Something’s gotten hold of my heart…

As I have mentioned, more than once, I having been some extra health issues. Yesterday I saw my GP and she gave me some answers. Unfortunately they were neither want I expected or wanted them to be.

It seems that long covid has become permanent a more of a problem. The tachycardia and breathlessness that I have been experiencing since having covid in Oct 2020 have been significantly worse over the last few months. I am breathless after a few steps. My head spins the minute I stand up. I faint daily. My heart tries to burst out of my body and my chest hurts. All the time. In the past when I felt like this it has been related to aneamia & b12 deficiency. I have had lots of issues with really low haemoglobin and although I never get to ‘normal’ my bloods aren’t dangerously low at the moment. We did a bunch of treatment, but I didn’t feel any different. I had some more tests, kept a symptom diary and recorded my heart rate a few times a day. My GP’s conclusion is that covid has damaged my heart function.

She is fairly certain that I have some kind of heart arrhythmia or PoTS. The prospect of neither fills me with joy; PoTS in particular is very frightening. I have been referred to cardiology and more tests will ensue. I really expected these issues to be related to existing conditions. It was a shock to be presented with a possible new diagnosis. The thought of these symptoms not improving or even worsening is overwhelming. I have enough health problems. I don’t need anymore.

All of this to say two things. Covid is no joke. Even if you get through the initial illness ok, there is no telling what it will do to your body. Please don’t pretend this pandemic is over. There are still huge communities that of sick and disabled people who are high risk. Even healthy people can be really badly effected. Wear a mask, keep your distance, wash your hands! None of these things are hard to do. And, I am feeling scrambled. I don’t know how to process this new information. Physically I am a mess. I’m very apprehensive of what is to come & my head is all over the place. So, please bear with me if things get inconsistent around here.

close up of ly’s  face wearing brightly coloured mas and thick black glasses

If you enjoy my writing you can support me on Ko-Fi

Caught in a trap…

I’m stuck. Chronically stuck, you could say. My body has been refusing to behave for months. I’m operating at minimum capacity & maximum exasperation.

My pain levels are high and brain fog is impenetrable, but I also have a variety of ‘bonus’ complaints. This is a thing my body seems to do when I am particularly run down. A change in medication from injectable to oral about 18mths ago resulted in some messed up test results late last year (I had been against the change, but hey, what do I know?). Around the same time I had a bad cold that would not shift (definitely wasn’t covid) and culminated in Labyrinthitis. I was fairly lucky with that as I didn’t have pain, but the vertigo & nausea stuck around for ages. Into the new year the impact of that med change has made all my Long Covid symptoms more pronounced. The fatigue was never ending, a few steps left my heart rattling & my lungs crying out for air. Add a uti that quickly turned into a kidney infection. Then the three weeks of treatment required to correct the impact of changing the delivery of that medication left me vomiting all day & unable to eat. That of course messed up my electrolytes and landed me in hospital hooked up to a drip to get me back in shape. All in all it has been rough and I have struggled to get anything at all done.

That’s where feeling stuck comes in. There are so many things I want to get done. From big career moves (finish the book) to everyday task (mop the floors) it feels like everything is on hold. I am so exhausted and sore and foggy brained that it really is baby steps all the way. I write to do lists that are never completed. Every task takes a ridiculous amount of time. Proof reading each email you send three times cuts into available working time. If I put some washing in the machine, I need to rest. Some days a shower will be all I can manage. Spend a day out of the house and I need two or three days to recover. The ‘to dos’ get longer, the ideas go unexamined and I am trapped by all the unfinished everything.

It’s impossible to break free. There are things that could make my life easier, but they are of course costly. Usually a person could take on extra work, get a side hustle, but I can’t keep up with the bare minimum. If one has a deadline they could work all night. However, I can barely get through an afternoon without a lie down. Pushing myself to keep going not only results in less than my best work, but also puts me out of work entirely for days. Chronic illness pens me in. I can’t afford to buy the services & items that would make my life easier. The lack of those things contributes to worsening symptoms and limiting my ability to earn. See how it goes around & around?

