Monthly Archives: November 2014

Nov 18 2014
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Symptoms and Treatment

Please Excuse My Brain, It Doesn’t Know What It’s Doing

memoryI was formally introduced to my brain after my very first MRI.

There it was, in all it’s lesioned glory, glowing brightly on the computer screen. I was entranced and tried to take in what the neurologist was telling me as he counted up the little blobs of white amidst the grey.

I used to like my brain and we got on quite well; it saw me through lots of adventures, exams and crises. And Trivial Pursuits. It could always be relied upon to make snap(ish)  decisions or mull over a myriad of options for any given situation.

Lamentably, it has decided to strike out on its own, making a bid for devolution and taking a lot of important bits with it. Now my short-term memory is atrocious. I repeat myself. I also talk about the old days, but that’s probably an age thing. I repeat myself.

I frequently apologise on behalf of my brain and it can become quite awkward. Say I’m standing in front of a huge cafe menu, chalk-boarded behind the increasingly-impatient barista. I am blank. I literally cannot think what to order. Likewise menus in restaurants, shampoos and conditioners in Boots, colours on paint charts and which wrapping paper to buy for Christmas (someone told me it was soon).

I forget the most basic facts so chatting with me can be a journey into charades. I can’t remember names, conversations or dates. I point to stuff, use my hands to describe things and say ‘aggggghhhhh, you know, that, that, um, thing with the spouty bit?’ ‘Oh, yeah, thanks, kettle.’

However, let’s look at the upsides. For one, I no longer brood on things. Drawn-out arguments are a thing of the past. I could have one on the Monday and bounce into work like Tigger on the Tuesday, all forgotten, unless I’ve blogged about it. Then I brood, meh.

But having a short-term memory means I re-experience wondrous things again and again. It’s almost as if every day is new. I get up in the morning and think, ‘wow, what a lovely day! Oh, great, I can have coffee! Wow! And the cat, isn’t she just gorgeous?’ Until, thwack, I veer into the bannister and it all comes rushing back.

That aside, I will continue to count my blessings. I equate it with a computer and how refreshing it can be to delete and send to the trash bin all that junk that’s been hanging around, and that’s got to be a good thing?

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Nov 15 2014
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Work and Studying

Off Work, On The Ball

meThe boss is away soon (Abu Dhabi, Grand Prix, tsk)  so I now find myself with a lot of spare time on my hands.

I’m not back in work for ten days (*stumbles for joy*).

But.

I’m useless with time. I can sit/lie/sprawl on the sofa for hours on end, waste entire days contemplating hoovering the house and generally loll about doing nothing much apart from de-fleaing the cat.

With this in mind, I have drawn up a timetable. In these ten days I have to: go to the doctor’s twice (thyroid), write two 2.000 word essays, write a collection of short stories totalling 3,000 words, edit my blog ready for publishing, stop shoving dust balls under the rugs and hoover the house, finish Christmas shopping, clear all the leaves from the garden and make a banana cake.

Sadly, I’m useless at timetables. I work far better under pressure, and with the lure of downloading addictive trash TV, I will have to be strict with myself. And this is where I come unstuck.

I’m toying with the idea of the donkey and stick. Maybe I should hold off that first cup of wondrous coffee until I at least write one tiny paragraph of an essay. Or until I pick up the hoover. But I tried that before. I simply opened the coffee jar and inhaled deeply then picked the blasted hoover up and half-heartedly sucked up the bits of cat food around the bowls. Exhausting. And Housewives of Somewhere or Other was ready to watch and calling to me.

So I’m a little bit anxious about the days stretching ahead in front of me, but when I think back to my last day in work, today, I’m kind of relived to have a little break.

The Boss thought it would be hilarious to play the Christmas radio station. I endured five hours of back-to-back Christmas hits, with his favourites turned up loud. By the end of the day I was a gibbering wreck, with trumpets, drummer boys and halls decked with holly careering around my brain.

My first proper day off is tomorrow. I will visit the Uni library, take The Teenager to rugby training, make a banana cake and dust the telly. In readiness.

