Tag Archives: bonkers

Boing Boing

boingAn abundance of energy is an elusive pipe dream for someone with MS. A month or so ago, I would have traded my cat’s soul for just a pinch of the wonder stuff (sorry, Dora).

I should be more careful what I wish for. My thyroid has decided to go bonkers, a result of the Alemtuzumab treatment and I am bouncing off the walls like a demented bouncy ball.

I’m averaging around 4 hours of sleep a night, and most of that is disturbed, as I lie there counting the spiders on the ceiling.

However, always one to look on the bright side, I am squealing with unadulterated pleasure at being able to fit into my skinny jeans, once relegated to a dark cupboard, stained with tears. The weight loss is nothing short of a miracle and before I start the thyroid medicine, I am savouring every moment. I can’t pass a mirror or shiny surface without pausing and turning this way and that, buzzing with delight.

I have lost my appetite. No, really! I pass on the donuts, the Wotsits and even my beloved bacon butties and instead nibble on toast or Brazil nuts.

Another upside is stamina when it comes to the Masters. My third attempt at flash fiction was fabulous (IMHO). The words flowed, no editing necessary. At 3am I emailed it over to my tutor, sat back with a sigh and caught up with Jerry Springer. I am speeding through my research books for my first essay, post-it notes flying, fluorescent pen whizzing along the pages. I am a demon. I can’t keep up with myself.

The house is sparkling and my cordless vacuum is on constant recharge, just like me. I concoct marvelous meals, ready for The Teenager to diss and put to one side before he whips out a Domino’s menu and a sad face.

I can’t keep still, my legs tremble and jig endlessly. I bump in to walls, trip down the stairs and am nurturing an impressive collection of bruises.

It won’t last. It can’t. I am burning out, ready for the inevitable crash. I am scared of going back to the bad old days when I sleep in the afternoon and nod off during Downton Abbey.

I go back to the doctor on Tuesday when she will put a stop to my fun with meds. The clock starts now and in no time at all, I will be waiting for the sad ping of ready meals and ignoring the dust. Until then, I will handcraft some candles for Christmas presents, paint the walls and clean the taps with a toothpick. And dust the lampshades, organise my food cupboards, carve a pumpkin, re-pot my plants……before it’s too late.

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Adorable Dora

Dora the bonkers catThe Teenager and I had a very long chat the other night and we decided to adopt another cat as soon as possible, so I went to Cats Protection yesterday.

He wanted to call the new cat ‘Dog’ or ‘Jam’. At a push, ‘Enchilada’. Hmm. This is the same kid who named my mum’s cat Yoda eight years ago.

Anyway, at the centre there were four long rows of the cutest, saddest cats. Heartbreaking. Half of them were clambering behind the glass, the other half hiding or sitting with their backs turned.

Some of them had sad histories. One had been kicked so badly in the stomach that she had to have an operation. One had lost an eye. Many had been abandoned and some were handed over by owners who could no longer afford to keep them, due to the recession.

I looked around. So many cats, but one stood out. Dora. A dinky little all-black female. Five years old, with a bonkers glint in her eye and I took to her straight away.

Back at reception I handed over my ID, my bank card and my details. I filled in numerous forms, read the small print, promised to take her for her second injection and swore allegiance to Cats Protection. I joked that there was less paperwork when I took my son home from hospital after he was born but that didn’t go down so well.

Dora came through in her basket and we whisked her off to the car. Back home, she has settled in incredibly quickly. When The Teenager came home from school, she jumped straight onto his lap. It feels as if she has been her forever.

Dora could never replace Bubble. She’s her own little character. She seems slightly crazy, but I like that. Having a crazy cat in a crazy world is no bad thing.

p.s. Dora just would not stay still for a second to let me take a proper photo – think she was high on catnip. And we’re going to call her Isadora…

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