I also feel welded to the spot. There are jobs I would love to accept, projects I badly want to complete, but I just don’t have the capacity at the moment. Thus, my career feels stagnant, it is heart wrenching to so badly underperform. My life is similarly entrenched. I want to see more people, have nights out, try new things. Of course, I can’t. My body simply will not allow it. I am so tired of saying no or rescheduling. It’s a no win situation my mental health suffers from being home alone so much. My physical health declines if I do too much. Again, the balance seems impossible to get right.

Finally, there is the mundane. I’d really like to have an empty washing basket. I want to be able to spend a day tidying the spare room. Instead, I do ten minutes a day for weeks and never quite get it done. It would be lovely to go out spur of the moment; but having a shower and putting on clothes can wipe me out. I never thought I would long to walk to the corner shop for cat food. Yet, here I am stuck in my house unless I can get a taxi or a lift. It is exhausting and demoralising. There is no easy way out. All I can do is wait and hope that I feel a bit better soon. I ran out of patience a long time ago.

An hour glass with iron filings

If you enjoy my writing you can support me on Ko-Fi.

Don’t leave me this way…

Since we seem to be heading full steam into SUCK IT territory for the disabled & chronically ill I wanted to talk about my experience of covid. There has been an overarching theme of those with existing health conditions being dispensable from the start, but now it’s pretty much being explicitly stated by our leaders. I want everyone to know how frightening this is for those of us that so many are happy to sacrifice.

As a person with chronic health issues (arthritis, fibromyalgia, stomach disease, anaemia, PCOS) I took covid seriously from the beginning. Lockdown was a complete lockdown for me. I stayed at home. I had no visitors. All my essentials were delivered. The only contact I had with anyone was the occasional driveway visit. My sister or bestie would stand in my drive and I’d sit in my open from door. I didn’t touch another human being or leave my house for months. I had hospital stays without visitors, didn’t celebrate my 40th birthday and spent Xmas 2020 at home on my own. My lockdown stretched on further than the official stay at home orders. Since early 2020 I have spent the majority of my time at home and I have been scared since the beginning. I had no idea what covid might do to me. I’ve experienced catching bugs or viruses that were no biggie for others, but sent me to the hospital. Every time I heard of someone dying being caveated with they had existing health problems, I knew that could be me. This pandemic has always been an emergency situation for me & those like me.

I now regularly see family & one close friend. I wear a mask, sanitise, stay outside as much possible. If I must be inside I go to places that follow all covid precautions and I exercise extreme caution. Doctor appointments aside I leave my home about once a week. I still have everything delivered and avoid contact with those outside my immediate circle. I do home tests before and after I go anywhere. With a couple of exceptions a restricted life has become my normality.

I contracted covid 19 in oct 2020. At that point I was spending 99% of my time alone at home. I was seeing only my sister, mum & nephew and wasn’t visiting anyone indoors. I still managed to catch the virus despite none of the family I was in contact becoming infected. The acute illness was not severe. It lasted about ten days & felt like having a stomach flu. I had more gastric than cold/flu like symptoms. My cough was very mild. I lost my sense of smell & taste. I felt terrible, but I didn’t require any medical attention. In the following weeks I really struggled with breathlessness & racing heart but assumed this would pass. It did not.

15 months later I am still dealing with long covid. My already limited mobility has been massively impacted. I become breathless even moving around my own home. I have to sit even to brush my teeth, make a cup of tea etc. I have overwhelming fatigue, brain fog and widespread pain have markedly intensified since having covid. I experience palpitations and chest pains on the slightest exertion. My heart rate regularly climbs to heights whilst trying to complete the most basic of tasks. I have been hospitalised on 4 occasions because my heart rate would not slow down to an acceptable level. Drs can monitor and treat symptoms, but they know almost nothing about long covid. They can’t tell my why these symptoms persist or if they will ever go away. My chest x rays are clear, my heart is not damaged. The tachycardia & breathlessness are a covid mystery.