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Nov 14 2014
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Daily Life

Erm, What Am I?

starvingOk, ok, violins out – my chosen career path is, well, dead. Withered. Mothballed and shoved to the back of a cupboard in the spare bedroom next to the Nordic walking poles.

Apart from the fact that there’s a distinct lack of translation jobs in Cardiff, not many companies are inclined to convert their English brochures into Norwegian. And why would they?

And that’s fine. Honest. Gulp. Takk, and all that.

So now, who exactly am I in the grand scheme of things?

Well, pull your Ikea chair closer, for I have The Answer.

I. Am. A. Writer.

I know, strange, huh? We had a new peep on board this week at our latest project. He took in my overalls, my notepad, my, ahem, probing questions about the job. And then he asked me what I did in my real life. Hmm. I stumbled. I stuttered, ‘well, I, like, you know, erm, blog?

‘You’re a writer then.’

‘Erm, ah, no, not really, I, you know, blog, kind of…..’

‘You’re a writer then?’

Oh.

*Pauses for a very, very long time to let this information digest, totally forgetting that I am enrolled on an MA in Creative Writing*

‘Erm, Yeah, s’pose. Never thought of it like, you know, ‘Writer’.

Eek. A writer?

A seductive thought. The clouds, they are very dark and they are bright. And dark! And light again.

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Nov 13 2014
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Symptoms and Treatment

Softening The Blow

BountyI vividly remember trying to rummage through my newly-delivered Bounty Bag minutes before my newly-delivered son tried his best (again) to wake up every other baby on the maternity ward.

The nurse told me he was the noisiest baby they’d seen in a long while and I hoped she was joking.

Anyway, the Bounty Bag. A corporate free-for-all where baby-related companies give you a whole stack of freebies and booklets in order to entice you into swearing allegiance to them for evermore. Some people sneer at them, but for me, living in London without close relatives nearby or friends who weren’t falling out of nightclubs, the Bag had magical properties. Someone, somewhere had been through it before and thought I might just like a few tips.

Ethics to one side (nice try, flogging goods to women who had just been through the hell that is childbirth), wouldn’t it be great if newly-diagnosed peeps were handed a bag stuffed full of information and a few goodies to see us on our way?

From what I’ve heard, a lot of us are in the dark at diagnosis. We’ve probably googled ourselves silly, gorged on doom and gloom websites and come out the other side crying into our cornflakes.

So, here’s what I would have included in mine:

  • Lots and lots of booklets from those lovely people at the MS Society and the MS Trust – sanity in the wilderness.
  • A voucher for a months supply of Waitrose ready-meals. And of course, Dominos for The Teenager.
  • Some posh pillar candles (red-rimmed eyes magically disappear in candlelight).
  • A good few bars of Swiss chocolate. And maybe some jellybeans.
  • A large box of very soft tissues.
  • An expensive throw for the sofa.

Disclaimer: MS is individual to everyone so it makes sense to offer bespoke bags….

What would you have in yours?

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Nov 11 2014
20 Comments
Emotions

Mea Culpa

sorryI have lost two very dear friends recently – all my own fault.

Looking back, my behaviour was abominable. One friend, I only called when I was distressed. The other, when I felt ok. Both probably felt cheated and used and I don’t blame them.

This is a very hard post to write, but it has to be said. There’s only so much nonsense our friends will take.

Sure, some of our friends will drift away, unable to cope with our new state. All the more reason to nurture the ones who stayed. Which is where I went wrong, so very badly wrong.

I admit it, I was selfish. It was all about me. I ignored the things they told me about their own lives. I blanked it out, puffed up with MS self-importance. This was happening to ME. End of.

What I forgot in the MS Haze, is that those dear friends have lives of their own, with the same bad news, tragedies, ongoing sadness. In a way, I used and abused their kindness.

I am doing a lot of reflecting. Ongoing. And I am shocked and saddened by the grief I may have put on others in my pursuit of advice and help. In a tiny small way, I took a bouquet of flowers to one of those I had annoyed, just this afternoon. Then ran back in to reassure her that I had blocked her number.  I wouldn’t call again.

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