Friday 21 February 2003

Twisted

Okay you lucky people, today you get a health update. The status is not good, is worsening, and even though chronic illness is a fucking bore at the best of times, right now it is horribly inconvenient because there's so much I need to be doing, and some superhuman reserves of energy would come in handy.

1.  Coeliac Attack.  I ate some takeaway fried rice, a dish I've ordered without prior incidents from the very same Chinese place as always ... and five hours later I exploded.  Well, I started with the "usual" symptoms of sweats and cramps and queasiness, the explosive bowel activity started occurring a little later. Which was such fun. This state of gastrointestinal affairs lasted three days.  Three days of not sleeping, sweating, severe cramping, sprints to the loo, desperate attempts to not become dehydrated ... Needless to say food and eating were not on the agenda, nowhere, no-how.  Yeccccchhhhh.  That's the first attack I've had in well over a year, also one of the worst and longest-running.

2.  Pain.  Worsening.  That's about it, really.  Everything hurts that much more; the "tender points" in my back etc are so sore and inflamed I can't bear to be touched or lie down or anything; I'm pretty much immobile I'm so stiff and sore and well, wracked.  And Wrecked. 

3.  Blackouts (or; see Jules rip the door off the fridge!).  I've been having dizzy spells on and off for quite some time; this is not unusual, I'm a bit prone to vertigo and giddiness, have been through MRIs and CT scans ad nauseum and its not anything in between and inclusive of a brain tumour of Benign Positional Vertigo (the most likely explanation, just not the right one!) so its another thing I have to just ride out.  However ... Wednesday I'd made a yummy strong chicken stock (was craving chicken soup), had strained it, decanted it into a couple of 3 litre containers, bent down to put them into the fridge (we actually have two fridges, both teensy inefficient *mumblemumble* under-counter type) and BAM.  Forget fade to black, baby, this was more like being coshed on the head.  I blacked out completely, falling sideways and back, bashing my shoulder on the fridge door on my way down, then smacking my head on the tiles. Ow. I was only out a couple of seconds I guess, really, but in the process of falling and crashing against the fridge door I'd, well, I'd managed to rip it off its hinges.  Completely.  Jaysis.  I got the giggles - Puny Little Me Brutally Violates Innocents White-Goods!  (the fridge door went back on okay; its a fairly old and decrepit fridge anyway so no harm done).  I was a trifle concerned by the blackout - major vertiginous spells where I fall down and have no idea which way is up and can't orient for minutes at a time aren't unusual, but actually losing consciousness/blacking out is weird.  Even for me, the Queen of Weird.

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Unsurprisingly I'm feeling generally crapped off and pulled down by being sick and tired all the time.  Added to that, I'm on this emotional rollercoaster going from giggling and being silly with Tuxedo to having my eyes fill with unaccountable tears, getting choked up reading the news.  I'm not a big cryer, in normal circumstances, but these days I hardly need an excuse.  I mean, I'll be doing the washing up or something, and waterworks abound.  Meh.

I hesitated to write about this here (had only told the President Elect at the time), but what the hell, while we're on the subject; I experienced a truly psycho week or three when I thought I was having a nervous breakdown and Tuxedo would have been totally justified in committing me to a laughing-house (Irish slang for psychiatric institution).  As aforementioned, I couldn’t stop crying, was having dizzy spells, major night terrors (not "just" nightmares, these were disturbing and sick and evil, and incredibly real, and I thrashed about and screamed and smacked Tux upside the head - not consciously of course but fuck did I feel guilty), the shakes ... major stress, man.  And that was *before* Margi told me about Bella.  Anyway I decided to stop all my medications (apart from the OCP - the last thing we want is for me to get knocked up) because something was screwing with my head and I Did Not Like It One Eensy Bit.  Surprisingly I’m still managing to stay off everything – morphine codeine valium SSRIs etc – and just taking nurofen.  In a fair amount of pain but not outrageously so, and I’m much much more balanced.  Or something. Not like that would be difficult or anything.

I really am looking forward to getting back to Perth, to Zeus and some decent health care and support, rehab., and all that.  I know it will take a lot of time and effort to get back to the level of health and physical fitness I had two years ago, but I'm up for the challenge and honestly feeling enthusiastic - Pilates, weights/strength training, swimming, yoga, whatever, hurrah.   The depressed part of me though, is saying very loudly "why the fuck bother? why not just rot? Nothing you do, no matter how hard you work, will change the fact that you have this chronic debilitating illness and will never ever get better ... ". 

Sometimes I feel such a fraud because hey its not a brain tumour or MS, but ... Oh heck, I hate admitting it (because that make it Real) but the chronic pain and fatigue and general nature of the Beast are realities, obstacles to slog through day after day, and thus it does have similar impacts on quality-of-life.  I can never truly make any long-term plans or goals;  living is a day by day battle, and I don't know, can never know, the final prognosis or future.  Not that any person really knows what the future holds - destiny and all that - but most people living in the Western World have the luxury of being able to count on realising goals without the same constraint; eg, planning families, having a career, house-ownership, investment in the future ...

Now I have Tuxedo by me I can do more than I used to, and it's true I have the support now, and am part of a team that works together; but families? career? they're sore points.

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Meanwhiles, things to do ... Lay out linen in vacuum bags (brilliant invention), box and vacuum pack (ie slurp out air with a vacuum cleaner - reduces three duvets and a heap of linen to a two inch thick slab); wrap cookware, utensils and cutlery in bubble wrap and paper and box; ditto to Royal Doulton crockery (leaving Denby to the shipping co.); toys; office stuff ... Then I have to pack my suitcase and the "additional baggage" - teachests with clothes, gadgets and items I can't do without for three-four months (Braun Multiquick hand-held food processor and DVD player, get your minds out of the gutter ye filthy bints); the cat's things (portaloo, bed, toys, carrier); and Phoebe of course.  I'm going to be pretty ruthless about this stage of packing; what doesn't fit gets left behind because (a) weight considerations and (b) I really cannot bear having all this *stuff*.  Fortunately, apart from wedding gifts and gadgetry, Tuxedo and I haven't amassed anything much over the last two year.  I could pretty much live out of one small box and so long as I had my wok and rice cooker I'd be happy, really.  Oh and my camera, MD player and selection of discs (audiophile that I am - must have music), and a notebook to write in.

And the way the mother has been behaving lately (over the telephone) I might just have to take my box and gas stove and go live under a bridge somewhere ... Sheeeeeeit, more stress I don't need, not at this time, and from such an unsuspected source.  Apols for being cryptic ( I fuckin' hate when other diarists/bloggers go all cryptic and la-la) but it's really a story for another day.

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To recap: twisted gut, twisted spinal column, twisted emotional state .... honestly I'm being such a pathetic loser bitch Tuxedo would be fully justified in doing a Pontius Pilate on me.  Meh.  (Except I'm beginning to realise he won't do any such thing; it's finally sinking into my untrusting birdbrain that here's a *good* man, through and through - regardless of the geeky evil dark overlord thing - who has no intention of giving up on me.  The hardest lesson I've ever been faced with learning, and that includes Masters level Macroeconomics eeeeeep.