A frightening and very real mystery. It is scary to feel as though your heart is going to burst out of your body. Or to be so out of breath that your head spins and chest burns. It’s a million times more terrifying to be told that the experts have no idea why it is happening or how they can make it better. Fear has been common thread. 2021 has been a really hard year for my health. All of my existing symptoms have worsened. The added problems have caused me serious problems and I think I have picked up every cold, stomach bug & infection going. All of which has been alarming. I’m worried that the next illness or flare might be the big one. I’m stressed about all the work I can’t do and the financial repercussions of that. I am chilled at just how little I am now able to do before becoming too exhausted/sore/dizzy/breathless to continue. Most of all I am terrified of what could happen if I get another variant of covid.

I am fully vaccinated (& boosted). I have masks galore, anti bac in every bag & pocket. I still leave parcels & deliveries by the door for an hour before I touch them. I bought a device to sanitise my phone. I’m never in crowds. I rarely go out. I’m acutely aware that I was being even more careful when I caught covid the first time. Every single aspect of my life has been affected by this pandemic. I know I am not alone. Most people have sacrificed. Many are in the same boat as me & others in far more treacherous vessels. I understand that this has been a collective trauma that everyone is eager to put behind them. I just wish more people would understand that this isn’t over yet.

When you justify the need to ‘live with covid’ by saying that most healthy people only experience mild symptoms I am the exception in that sentence. People like me will die or be permanently disabled if we ignore how dangerous covid still is. I understand that you want your life back. You want to stop worrying and missing out. I do too, but if we throw caution to wind now it’s not without consequence. If we pretend that covid is just another part of life we are throwing the sick, disabled, old & vulnerable to the wolves. I believe that those lives are worth as much as any other. Our needs are already ignored in so many ways, please don’t abandon us altogether.

If you enjoy my writing you can support me on Ko-Fi.

Be running up that hill…

Chronic illness is great at kicking you when you’re down. Lamentably, it also likes to give you a dunt when you’re flying too. It would be taxing to say which is worst, but falling from a height certainly hurts.

That was me last week. I was on a lovely break in the cutest cottage by sea. Soaking up the calming sea side views and thoroughly enjoying time with my nephew. The sun was out, we headed to an incredibly beautiful beach. I watched the boy run around having the time of his life. I paddled in the refreshingly cold sea. Took deep breaths, listened to the lapping waves & felt happy.

Tide coming in on st Cyrus beach

As it edged towards late afternoon people started to leave. I began to worry about the hill I’d have to climb to leave the beach. As we packed up I saw people stroll up. I knew it was going to be a problem.

And I was correct. That little sand dune fucked me up. I started trying to ascend it alone, but quickly realised that wasn’t going to happen. It’s hard to get your footing on slopping sand. Even harder to get purchase in moving ground with a walking stick. With every step the sand slid down the hill pushing me back. It was all working against me.

Foot with black painted tie nails on the sand with wave approaching

My sister saved the day. She let me lean on her, literally & half dragged me up that hill. Every step was excruciating. My knees felt like the where going to explode. My back, wrists, elbows & shoulders were all screaming. I couldn’t catch a breath, my lungs felt as though they were filling with the sand I was slipping on.

That little sand dune appeared to go on forever. The bench at top a promised land I’d never reach. Listen, the pain was bad, it wasn’t the culprit of tears at the summit. As my sister helped me struggle I saw my 3yr old nephew gamble up the slope. An old couple comfortably passed us. A nice man with a very concerned look stopped to ask if he could help. I focused on breathing whilst my little sister pepped talked me up that hill. I repeated ‘you’re nearly there’ in my head and tried my upmost to hold back the tears.

When I finally had my bum on that bench my nephew ran to give me a cuddle. The tears started streaming. I looked at the beautiful view as I silently cried. I didn’t want to make eye contact with my loved ones. I didn’t want my little rascal to see me in this state. I recognised the concern in my sister’s voice & the love in the silent shoulder my Mum offered to hold me upright. As much as I loved them for it, I hated that I have to be this way.

