Tag Archives: The Teenager

Aug 01 2017
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Emotions

Just The One Candle, Ta …

ancientYep, it’s that time of the year again when I’m staring down a Saga Holiday (see the world! make new friends! we have doctors and defibrillators on board!).

Obviously, I’m not quite there yet, but it’s getting ever closer.

However, the issue of my age was put into startling perspective when The Teenager, whilst hanging off the fridge one day, asked me how old I was when I had him.

’26’.

‘Wow! Like, that’s …  like, wow … old, yeah?’.

‘Well, ok, but if you’d behaved yourself and arrived on time, I would have been 25, so ner’.

He was due the day after my birthday but hung around for another week, dozing off every time the midwife wanted a poke around.

‘Hmm, he’s big, isn’t he? You look a little uncomfortable?’

‘Yeah’.

Almost 18 years later, The Teenager was aghast. ‘So, in, like 26 years time, you’ll be, like, 70? If we count your next birthday, which is like, a couple of weeks away? Or 69 if we don’t. To be fair. But, like, wow‘.

When you’re pregnant, they tell you kids will keep you young.

They were wrong.

As The Teenager loves music, I have to play along to ‘Guess The Year’. I’m always a decade or so out. Same for films. And major news stories. Is this what happens in your 40’s?

It’s strange because I seem to exist in a time warp. The Teenager plays almost exactly the same music I did at his age – Oasis, The Verve, The Beatles. He watches the same films. He wears the same clothes as my old boyfriends. And me, apart from the mirrored skirts and stripy tights with Doc Martins.

In fairness, I will grow old disgracefully and fully intend to embrace my hastening years and wear lots of black flowing garments accessorised with large beads and silver bracelets. I envisage giving readings of my eighth bestselling book to hoards of said Teenagers who will be rapt as they listen to me espouse words of wisdom.

In real life? I will no doubt reach 69/70 in the blink of an eye, much like my first 26 years, so I will do my utmost to cram every experience possible into such a slim window.

MS-willing …

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Jul 08 2017
18 Comments
The Teenager

And Exhale …

exhaleAfter The Teenager collapsed in June, we were so lucky for him to be referred to a neurologist, thanks to the advice of one of the fabulous MS nurses.

Within the month, I was sitting with him in my usual MS clinic, him fidgeting on his phone, me controlling my breathing.

I had been there just the day before, for an MS nurse appointment, hoping for the results of my latest MRI scan (nothing yet, gah).

We were called through by a neurologist I hadn’t seen before and he instantly put The Teenager at ease. He took a detailed case history then ran him through an extensive round of tests, a little hampered towards the end by The Teenager’s exceptionally ticklish feet.

The upshot is, there is nothing obvious that would point to MS.

I let out the breath I had been holding.

However, there is something a little odd in his presentation so he is being sent for an MRI of his spine. And that’s fine, I can deal with that. I think. The neurologist explained about blood flow through the spinal cord and blockages. It could be a lot of things, but probably not MS.

What can I say? The relief is immense, for both of us. We just needed to know either way. His collapse was unexpected and shocking.

So now we can concentrate on his summer of exploration, that strange suspended time between A levels and University. Before he heads off on one of his many summer trips though, he has my graduation on Monday to sit through …

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Jun 10 2017
42 Comments
Daily Life

The Ugly Spectre Of MS

noThe Teenager collapsed last week.

As with most teenagers, he had his phone glued to his hand at the time and managed to text me in work:

‘can’t get off the floor, come and help me. I’m scared’.

I couldn’t get there straight away so sent others, who managed to pick him up off the floor.

By the time I arrived home, he was marooned in his bed, in pain and confused.

I took him to the GP and the chiropractor.

The evening before, we had been in A&E with extreme nerve pain. And were referred back to his GP.

Some tests were run.

He has been referred to a neurologist.

He mentioned a few symptoms that made my blood run cold.

He has been working out at the gym. That will be it?

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May 29 2017
6 Comments
Daily Life

Kicked The Basket, Stayed Calm …

don't take me homeI worked the whole bank holiday.

I didn’t mind too much; I’d had to stay at home during the height of the sudden heatwave and had ploughed my way through numerous box-sets on telly, fanning myself with one of The Teenager’s discarded school files.

I was hot, bored and bothered. MS heat intolerance is miserable.

