I used to speak fluent Norwegian and German.

It’s early, so I can’t think of any more things right now, but it’s given me food for thought. I am definitely my own worst critic and don’t give myself the easiest time.

To be fair,  the combination of MS and bullying/sacking from work hasn’t helped. But, as I came to realise a while back, it’s not only about what happens to you, it’s about how you react to it. I also have a lot to be grateful for – a healthy son, a wonderful family, great friends.

If I had a friend who constantly belittled and criticised me and sneered at every effort I made to improve my life, I’d get rid of them. So why do I do this to myself? If you can’t be friends with yourself, how can you expect other people to take you seriously?

On a more positive note, all this naval-gazing over the last couple of years has been a tremendous opportunity to totally re-evaluate my life, shake it down from top to bottom. It’s a unique chance to start afresh, so why squander the chance? We have to make MS work for us if we are to live in peace with it.

So. I am going to stop whingeing, stop analysing every single thing to death and lift my head above the parapet. It’s time to have more fun. And with that in mind, I’m off to get ready for work. My job has been the best therapy ever. Working with a bunch of men who refuse to let me take myself seriously has been a brilliant tonic.

No more pity-parties…

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Don’t Call Me, I’ll Call You…

Best FriendsI really have messed up.

I called a couple of friends over the last few days and without fail, they’ve said to me, ‘must dash!’.

I don’t blame them. I’m a terrible, awful friend.

I have been selfish, self-occupied and…..boring. I bore myself. So what hope do my friends have?

I love my friends but possibly I have called upon one too many favours. And what do they have in return? Nothing but a whingeing, boring peep, with MS her only conversation.

It wasn’t meant to be like this. I was supposed to be the living embodiment of ‘living well despite MS.’ So what happened?

Who knows. I think I am still the engaged, interested person I always was, but recent experience has shown me I really am not. Am I so used to MS now, it has become second nature? Is it me? Am I MS?

A depressing thought. But I guess not entirely surprising. I try to imagine myself if the roles were reversed. Could I be that patient, that understanding? For almost two years?

I love my friends. The thought of losing them is too terrible to bear. I have already lost so many since The Diagnosis.

I realised recently that I’m never invited out for lunch or coffee. Or, heaven forbid, a night out. I must have turned down so many invitations I’ve lost count. Friends have given up. ‘Nah, don’t bother asking Stumbling, she’ll only say no……’

I find myself in the position of calling friends and (begging just a little), ‘um. yeah, hi! Fancy getting together? Yeah, me! Um, ok, no worries……catch up soon, yeah (please)?’

Hmmm. My friends have been superstars. It’s me who is at fault. I. Am. Boring.

This is why I plan to take up the saxaphone this year. And why I have joined a friend’s book club (forget the first planned meeting, a disaster thanks to The Teenager).

To all the friends who have stuck by me, thank you.

x

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A Double Diagnosis?

HypochondriacAs if having the label of MS slapped on you isn’t bad enough, there’s another sneaky diagnosis that creeps up alongside it.

That of the well-meaning hypochondriac.

I never really worried about my health in those halcyon pre-MS days.

My body did what I told it to do, when I told it to. I had the usual sniffles and aches, just like anyone else. I even used to boast how strong my immune system must be as I rarely took a sick-day off work.

How times have changed. It probably all started after the first Official Relapse. I was urged to keep a symptom diary, noting down anything unusual or out of the ordinary. For the first time in my life, I was closely observing my body. Every single teeny-weeny symptom was duly logged and dated.

At the following appointment with the neurologist, he asked me about any recent symptoms. I took a deep breath and read through my list. Ten minutes later, with the neurologist no doubt planning his grocery list or clocking the cracks in the ceiling, I finished with ‘oh, and my nose sometimes twitches AND my eyelid does too. Weird, huh?’

In short, am I well on my way to becoming a full-blown hypochondriac? Not that I pester the medical staff or take up endless appointments. I am reluctant to ‘bother anyone’. I keep my anxiety to myself. But it’s awfully tiring. Or is that the MS fatigue?

It’s very difficult to differentiate between MS and non-MS symptoms. Some non-MS illnesses are made worse by MS, or at least, not helped. And am I more tired than usual because of work or because of MS? I could tie myself up in knots, if I had the energy.

I think the problem is that a lot of us with MS live with the knowledge that we are only as good as our last relapse. We scan the horizon, waiting for the next bunch of symptoms to ride over the hill.

And speaking of over the hill, I probably need to remind myself that I have indeed reached the milestone age of 40. The age when bits don’t work quite as well as they should. When we nod off in front of the telly. When we get creaky joints.

Must dash (stumble). The tip of my finger has just gone numb, perhaps I’d better jot it down…..

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