View from hill over a beach.grass & wildflowers with sand past leading down to the blue sea

It was another one of those ‘how did I get here’ moments that chronic illness brings. I never imagined it’d take a support team to get me up a hill at 40 years old. I’m not a person who likes to be publicly vulnerable, yet here I am. Regularly fragile & exposed as I try to scratch out something close to a normal life. I felt guilty and embarrassed and pathetic and grateful and burdensome and scared and loved. All crashing over me with more force than the waves below could ever muster.

I concentrated on the nature around me as fought to compose myself. I attempted to ignore the curious looks from strangers & the pain coursing through my body. I listened to the the waves and birds. I let the blue horizon pull me through all the heavy implications placed on the people I love. I dried my eyes. I got back on my feet.

The day continued. Me, making my way slowly behind the others. Stopping to rest. Taking pain relief. Zoning out when we got back in the car. It was all so much bigger than that stupid hill. I was hoping I hadn’t distressed the others. Dreading the pain that I knew was still to come. Feeling sad at the thought that I probably wouldn’t ever return to that blissful beach.

It is painful to accept one’s limitations. I find it incredibly hard to let more & more go. I hate that I’m always the one who has a problem with the plans. I despise that my difficulties are so visible. Gasping for air at checkouts that take a fraction too long. Sitting on floors when there’s no seats available. Calling in advance to check if my malfunctioning body can be accommodated. I don’t like being on display, don’t want to answer questions about my stick, shake off the exasperated sighs or smile at pitying strangers. No matter how kindly meant, I’d rather be suffering in private. I’m exhausted by the knowledge that I’ll pay for every slice of fun. Even more so by the battle with myself to keep reaching for those good times anyway. Most of all I’ll forever regret how much this impacts all the wonderful people in my life. I wish I could stop being a hindrance. I never want them to have to worry. I appreciate every tiny thing they do for me, but I still wish they didn’t have to.

This is chronic life. It’s not just the pain & illness. It is all encompassing. Lots of the time the only way to deal with that is to push it to the very back of your mind. These moments of brutal clarity never stop taking me by surprise.

If you enjoy my writing you can support me on Ko -Fi

Another little bit gets lost…

I am not ok. I’m never really ok, but right now, I am especially not. Long covid is ravaging my life. Six months since testing positive & no improvement in the ‘left over’ symptoms. I’m really scared that I am going to be stuck like this indefinitely.

The breathlessness & tachycardia are relentless. The slightest exertion leaves my heart racing. I can’t stand long enough to brush my teeth. Moving from room to room requires a sit down recovery period. My pain & gastric symptoms have all been intensified. They show no signs of easing. Fatigue is overwhelming. My brain often feels like mush. I lose track of what I am saying mid sentence, I need lists & alarms to remember anything. I cannot get anything done.

Pulse oximeter  with heart rate at 180 & oxygen 95

Keeping up with normal life admin is a constant struggle. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, washing my damn hair have gone from difficult to near impossible tasks. Getting dressed is a mission. Trying to work is a lottery. Maybe today will be the wonderful day my brain & body both allow productivity. More likely, I will spend a week doing ten minute spurts of writing. What used to take a morning now feels like completing my magnum opus. I rarely have the energy to leave the house. A trip to the drs or an afternoon in company takes days to get over. Everything hurts massively all the time. I’m exhausted all the time. My heart pounds & my breath escapes me. Eating more often than it results vomiting. My life is getting smaller & smaller. I’m frightened.

There are no good days. Never an opportunity to catch up. I’m in a continual state of anxiety over all the things that never get taken care of. I feel useless. Stuck. I wasn’t in great shape to begin with. There were always limitations, but now they are endless. I can’t see any solution; there is no one else to do what I can’t. Even if there were, it would decimate my mental health to be that reliant.

Doctors don’t have the answers. Nor do they have the resources for many of the treatments they’d like to offer. Every referral is waiting list. My existing conditions are running riot & symptom flares do not respond to previously effective interventions. It is exceptionally hard not to feel hopeless.

