In the latest of my body’s ridiculous tricks, I have shingles. When I’m run down I often succumb to random bonus infections. Shingles is also brought on my stress, which makes sense because January was a shit show.
I think I’ve had some lucky for once as I don’t seem to have a really severe case. The rash is painful (although not as bad as I’ve heard others describe it), but all the cold/fluey symptoms were short lived. It feels like a burn and if anything even slightly touches my skin the sensation is akin to a shock. My GP has added some pain killers to my usual lot, which are making it all manageable. They’re also making me super tired and a little spacey, which is having an effect on my creative output. I hope you’ll bear with me as I try to get back to match fitness.
Christmas is a funny old time. We’re all feeling sentimental and emotions are heightened. I struggled a little this year, but still had a beautiful Christmas Day.
I got all dressed up for Christmas with family & friends. We had lots of food, presents & excited children. I feel loved & grateful for having such wonderful people in my life. Especially that I am blessed with so many niblings to adore. I’m equally thankful that I can spend the post festivity stretch ensconced in jammies & cosy socks.
I know this time of year can be hard for a multitude of reasons. Xmas is all about children and I find myself dwelling on how different my life could be. There are so many reminders of what I have lost. If these past weeks have been arduous, I hope you were able to have as merry a time as possible. If merry is a stretch, then I wish you peace & a better new year.
Last week I ran away to the seaside. My sister found a little hotel so close to the beach that when the tide comes in it splashes on your window. It was perfect.
I always feel better by the sea. Staying at The Crusoe was exactly what I needed. It’s a small hotel in Lower Largo. Right on the beach with its own restaurant and bar; the staff are so friendly and facilities are gorgeous. Lower Largo has links to Robinson Cruseo as the birth place of Alexander Selkirk (the basis of the Cruseo story). The hotel has taken its inspiration from seafaring adventures, which made it the ideal place for my pirate obsessed nephew. The staff couldn’t do enough to accommodate us (even giving the little one loads of beach toys). Our stay was a delight.
Lower Largo is a quint little town with really lovely locals. The beach is idyllic, especially when your visit falls mid heatwave. I set up camp on our picnic rug while my sister & her boy ran around digging holes and jumping waves. Being able to step off the beach and straight into out hotel was ideal. There was one flight of stairs to our room, which definitely took me a while to navigate. Thankfully waiting at top was a beautiful room. Filled with the little touches that really make your stay; Tunnocks Teacakes, fancy coffee machine, gorgeous local toiletries and a copy of Robinson Crusoe. With cool seaside decor and excellent shower they ticked all boutique boxes. The star of the show is still undoubtedly the view. Outside your window is miles of sea. You fall asleep listening to the waves lapping against building. For me, that’s bliss.
We took advantage of our location and also costed Elie. Another pretty seaside town with the most glorious beach. As before the boy and his Mummy had all the beach carry on. Auntie ly participated whilst sat on her bum. I was so relaxed that on one of their trips down to sea I actually fell asleep.
I was in need of a break and this trip fit bill. Blue skies, gentle tides and stargazing as night definitely helped my burnout. Who needs to go abroad when heaven is just over an hour away?
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The sun is out and I have a had a nice week. Here is what is have been up to.
I had a lovely time with some of my little ones. Everyone was feeling snuggly this week, so auntie ly got all the cuddles.
The wildflowers I have planted have come out in force this year and they make me so happy. I have these beautiful Marguerites at my front door that make me smile every time I leave the house. Bees appear to love them and this week ladybirds were also enjoying my blooms.
On Thursday I met my very favourite man for drinks and some chat. It was crazy hot in Glasgow so I opted for a super floaty and light outfit. It was nice to be out and having some adult conversation. Much fun was had.
Unfortunately my body rebelled and Friday was a festival of pain. It’s looking like a weekend of rest and recovery. I hate that there is always a price to pay, but I still really cherish the days I get to do lovely things.
