Tag Archives: gah

Still Waiting …

impatientNo thyroid tablets for six days now!

The weight should be dropping off!

Except, it isn’t.

I bumped into a passing acquaintance I hadn’t seen for a couple of years yesterday and we exchanged the usual, ‘how are you, so am I’.

I then waved my hands around my large body and apologised for my weight (why?). I seem to be doing that a lot over the last year or so. Embarrassment? Humiliation?

Anyway, I joked, ‘ah, pesky baby weight, lol.’

‘Aw, bless, you have a new baby?’ (I could see her mentally totting up how ancient I must be)

‘Nah, he’s 17 in August.’


I know I’m being impatient, but over the last eighteen months of thyroid tablets, I have packed on the weight. I am … massive … and I hate it. Don’t get me wrong, I never want to be skinny. I can’t quite believe I was a size 10 (ok, maybe 12) before The Teenager and I was perfectly happy with my curves and womanly figure. Right now, I’d settle for a 16.

But … this. This is unreal.

I hate mirrors. Mind you, I like mine – thank you Ikea. It’s just everyone else’s I hate. I leave the house thinking, ok, large but ok, turn to the left. Large but ok. Profile? Hmm. Then, like today, I see myself captured on one of those horrible CCTV cameras, waiting patiently to pick up a parcel at the depot. Who is that? And why did I even leave the house?

I’ve always believed it’s the person we are inside that should shine through, but try thinking that when you’re squeezing into fat jeans and a blouse that gives you a triple choc muffin top. It brings me down. I try to ease my shoulders back (not an inconsiderable task, given the size of my stomach) and sail when I walk. Glide. I will own this weight.

Nah. Doesn’t work.

I’ve never been beautiful, so it’s not an anguished cry for a lost nirvana. I just want to be me again. It’s as if my weight has galloped ahead and I don’t recognise myself. Shallow? Quite possibly? But when MS has already take so much from me, it would have been nice if it had left my metabolism alone.

Yet. In the back of my mind, in the depths of my despair, would I ever swap the treatment I had for zero thyroid problems? Not a chance. I’m not ungrateful. I’m just impatient.

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What Gives?

escape2016 has been a cruel year.

A seriously ill relative.

Three health scares, one after the other, including debilitating flu.

Too much unexpected time off work, so less money coming in.

And MS is playing up.

All in all, when I raised my solitary glass of champagne as the last dregs of 2015 drained away, I could never have foreseen just how much my world would change only a few short weeks later.

Back in 2012, when I was first diagnosed with MS, I had one aim – to ensure The Teenager had as happy a life as possible, despite everything. And I’ve succeeded (ish), until now.

I’m rushing around, working, studying, catching up with Ill Relative Business. I’ve cancelled book club, haven’t been out with friends for three months and I can’t remember the last time I did something just for fun.

I’m months behind in my Uni work – my Next Great Novel is on hold. I pray I can carve out some time to catch up. I’m floundering.

So, what gives? What can I let go of?

I look a mess. My hair is straggly and un-cut. I veer from over-eating to existing on adrenalin and Lucozade. My plans to create a Scandinavian-style capsule wardrobe have been shelved. There’s mould in the bathroom and I just can’t be bothered to sort it out.

We all have to cope with unexpected scenarios and juggle a stupid amount of balls in the air. Behind it all, MS looms large. My foot drop is back with a vengeance and my memory seems to be shot to pieces. I can barely remember what week we’re in – in short, normal life is on hold.

But – I’m trying. Even the simple stuff like keeping on top of the laundry is keeping me sane. If I can meal plan a few days in advance, it’s a result. And if I can get to work and put in a full day (although my nickname’s ‘Half-Shift’), it’s all good.

Yet in the back of my mind, I fear the relapse. I fought back through a horrendous bout of the ‘flu, but a relapse is different. It will pin me down and not let go. And what do I do then?

Despite it all, I am trying to remember to look on the bright side of life. There’s daffodils for sale, the sun is shining and I am still going strong-ish.

I’ll get there. Won’t I?

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To PhD or not PhD …

etc… that is The Question.

I have had an incredibly exciting day, visiting a Post-Graduate University event, feeling very, very old, collecting my bag, freebie pen and numerous leaflets before being ushered to various stalls.

Where I collected more pens, leaflets and a head full of ideas.

Weirdly, there were bowls of sweets and plates of biscuits at every stand, but I was polite and declined all offers, yet afterwards I wondered – was it a bizarre initiation ceremony? Had I somehow failed by refusing the tempting Jammie Dodger  or Gummi Bears at the Student Union stand?

After whizzing around the stalls (the peeps were beyond helpful and enthusiastic), I had a couple of hours break when I went home to rouse The Teenager from his pit, today being his day off school.

Long story short, I let him sleep (easier), put a wash on, sorted the recycling, had a coffee and headed out to the talk about Creative Writing PhD’s, before heading back to my Uni for a tutorial about the book ‘Omega’, which I read a couple of months back and therefore couldn’t recall a single interesting thing to say.

I waffled.

When I got home, hours after leaving the house, I offloaded the industrial quantity of bananas for The Teenager and told him off for giving the cat a dangerous dose of catnip – she’s currently racing through the house, climbing anything she can find and bouncing off the sofas, wide-eyed and lethal, much to The Teenager’s amusement.

Anyway, my journey to this point has been weird and wonderful – being sacked for having MS, contacting the inspiring author M J Hyland, who encouraged me to start blogging over three years ago, to you guys who nudged me in to publishing a book, to taking a Master’s, to now. And next? PhD?

Am I suited for academia? I don’t know the language, but I have a passion . Is that enough?

Or am I fated to spend my days measuring concrete in square metres and advising customers about the benefits of vinyl over block flooring?

Let me know what you think – and if you offer Gummi Bears as an incentive, I’m all ears …

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Rewriting The Relapse …

mehIn the short space of writing my last post, I have had three emails asking/demanding to know:

If you’re having a relapse, how come you have the energy to write about it?’

‘Don’t get it – if you can get to a keyboard, you can wash up.’

I expected this.

I had an in-depth conversation with my mum and one of my sisters last night about the same thing.

They understand that my outlet is blogging, writing, whatever you want to call it.

In short, there is no one else here. It’s just me.

So you guys, sorry, are my outlet.

Which is the beauty of social media. It’s called ‘social’ for a reason.

I remember so vividly how comforted I felt when I posted one of my blogs. I was in a bad way and the support came flooding back. I was not alone.

That’s the point.

This blog is my venting point, my working-out-my-emotions-point.

Yes, I still work. I work hard. And when I get home, it takes me at least three hours to recover. The Teenager will tell you the same thing.

I am exhausted. And alone. So, yes, I reach for the keyboard. And I don’t really think I should be judged for that?

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