Ly is wearing sunglasses, face mask &  hospital gown and standing in front of x ray sign

I’ve been here before. Each time I’ve reached a new spoonie milestone it has been hard.Realising the pain would never entirely go away, each new diagnosis, having to use a walking stick. They all took time to accept. More time to learn how to manage. Every time I add something to the list of things I simply can’t do anymore it hurts. I’ve grieved so many versions of myself. I have long let go of the idea of a normal life. This feels different. It’s not an adjustment, it is shifting most of my life into the can’t do column. No one can tell me if this will ever get better. Or worse.

It’s testing me on every level. Keeping my mental health afloat is getting harder. I have no control over this. If I push myself I feel worse for longer. I am helpless and useless. My head has no off switch. I fret about the mounting piles of unattended business. My life feels simultaneously hectic and ground to an absolute stop. The stress is too much. The pain is too much. The fatigue is too much. Every inch of living feels too hard.

All the while, life goes on. Bills need to be paid, grass cut, deadlines met. I have responsibilities & commitments. Covid isn’t anyone’s fault. I am acutely aware of how many have lost more. As guilty as I feel, that doesn’t make this any easier. I think maybe I needed to say it out loud. I am no ok. Not even close.

The words I’m not ok on black background

If you enjoy my writing you can support me on Ko-Fi

The drugs don’t work…

Yesterday was Fibromyalgia Awareness Day and I think my body knew it. My back is certainly making me very aware that fibro hurts. So much so that I couldn’t even finish this in time to mark the day. If I’m forced to know about fibromyalgia all the live long day, then I’m afraid you’re going to have to find out about it today.

Fibromyalgia difficult to manage. It’s unpredictable. You can hurt everywhere or the pain can focus on a new spot everyday. One day you might be too fatigued to get dressed. The next everything you eat sends your guts into a temper. It can have an effect on cognitive abilities, make your skin burn, muscles ache & head throb. Sometimes all the at the same time.

There’s no cure. Sufferers often experience constant pain. Treatment usually includes a combination of pain relief medication and non pharmaceutical interventions (massage, tens, specific exercises). Many also receive therapy aimed at helping accept chronic pain because treatment rarely results in the eradication of symptoms. Living with fibromyalgia means always feeling some version of unwell.

Whilst you can’t make any of us better, you can help. There are easy peasy ways to not make our lives harder.

Ditch ‘Get Well Soon’

Fibro is a chronic, incurable illness. We are never getting better. It may be well intended and seem like a little slip, but it’s exhausting. Luckily it’s simple to fix. You can express both your well wishes & your understanding of the situation with these words, I hope you have a better day soon.

Don’t offer magic cures.

Struggling with an illness that impacts every aspect of your life motivates you to get informed. Fibro folk don’t need your unsolicited advice. We definitely don’t need to hear about the same magic cures over & over. We’ve researched whatever diy fix you heard about in instagram. We try credible therapies available to us. We’ve considered our diets & yoga & cbd. We really don’t need to hear about how your cousin’s flatmate changed their life with turmeric. It’s patronising on so many levels. Stop it.

Invisible isn’t imaginary.

Fibromyalgia can be an invisible illness. It doesn’t necessarily leave any physical sign of its presence. That doesn’t mean it isn’t real. If you don’t know what fibro is, 10 minutes on google will be illuminating. No one is required to answer your intrusive questions. Medical records are private for a reason. If you don’t understand the condition, don’t worry about it. Extremely well trained medical professionals do. As a person with fibromyalgia it is not our job to convince you of the severity of the illness. It requires zero effort to mind your own business.

Don’t judge my good days.

Fibromyalgia is erratic. I never know how I will feel when I wake up. Sometimes I can go from reasonably ok to excruciating pain in the space of an hour. I try to plan around fibro, but nothing is ever set in stone. I can spread out appointments. Schedule rest days. Make a timetable for essential tasks, but my body doesn’t care. It will throw a painful spanner in the works whenever it pleases. The fact that I could do X yesterday is no guarantee that I will be able to today. An outing that I managed last week could easily leave me unable to function for days another time. I want to live as full a life as possible. So, on good days I attempt to get things done. The fear of being judged solely on those days is horrible. I’m not faking symptoms to avoid things I don’t want to do. I’m not lying when I cancel plans. In fact, the opposite is true. Most of the time I underplay how bad I feel. If I were to vocalise every dreadful sensation I’d never talk about anything else. I know my illness is frustrating. I hate that I inconvenience so many people. Please, believe that I am I trying my very best.