In a previous post I discussed some developments with my long covid debacle. I had to wait a while to see a specialist and have some tests done, but I am now closer to a diagnosis. I will speak on that later as I have two more tests to under go before that is finalised.
I am feeling deflated. My appointment this week didn’t hold any surprises, but there weren’t answers either. The consultant couldn’t give me any opinion on whether my current symptoms would improve or resolve. She also didn’t have any suggestions to improve symptoms that I am not already doing. Drs still have a lot of ‘don’t knows’ when it comes to long covid. That’s not anyone’s fault, but it is incredibly difficult to deal with. As I have said before, the thought of being stuck in my current condition is terrifying.
I am trapped within by body’s limitations. I feel useless and unreliable. In the last two weeks I have had to miss a funeral, reschedule medical appointments & cancel just hanging out at my friend’s house because I was too ill to get out of the house. I can’t keep up with housework or actual work. I am almost always saying no. When I see my niblings I can’t play the way I want to. I can’t help out my Mum friends/family the way I want to and used to. I can’t visit friends I haven’t seen since pre pandemic because the night before I am due to go I end up in hospital. Any outing I can make I constantly interrupt with my need to rest. People always have to ask if I am ok, if I can manage and so on. I hate it. I don’t want the people I love to be worried about me all the time. I make everything harder for everyone.
For me this is failing on all fronts. I’m not doing anything well. Doing everything that has been suggested to help and having no improvement is so dispiriting. Gentle exercise might help, but too much will exacerbate symptoms. I struggle to do 5 mins of gentle yoga stretches without getting so dizzy I pass out. Swimming is great, but I’ve been advised not to go alone. I’ve doubled my fluid intake. I’m resting and doing all the recommended exercises when I am sat down. I stand up slowly, clench muscles and don’t stay in the same position too long. I’ve gone for every test and treatment. I’m utilising every trick in my pain relief deck. I’ve cut back, more rest days, meditate, take deep breaths. Nothing works. My pain levels have not reduced. Dizziness & fainting will not abate. My heart continues to race and I can never get a breath. The brain fog is the worst I have ever experienced. No one has any other help to offer me.
I don’t know how to adapt to this. It is very hard to see how I live a fulfilling life in this state. I know I have felt this way before and found a way, but my horizons keep shrinking. Hopefully it will get better or I will rise to the challenge. Right at this moment I don’t know how to do that. I am more stuck than I have ever been.
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Lately I’ve been having regular checks for the heart rate thing. The nurse who took my blood & vitals last week was really familiar. I had that strange I’ve definitely met you feeling, but also knew I didn’t know her, know her. I couldn’t place her at all until a loud clatter startled her. Her sharp intake of breathe shot me back in time.
She was the nurse I stunned with my self destruction in this same hospital many years ago. She either didn’t recognise me or correctly judged it best not to indicate that she had. She was friendly & kind, but the sound of that inhale shook me. I was back there, covered in blood & guilt.
I can so clearly remember walking into that triage room. Concisely explaining why I was there & seeing the doubt in her eyes. I could tell she thought the large towel on my arm was overkill. I knew she was weighing up how to nicely dismiss me. I was too tired to do anything other than unwrap the makeshift dressing & expose the truth.
The inner layers were blood soaked & the final one stuck to the wound. When I yanked it off with same the lack of self care that had led me to that room, she gasped. An entirely involuntary expression of what; shock? disgust? fear? I couldn’t discern, but I knew it wasn’t good.
The speed that she whipped through the triage routine was more about her discomfort than mine. I had long lost my objectivity. I sought treatment as a means of calling a halt to that cut. I had given up seeking enough. I knew that enough was a lie. When I looked at my arm I really couldn’t tell anymore if it was any worse than anything else I had done to myself. It was just another failed attempt to carve out some peace.
Peace that I knew was never coming. I already felt stupid & ashamed & so horribly guilty. For all the usual reasons and now also because it was obvious I had ruined this women’s night. She hadn’t bargained for my level of determined self loathing; I’d upset her. I felt selfish for not being more clear. I shouldn’t have allowed anyone to be caught off guard.
