Tag Archives: Graves

Perception Is Everything …

wombleHaving worked the entire bank holiday weekend, I’m shattered and filled to the brim with bricks/wood/steel beam measurements.

Not the best position with an MS-brain like mine.

During this relapse, The Boss has been picking me up and dropping me off for work as my legs go a bit wonky and my head is somewhere in the clouds.

Lovely. Not only do I save petrol, I also cleverly factor in Gumtree pick-ups, such as yesterday;

‘Um. Boss. Y’know years ago we did that job in that street opposite that car place?’

‘Oh, yeah? That was ages ago?’

‘Yeah, should we drive past? See if they did that thing we mentioned?’

He finally twigs. I come clean.

‘S’was on Gumtree. Same road. Free plant pots. Silly not to really?’

And so it was, I picked up loads of free plant pots  on my way home yesterday. Excellent. I had used my powers of innate perception.

I hate my routine at the moment – work, home, work, home. With a relapse, there’s no space left for anything remotely meaningful.

Except random free offers of plant pots. I spent a happy half hour scooping earth I’d bought two years ago into a free pot. There was a worm in every handful. But I was kind of happy.

Perception. I could look at it one way:

Tragic divorced single parent with an incurable neurological illness, nudging late early 40’s.


Exuberant, vibrant, independent 43 year old parent of an awesome Teenager, with an abundance of spirit … and MS’.

I mean me; I’m talking about the same person.

And that’s why I’m trying to re-frame my life – if I see myself one way, people react. The other way, people react. So, maybe I should shove all my sad-person preconceptions to one side and big myself up for once;

‘Fat MS womble, taking on the world?’

I’m embracing the F-Word at long last – Campath-Induced Grave’s Disease be damned …

p.s. this post derives from a random conversation with The Boss about the remote possibility of me venturing in to the dating world again …

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I Love You, No Really, I Do

nhsValentine’s Day (aka Smugged Up Day) is drawing ever closer.

Confronted by oceans of red roses, snuggly-wuggly teddy bears and soppy cards, I am sending a different sort of Valentine’s card this year.

Gone are the painfully awkward days when I had nothing – nothing – to display on my desk at school/work. The shame. Despite firing off 3 for £1 cards to all and sundry, in particular the guy who wore Grolsch bottle tops on his shoes at the height of Bros-fame (younger readers, you may have to google this).

Nope, this year, especially after today, my heart most definitely lies with the NHS. I am in love.

To cut a long love story short, I had an appointment with an endocrinologist this afternoon. I was, of course, the 1 in 3 who got thyroid problems after Alemtuzumab. To my delight, my weight dropped two stone in six weeks, nothing short of miraculous. I sent The Teenager up into the attic to ferret out boxes of clothes I had consigned to the Skinny Era. However, my ever-vigilant GP spotted the trend in my blood results and put an end to my fun.

Anyway, I had the most wonderful consultant today, and, buoyed up by his kindness, I waxed lyrical about the NHS. We’re so lucky in this country and it’s something I try not to forget. I have a great neurologist, a fab team of MS nurses and the knowledge that any problem I have will be swiftly addressed.

In short, I am counting my blessings. Despite the horror of this week, when I lost my beloved cat and companion, I know that I am in good hands.

So, this year, despite being a Sad Singleton the Wrong Right Side of Forty (with a Teenager and Compost Heap), I will be celebrating. I may even treat myself to a romantic dinner for one. But in the back of my mind, I will always remember just how fortunate I am.

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