If you enjoy my writing you can support me on Ko-Fi

The hurting time…

Chronic illness becomes a way of life. You don’t stop feeling bad, but you do get used to it. Humans adapt. Pain becomes the new normal.

Most days spoonies deal with symptoms that would send healthy folk to the Dr. On bad days many would be considering 999. Chronic peeps, however, muddle through. Sometimes flare ups floor me. There are days when brushing my teeth is an epic feat. Others I function to varying degrees. I work & play & everything in between. Always, though, I hurt.

I pay the price if I over do it. I carefully plan routes & venues around how many steps will be required, if there is seating, stairs & so on. I pre check menus for items that won’t make me sick. Plan meals around when meds need to be taken. I do everything tired. It’s so hard to sleep & even when I do crash I wake feeling little difference.

Selfie of women’s sad face.

I found a way to work around my illness. Squeeze pleasure out of any socialising I can manage. I have become accustomed to cancelling things I really wanted to do. The list of things my body is no longer capable of grows. It’s ridiculous how sad felt upon realising I won’t jump on trampoline or turn a cartwheel again. Especially when I don’t even have much desire to do either. It’s just another limit. Another no.

I persevere. I follow Drs orders. I try all manner of suggested remedies. Acupuncture, cbd, floatation tanks, tens, yoga, the works. Some treatments help. There are medications that work wonders. Others that I need, but that cause problems. I take drugs to counteract the side effects of other drugs. It’s exhausting, but it’s my life.

Hand holding 5 pills of various shapes & colours

It is not all bad. I have privileges that many do not. My home is warm & safe. I have access to excellent care. I am gifted with skills & talents that allow me to pursue work I love. I have safety nets. I had years of being fit & well. I went to uni, got stuck into the partying & had the chance to travel a little. I’m loved. Pleasures great & small find me. My cat is the cutest. Life could be worse. I can handle this.

Cute black and white lying on back fluffy belly exposed

Except when I really, really can’t. There are days when chronic life overwhelms me. Days like today, when every inch of me is sore. Keeping a brave face when you’re throwing up for fifth time in as many hours is a challenge. Every day my first sensation is agony. Aching joints. Throbbing head. Burning skin. Churning stomach. Each little movement hurts. Remaining sedentary isn’t an option either. My arthritic parts seize up. Leading to, yup, more pain.

Food refuses to stay in my stomach. Don’t eat & the acid bubbles up my throat. Attempt to line my raw stomach and the vomiting makes everything worse. I can’t concentrate enough to distract myself. Sleep is illusive. There’s no escape.

Burdening others with my misery triggers my guilt. Keeping it all in is horribly lonely. Pain relief doesn’t work. Positive thinking is way out of reach. Some days are hard. It is too hard be grateful. Impossible to hang onto hope of easier times. Today I’m just thoroughly sick & tired of always being sick & tired.

Plus size women in green leopard print maxi dress  with walking stick

If you enjoy my writing you can support me on Ko-Fi

Easy ways to support your spoonie friend at Christmas…

I often share tips to help chronically ill people manage different aspects of their lives. However, sometimes the trickiest part of the spoonie life is dealing with how those around us react to our illness. This time I thought I’d give some hints to those who know & love a spoonie.

Please don’t give us a hard time when we cancel

This applies all the time, but especially during the festive season when there are so many events & parties. We know we disappoint you when we cancel. We aren’t sick on purpose. We can’t control our flares. Trust me, we really want to be there. We are sorry we’re missing your thing, particularly if it’s really important to you. It’s fine to say you’ll miss us or you’d have loved us to be there, but please don’t get angry. Try to consider all the times we do show up for you despite being in pain or dealing with other symptoms. We already feel more guilty that you can imagine & we are incredibly grateful that you stick with us.