Friday was The Teenager’s last official day at school. Ever. I unpinned his timetable from the notice board in the kitchen with a deep, sad sigh. I woke him up for school for the last time, waved him off to his last ever school assembly, with his last ever lunch money in his pocket. He popped back briefly a couple of hours later and I daubed his face with camouflage make-up, hung dog tags around his neck and waved him off again.

He was taking part in the Sixth Form Leaver’s tradition – a pub crawl around the local area, ending up in the city centre. This year’s theme was ‘military’ (last year’s was ‘American Football’). There’s a long road between pubs outside my house and every year I see the endless line of kids walking past, chanting loudly. Perhaps with Manchester in mind, watching the procession of students walk past dressed in various forms of khaki, singing ‘Don’t Take Me Home‘ made me cry.

That was 2pm. I heard him come back home at 3am, rise again at 5am and leave to get the train/bus/tram to Manchester to watch one of his favourite bands at Old Trafford. Plus, he’d remembered to lock the door and let the cat out. Impressive.

Anyway, on my way to work this morning I stopped off at a local shop to pick up some lunch. I was wandering around the aisles, debating microwave lasagna vs. chicken pieces when, wham, I went flying. Foot drop? Nope. Someone had left an empty basket in the aisle, one of those wire ones, so not readily visible. I picked myself up, a little bruised and embarrassed. I heard laughter. I turned round and the woman at the counter was looking at me and … laughing.

Not asking if I was ok, not coming over to help. She stayed behind the counter. Laughing. I kicked the basket. It knocked into a display of sun-cream (Are You Protected?) which wobbled a bit and a few bottles fell off. I kicked them too, the irony of sun cream too much to bear.

I picked up some chicken pieces and went to the counter. She was still laughing. I asked if she was serious. She said, ‘You wha’?’, raised an eyebrow, finished checking her phone and rang through my items with a studious boredom that was actually pretty impressive.

I got to my car. Took several deep breaths. I should have gone back. I could have kicked myself along with the sun-cream.

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Apr 26 2017
18 Comments
Symptoms and Treatment

Could Someone Rewind This Year Please?

tiredWell.

It’s almost May and it might as well be February, as I’ve been in an MS-imposed hibernation since then. All my Grand Plans for 2017 have come to zilch.

This latest relapse has been tough and it’s taken all my diminished strength to get through it.

As always, life shrinks to the absolute bare minimum. It’s a case of getting through the day. The pain has been crippling, the fatigue all-encompassing.

As I emerge from my MS cocoon, it seems the world has moved on. I’m still wearing my Nordic sweaters and ordering ready-made hearty soups from Tesco. I’m watching dark Swedish dramas on telly and wondering where to introduce dramatic black paint into my house. In short, I’m still in Winter-mode when everyone else has dusted off their shorts and barbecues. S’not fair.

If I had the energy, I’d host a pity-party for one, just like I did way back when I was first diagnosed. It’s been an incredibly long relapse compared to the usual three-weekers.

Anyway, enough whingeing. The Teenager and The Cat have been getting on with their lives in the meantime and handily for them both, I’m pretty much always available to speak to as I loll on my sofa trying to maintain a semblance of normality. I’m a captive audience:

  • The cat enjoyed her course of steroids (it cracks me up that she was on the exact same ones as I’ve taken for relapses in the past) and her fur is growing back. Mind you, her tail looks a bit weird as it’s still fairly bald at the bottom.
  • She’s being bullied by a new cat on the block, resulting in sudden scamperings into the house, nearly giving me a heart attack.
  • Two mice have been left right outside the back door. I stepped on one of them.

As for The Teenager:

  • He pushed his way through the 1000-strong crowd on the Common outside my house to get a selfie with Jeremy Corbyn when he spoke here last Friday. Random, but true. Jeremy looks slightly bemused.
  • He has finally worked out how to use the oven; luckily the house didn’t blow up when he left the gas on overnight after cooking a couple of chicken breasts. But at least he got his protein.
  • I attended an overnight MS Society Council meeting at the weekend and said to him in a misplaced spirit of generosity, ‘why not have a couple of friends round?’ And, ‘feed the cat’. Long story short, ten hulking teenagers were squeezed into my house, my recycling bags are filled to the brim with beer cans and I’m still finding bottle tops down the sofa. The cat is alive.

Hopefully, I’m turning a relapse corner and I can start playing catch-up on the year which is passing me by in a blur of supreme inactivity. Or maybe I should throw the towel in and start writing my Christmas list …

p.s. I know there’s a spelling mistake on the picture – just too tired to correct it …

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