Category Archives: My Ramblings

Feb 14 2013
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My Ramblings

Flowers, Who Needs ‘Em?

Yes, as you’ve guessed by the blog title, I am a singleton on Shameless Commercialism Day Valentine’s Day. But the good news is, I had a Valentine’s card!  The bad news is, it was from Tom,  the 89 year old pensioner I check in on.

Well, at least I’m not working in an office any more. Long gone are those awful days when everyone else received  bouquets of flowers, accompanied by ‘oh, I didn’t know that was going to happen’ squeals from various women jumping up and down at the sight of a few roses.

The same women who, a week earlier, could be heard saying in the toilets, ‘…I’ve told him, if he doesn’t send me flowers this year, he can whistle for, you know…’

Now my inadequacy is shared only with the cat (she watches the letterbox every day) and she’s on my side. I whinge to friends that I hate the tacky commercialism of Valentine’s Day and my heart sinks when all the gooey stuff appears in the shops just after Christmas. No sooner have the ‘Merry Christmas, my squidgy, squashy Boyfriend’ cards been packed away, I’m assaulted by a sea of red and pink. And roses. And fluffy little teddy bears with ‘I Wuv You’ scrawled across their chests.

And what’s this whole thing with chocolates? Oi, loved-up people, you get the flowers, you get the meal out, you get the jewellery. Can’t you keep your smug little paws off the chocolate – it’s for  us single ladies. See it as our consolation prize.

Of course, if I was loved-up, I would be starry-eyed with rapture at being presented with a dozen red roses, a Tiffany necklace and a huge box of pralines (my favourites). I would benevolently smile down upon the lesser, single mortals, with pity and not a little smugness. May they too find love, poor, sad, lonely peeps. But I’m not loved-up, so I can’t. Sniff.

This Valentine’s Day then, I will mostly be listening to ‘I Am Woman’ (over and over again), hoovering up the Maltesers I stashed away from The Teenager and sitting on the sofa in my comfiest, slobbiest pyjamas. I may even put a face pack on and paint my toenails. Valentine’s Day? Meh…

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Feb 09 2013
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My Ramblings

A Helping Hand in Limboland

sad stick womanSometimes I wish I could go back in time to that terrifying morning when I woke up and couldn’t speak properly or walk in a straight line. If I knew then what I know now, I would have been a very different person. For someone whose father had MS, I knew surprisingly little. I had no idea what  CIS was, what an MRI would show, why I had to have a lumbar puncture.

I was in Limboland. I might develop MS. Or I might not. It is a cruel waiting game. I didn’t understand the ‘multiple’ part of multiple sclerosis. I left the clinic after that first relapse utterly petrified. What was I to do now? I had been given a couple of MS leaflets and information about how to contact the MS team. But if I didn’t yet have MS, why would I be given that? I was bewildered.

I accessed a few forums, one dedicated to Limbolanders and I gained a huge amount of information (a very, very special mention to ‘Rizzo’ who was amazing in answering all my queries). The forums were a lifeline, but at a cost. A lot of people had been stuck in Limboland for years, some well over a decade. Despair and anger oozed from the forum. We were all in a nasty, dark waiting room and I would feel a painful stab of strange envy when someone posted that they had been diagnosed, and were now leaving us behind; they had the golden ticket.

I read everything I could about the McDonald criteria, ticking off the four points bit by bit. Finally (but only 10 months later), I had my ticket. My brain threw up more lesions, far too many and I was diagnosed. Possibly one of the best and worst days of my life.

I wish I had been handed a step-by-step guide to life in Limboland, clearly explaining the whole diagnostic process, the frustrations, the waiting. Could someone please publish this? Letting us know that you have to go through so much, from first relapse to eventual diagnosis. Break us in gently. Please don’t throw us in the deep end.

So, to everyone diagnosed with MS, look out for the Limbolanders. Treat them kindly. Be an inspiration and show them we are not so bad, it’s not so scary. There is a life after diagnosis. Aren’t we all proof of this?

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Feb 05 2013
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My Ramblings

Arthouse Bingo

bingo timeThe Teenager was away at the weekend, so I went to an arty cafe/winebar/arts space to pretend to be cultivated, arty and interesting. Hopefully my pale, MS-tired face added to the mystique.

To pass the time and look as if I am writing an angsty novel, I play ‘Arthouse Bingo’. The rules are easy – a point if you can spot each of the following, and if you get to 5, buy yourself another drink:

  • Massively over-sized lampshades, preferably in black.
  • No menus, just a huge blackboard with locally-sourced food, i.e. they went to the local Lidl, bought some salami and Parma ham and slapped it on a slate tile with a couple of sliced gherkins.
  • A higher than average array of beardy men (and some women). Likewise, a higher than average amount of red trousers worn.
  • A minimum of 30 European beers with ‘ironic’ names – the easy way to get intellectually inebriated.
  • Lots of conversations starting with, ‘But is it art?’
  • A tribe of wild-looking children running amok as the parents look on indulgently, ‘Juniper, Hugo and Mabel, darlings, untie Milly and come and eat your asparagus soldiers.’
  • A book-swap corner – a bookcase where you can bring your old tat and swap it for a 1992 Driving Atlas of France.
  • Coffee must be handpicked by an organic wizard in deepest Columbia.
  • Lots of women with flowing hair, strings of hand-made beads and jangly silver bracelets.
  • Old Skool puddings on the menu – spotted dick, apple crumble, custard, etc. Such fun!
  • At least 5 terribly anguished-looking people hunched over MacBooks.
  • If there is a cinema, listen out for, ‘Oh, but I preferred the book, the original Dutch translation.’
  • Everyone speaks very LOUD. No need for music unless there is a visiting harmonica group from Patagonia.