White txt on pink background, my brains says let’s do something exciting today. My body says don’t listen to that fool.

Take our restrictions/limitations into account when planning activities

Disabled & chronically ill people can have a whole range of needs. We really don’t have a problem answering questions when they are considerate & relevant. If you take into account accessibility needs (disabled toilets, stairs, seats, dietary restrictions, crowds etc) it is much more likely that your spoonie friends can attend. More than that they’ll actually be able to stay for the whole shebang & enjoy themselves. It is actually much easier that you think these days. Many venues are happy to help you make accommodations or already have them in place. All varieties of specialised food are commonly available. Plus I for one am often happy just to know there will definitely be a seat so I can retreat if I need to.

Take no for an answer

If we say we are too ill, we mean it. It’s not an excuse nor the start of a debate. We’ve always thought out every possible variation before deciding we can’t make it. It doesn’t help when you say we’ll feel better once we’re out. We’ll feel much worse if we push ourselves too far. We know our limits & all our responsibilities; we are the best judge of what we can handle.

No comparisons

Please, I beg you, don’t do comparisons. Getting upset because we went to so & so’s birthday, but can’t come to yours is pointless. It won’t make us any more able to attend & will just make everyone feel worse. Chronic illness is a crap shoot. We never know how we will feel on any given day. We might have been the life & soul at dinner last week, had a ball with the wee ones on Tuesday & unable to move without crying on Thursday. There is no predicting how chronic illness will behave. The things we don’t attend is not linked to how much we wanted to be there.

Siamese cat on blue background with txt, no pain no gain. Chronic illness is not a competitive sport.

Bonus Tip

Don’t tell us we can do anything we put our minds to. We absolutely can’t & this is a shitty reminder. It’s not inspiring, it’s dismissive.

Your spoonie friend loves you. They are delighted that you are on their life and they are doing everything they can to be reliable & fun & supportive. Please cut us a little slack.

The day is full of birds…

It’s been a quiet week on the blog front. I had a little procedure last week and have been losing the battle with fatigue ever since. I’ve slept more in the last 7 days than the previous 7 weeks and I’m still bloody shattered.

The good news is that my minor surgery should help tackle two troublesome issues. After a little follow up treatment both my stomach lining & haemoglobin levels should be in more robust shape. The down side is I can hardly keep my eyes open. Yet, never actually feel like I’ve slept for more than 5 mins. Fatigue is hardcore.

Thus, nothing much is getting down. Very little writing. Hardly any crossing the front door and even less wearing of actual clothes. My content bank is overdrawn.

Unsurprisingly I spent what little energy I had on a Tuesday adventure. My sis & her boy never fail to perk me up.

Me, my sis & nephew at Loch Lomond

This week we soaked up the soothing beauty of the bonnie banks & met some new feathered friends. Owls are fast becoming the baba’s second favourite thing. He does love a twit twoo, but nothing is knocking ducks off the top slot.

Trossachs National Park

Scandinavian owl

Now it’s back to resting in the jim jams and snuggling with my boy. Just don’t tell him I’ve been fraternising with the enemy.

Sleeping cat

My week in pictures…

It’s been a good week. I did some lovely things and took a bunch of photos along the way. Today I’m sitting still in my jammies and recovering from the fun.

Put your feet up.

The sun came out. I wore some jelly shoes. Celebrated my favourite old man’s birthday & enjoyed my tiniest boy’s first day on the farm.

Queen st Glasgow, sculpture Kilmarnock, sangrialy h Kerr, jelly shoes Feeding donkeys

In truth I enjoyed the farm as much as the baba. How can you not love Pygmy goats & giant donkeys?

Pygmy goats, mammoth donkeys, degus,& a duck

I dressed up pretty & wore naked ladies on my nails. I bought myself some flowers and found the most amazing knickers from Wilde Mode.

ly h Kerr Wilde mode pants, lilies, tulips, sunset & project post itly h Kerr nail art

I am enjoying the clear blue skies & fiery sunsets. I have high hopes for a good summer.

Ayrshire