Tag Archives: cold

MS Is Not The Only Illness

breathingI don’t know about you guys, but MS is hard enough to handle without the extra winter bugs chucked our way.

It’s tempting to think that when you’ve drawn the health short straw, anything else will be minor, easy to handle.

I stand (slump) corrected: I’ve been off work most of January with a rotten, stinking cold and it shows no signs of leaving any time soon. To add insult to injury, I’ve lost most of my voice (I know, me?!) so I’m particularly frustrated.

However, as befits anyone starting the New Year with a commitment to Get Things Done, I’veĀ ticked a few things off my list:

  • I finally replaced the bulb in The Teenager’s bedside light.
  • I took the cat to the vet (again) to sort out her flea-bite allergy (again) and jokingly begged the vet to give me the same steroid injection.
  • I ordered a whole load of herbal teas online, inspired by a Christmas gift. They look nice on my shelf.
  • The Boss took me on a trip to Ikea, where I munched on some weird eggs in the cafe and bought a stack of tealights and a sad-looking plant.
  • I spent a whole day and evening debating with myself whether I should paint my living room black/very dark grey. Still undecided.

The worst thing about an extra illness is how MS interacts with it; if MS had any decency, it would take a back-seat and allow a bit of time to get through this whole new host of symptoms?

Not a chance – all the usual MS symptoms have been amplified x 20. So now I’m yet again pin-balling around the house as my balance is appalling. I’ve tripped up the stairs and down the stairs. I have bruises all over my legs and if I break one more plate/cup/bowl, I’ll … break another one against the wall, if only I had the energy.

I’m bored and fed up. Just when I think it’s over, it flares up again. I got my voice back for a day and caught up with my phonecalls. Then it died, probably to the relief of everyone, including the cat. I had a tentative day backĀ  in work yesterday. Bad idea. Very bad idea. I listed, lolled and lay upright against the walls, until it was remarked upon by everyone else and I was sent on bonfire duty, which sounds a lot more exciting than it actually is – burning a load of stuff and making sure I don’t set the work site on fire.

As I sat there with a long stick, intermittently prodding the embers and wishing I had a bag of marshmallows, I decided that when I was better, I would absolutely, completely and totally … do something different.

But what?


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Back In The Saddle …

nuggetThe Teenager is back from his last ever school trip, a half-term jaunt to Washington.

Luckily for him, it coincided with my horrendous cold/semi-flu/downright miserable symptoms, so he got away lightly.

After six days of peace and a strange sense of calm at home, he arrived back on Thursday.

Long story short, they really should tear up the alphabet and name the next big hurricane after him – Hurricane Christopher, Extra Strength.

Chaos reigned once more, the bathroom sink was quickly defiled by toothpaste stains, the laundry basket was protesting. The fridge was stripped bare and The Teenager stalked our tiny cottage, bewailing a dire lack of protein.

Life was back to normal.

A couple of days have now passed and it’s like riding a bike – I’m once more used to the texts he sends, despite us being 7 or so metres apart:

‘Hellloooooooo moooommmmaaaa – beans on toast with extra cheese, ta. Love you. xx.’

‘Can I have a tenner for tomorrow? All my friends do. Party.’

‘How many chicken nuggets are in the freezer?’

From my Sofa Command Centre, I fire back replies:

‘Oh, really?’



Come stand-off, he normally treads downstairs and ruffles my hair in a semi-ironic fashion and calls me ‘Mom’ in a fake American accent. It usually works.

In the meantime, I have been feeling very sorry for myself, laying semi-comatose on my sofa. My head has been hammering and I’ve felt like, well … ill. I hate it.

I’ve had to take six whole days off work and have been too ill to even watch Jeremy Kyle, a sure sign that I really am … ill. If I had the energy, I would kick myself. And pop out to buy some Wotsits and Aero Bubbles.

My dissertation is wobbling around my subconsciousness and I know I’m in trouble when I have to thesaurus the word, ‘however’. With the deadline looming, I’m panicking.

All the best writers wobble? And if you’re not the best, you wobble more?

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