I wanted to be better. Do better. I wished I could give this nurse & everyone else the explanation they needed. I yearned to be somewhere else. I didn’t even want to do this anymore. My blades had long since lost efficacy. I could never cut deep enough. Never shed enough blood. The quiet I needed was evermore elusive. I was desperate and so fucking tired. Yet, I still couldn’t stop.
As I waited for her to finish with my blood pressure I was stuck in the past. Mired in the dread. Reliving the experience of having my arm stapled shut whilst already planning the next assault. Knowing I couldn’t escape the nagging voice in my head that insisted I must cut. I must earn any rest. I had to atone for sins I wasn’t able to articulate. I had to release all the fetid emotion with my blood.
When I left I felt blessed. And cursed. Blessed that I was wrong. I did escape. I have hushed that internal need for penance. Cursed because I still haven’t silenced it. There will always be triggers pulling me back. Days when my scars itch to be opened. You can’t play with fire & not get burned. The magic is remembering I know how to make it stop. I just have to wake up every day and choose this new, better life. Easy, right?
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It’s been ‘ugh’ for a while now and I’m in danger of wallowing in a big puddle of woe is me. I’m making efforts to feel better. I started by tackling my inbox and then tried to clear some light housework. Ticks on my to do list helped me feel less useless. Now seems a good time to build on that by counting my blessings.
So, today I am grateful for,
My big comfy bed (& no one snoring, farting or otherwise bothering me in it).
My fridge holds soups & fruit juice galore. My stomach only wants these & the occasional bread product.
My demanding little purr ball.
Excellent new Jim jams. They have pockets and are so soft I keep stroking myself.
Hot running water.
The sick & ridiculous humour of the Small Town Murder podcast.
A plethora of supportive & loving people.
All the perfect little ones said people have made.
The writings of Sara Pascoe & Barbara Trapido
Free and accessible healthcare. Big love, NHS.
The freedom to drift in and out of sleep as needed.
The phone steriliser relieving covid related iPhone anxiety.
Messages of love from my big muffin.
Lemon & lavender scented heat pads.
A room festooned with beautiful blooms.
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January was a rough ride. Between norovirus, ear, throat, kidney infections and good old depression I haven’t had much fun recently. Out of the longest month I had about 5 good days & I only managed to look half decent on 3 of those. As ridiculous as it sounds, i’m quite pleased with myself for pulling it together & getting out the door that much.
What do spoonies wear when they are struck with regular person illness, but still want to look cute? A new found love of wide leg trousers has been my saviour. I still prefer a flirty dress, but I’ll be seeking out more of this style. My keep warm & comfortable whilst still looking cute uniform has been a combination of the wide legs, vests & my slouchiest cardigan.
Trousers – Elvi
T- Shirt – Pretty Little Thing
Crop Top – Asos Curve
Cardi – Daisy Street via Asos
The first iteration of this look was for lunch with my fav man. I paired my beautiful velvet trousers from Xmas with the softest crop top & sheer tee.
Vest – Primark
Next up was a Tuesday adventure with the boy. I swapped out the t shirt for this sharky vest. The big toothy beast with the caption harmless amuses me. The boy is also a fan of anything with a shark.
Trousers – Asos Design x La Quan Smith
Vest – Primark
Last week I made it out to see my littlest niece & all my nephews before the infections really took hold. I was feeling rough & so grateful that I’d ordered these leopard print babies. Lovely warm fabric, gentle elasticated waist & big pockets make them a spoonie dream.
And in the interest of transparency, this is what I look like the rest of the time.
January is turning into quite a challenge on both physical & mental health fronts. Mood dips at this time of year are predictable, but this feels like it’s edging towards more than that. Thus, I am doing the sensible thing & taking a rest.
I’ll be still be sharing other people’s cool stuff & perhaps bits from the archives. There’ll be a pause on new content. If you begin to miss me, you can find me here & here.