Anyway, I passed a lovely couple of hours, braying loudly, speculating as to whether the huge painting in the bar was art or not. I rattled my beads intelligently and enjoyed my ironic glass of dry white wine. I have past form in these places – as a teenager, I considered myself to be the coolest person ever, standing by the bar, beret on, reading Jean-Paul Sartre and talking utter nonsense.

If I had the nerve (and legs), I would love to turn up in a denim mini-skirt and white stilettos. Only two flaws with that plan – one, I can’t walk in heels and two, the crowd would probably think I was the performance art…….

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Dec 31 2012
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My Ramblings

The Last Day of The Year…

Well, here we are, the very last day of the year and what a year it’s been. I’ve been diagnosed with MS, had Alemtuzumab treatment, lost my job and started a new one. As one door closes, another one opens and all that. A whole fresh new year is ready to be discovered. Exciting!

So why oh why are two of the most miserable songs ever written all about New Year? Honestly, if I hear ‘Happy New Year’ by Abba one more time, I will be in danger of becoming seriously depressed and full of Nordic gloom.

And I’m dreading U2’s ‘New Years Day’ playing on an endless loop all day Tuesday. Where’s the happiness? Where’s the looking forward to a bright, shiny new year?

A random sample of Abba’s ‘Happy New Year’ lyrics include:

  • Here we are, me and you, feeling lost and feeling blue
  • It’s the end of the party, and the morning seems so grey
  • Seems to me now, that the dreams we had before are all dead, nothing more

Makes you want to crack open the champagne and fire off some party poppers, eh? I guess New Year’s Eve can be a bit depressing – we look over the past year, sigh over some of our decisions and ponder our regrets. According to the newspapers, most of us will be at home, celebrating with a Marks and Spencers £10 meal deal. We’ll count down to Big Ben and toast the new year in with a shrug of the shoulders and head for bed at 12.10am.

But this year, I want to celebrate my achievements and the fact that I survived everything life and MS had to throw at me. I’m still here! And I’m stronger and happier than I have been in a long time. The MS community has embraced me and I have found incredible support from other MSers. My family and friends have been amazing. What’s not to like?

So, sorry Abba. I won’t be singing along to your dirge today. I will be having a nice glass of wine, chilling in a wine bar with jazz playing in the background. Goodbye 2012, I’m sure 2013 will be one of my best years yet….

 

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Dec 18 2012
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My Ramblings

The Sweet Smell of Success

Right. After the realisation yesterday that my life is in ruins and I’ve got some serious rebuilding to do, where better to start than with my perfume? If the adverts are to be believed, I can totally transform my life with just a few squirts. I will become beguiling, strong, powerful and beautiful. Men will buy me flowers, I will dance in sunlit orchards and New York will lay itself at my feet. Bring it on.

I bought the latest issue of Marie Claire, made a coffee and flipped through the pages. Which one should I choose? Thierry Mugler claims I will ‘Feel Extraordinary’ if I use his Alien perfume. Alien? Really? I already feel strange and alienated enough thanks to MS.

Giorgio Armani has bottled ‘the secret code of women’. Eh? What the heck does that mean? I don’t want my new perfume to be secret – I want it to shout success, status and sassiness.

Lancôme says ‘life is beautiful, live it your way’. Well, my way hasn’t been working so far. Dolce & Gabbana proclaims that it’s perfume is ‘the one’. The one what? Banana? Escada is on the right track with ‘create your world of happiness’, but ruins it with a woman (child) posing in a rose garden. Not very empowering. And she’s too thin. And too pretty.

My favourite one is Boss Pour Femme with ‘this will be your night’. Now you’re talking. But I think I would like at least a few weeks, not just one night. I much prefer the Boss perfume for men. Ryan Reynolds (who?) says, ‘I don’t expect success. I prepare for it’. That’s pretty serious business. The one that made me fall about laughing though is Chanel No 5. You know, that one with Brad Pitt (Brad, why??). There’s an advert on telly, half shot in black and white and it is quite possibly the most pretentious perfume advert ever made. It ends with him saying, ‘inevitable’. Words fail me.

Maybe I need to run the dreaded perfume hall gauntlet in town, try out some new scents. I could collect lots of those dinky cards they give you then sit in a cafe and have a little think and a sniff. Knowing me though, I will end up looking like Hannibal Lecter working out which perfume Jodie Foster is wearing. My quest continues…

 

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