Wednesday. My day of rest – also hump day. Not hump day as in shagging by the way, I made that mistake once during convo and looked like a perv, but as in: its the middle of the week, the toughest bit, but the weekend would soon be here.
Last night was better, I slept better, albeit I kind of passed out but I was out cold from 9ish till 6 when Eli woke for the day. It was HUGE relief to wake up this morning and be dealing with only moderate rather than severe bone pain; hump day, you fucking rock my friend…. well you did until I looked in the mirror. FUCKS SAKE HUMP DAY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
So part of the craziness with my body in particular is that it lets you KNOW it’s not happy in a very visual way. No one feels the tiredness or sees the sore bones, or the goosebumps or the brain fog… but a patch of sores that look like burns on your neck? Oh aye, you’d clock that no bother, so when it needs a bit of extra attention this is how it grabs it.
When this first started happening I was sure that it was an allergic reaction, it would come and go, spread and then contract, it never weeped, it was always dry and it didn’t itch; it was weird. I deployed antihistamines and started paying attention to what I was eating and using chemically (not as in class A or owt, I mean shampoo and the like) to see if I could work out what was causing it, but the ONLY denominating factor was that it always got worse when I was hanging by a thread. Literally at my lowest ebb. I tried over the counter creams just to see if it was an infection or a common skin condition but they made no difference and the pharmacist was out of suggestions; she bumped me off to the docs because at that stage it looked like a massive love bite round to one side. You’d be surprised at the attention it brought me when I was out and about actually, especially if I had Eli. I’d either get looks of utter pride and a sense that whoever was looking wanted to high five me for being a dirty bastard, or I’d get looks of disdain and tuts. It was fucking embarrassing on both counts and although Christiaan could walk around like Billy Big Balls if he wanted to lay claim to it, I just wanted it gone. The irony of people thinking I’m a shagging machine when I struggle to get my pants off was not lost – fuckers. So anyway, I went to the docs. She ruled out hives, allergic reactions and a billion other things; apparently this is my bodies way of breaking down when it’s under pressure. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? If it’s not bad enough I have this shitty illness my body decides it’s throwing a hissy fit because its not getting ENOUGH attention?? Yes, yes it does. I’m told although its not common it’s a perfectly acceptable response when the body begins to feel a bit fucked off with the general state of affairs. I swear that my inner workings are like two 14 year old hormonal school girls fighting; I’m never sure whether I’m going to get a scratch, punch or a slap.
Now I know, with a sense of dread that some of you lovely people will be sat there looking at these pics, reading these blogs and thinking “I know what that is, I wonder if she’s tried….” Don’t. Please my darlings. I know you want to help, I know it’s done with a huge amount of sincerity and love but I get tagged, messaged and emailed a lot of shite every day with “cures”, either for M.E. or for its symptoms – if I had a pound for every time someone asked with a bolt of genius if my thyroid or vitamin B or D had been checked I’d be a very rich lady. Yes to all of this – I’ve been through the majority of tests that are available because I was lucky enough to have private healthcare through work; the consultant went needle happy, I can confirm everything appears as it should. Yes even the additional thyroid tests.
If you search Google long enough you will find it can convince you of anything; cabbages cure chronic fanny coughs, garlic makes your pubic hair disappear, throwing curry powder in your face can regrow balding spots – I’ve read it all and it doesn’t hold any water with me, EVEN if it’s worked for Sandra and her dogs auntie down the road. Half of what you see advertised on Facebook is utter horseshit: true story. I love that you’re thinking of me, I love that you want to try and make me better but please don’t. It’s almost as if I’m shitting on your help when I tell you I’ve tried it or discounted it; I feel rotten and you probably feel like I’m an arsehole who isn’t prepared to just TRY, I know the exchange all too well and I promise you, it’s not because I’m a miserable bastard.
See I stopped chasing cures quite a while back when I read about the amount of people with M.E. who have bankrupted themselves at the mercy of so called “cures” or “healers”. They’d not only lost their money but they were so beaten up from the constant hope>invest>fail cycle that they’d lost a lot of their lust for life. Disappointment is often harder work than just making do with whats going on; there’s something really healthy about drawing a line and saying “this is what life looks like now, I can deny it, or I can adapt”, and I’d like to think that by and large I’ve adapted. The reality is; some things work for some people, for some reasons; and you know what? I’d never take that away from them but at this stage; there is no cure, there is not one thing that works for every M.E. patient. So from here on in I refuse to chuck money at this, I refuse to pin my hopes on dehydrated squirrels being the answer. I refuse to believe that if I do the Macarena while slapping my face with a flip flop I’ll release my inner aches and pains and set them free. I may be ignorant, I may be cutting my nose off to spite my face or I may be over looking something that will work, but I’ll be happier accepting life for what it is – even if I don’t like it.
The last thing I’ve been tried has been turmeric and CBD oil to manage my pain… it’s not paid dividends. It works for some, I believe that – but it doesn’t work for me and until science can show me repeatable success with limited variables I won’t be getting excited about it revolutionising my existence. I am not convinced. And no Hairy Mammories, I am not including you in this… I know you’ll be worrying – you sent me information, not cures.
So anyway, enough of my philosophising – don’t try and cure me, come and revel in my misery instead; its funnier.
RIGHT THEN so I wake up to a Game of Thrones style map on my neck. Who cares?! Not I! For I had a child free day ahead, one where I could relax and try and recharge a bit right? No actually, because the insurance company are a shower of bastards. TWO separate emails they sent me last night, one to say they needed to speak to me urgently about the claim (see Ceiling Vag story) and the other to say the policy was up for renewal and they wanted to “review recent events”. There were two different phone numbers to phone. I phoned the number to speak to a claims assessor… 40 FUCKING MINUTES I was waiting! 40!!!! There wasn’t even any wank music, just silence that was interrupted by a robot telling me I was in a queue; no shit Sherlock. Now, I’d forgive them if this was the first time but every single time I’ve called, regardless of the time of day it’s taken upwards of 20 minutes – this is not unexpected call volume you robotic twat, not when I EXPECT it after only phoning a handful of times; it’s bad planning and insufficient staffing. Sort it the fuck out. Anyway, finally I get through, “Ah Mrs Mellars we just wanted to find out where you were up to with repairing the leak”. I swear to Jeebus and his sandals that I could have throttled the poor girl at the end of the phone. The leak isn’t fucking fixed because their pretend plumber hadn’t diagnosed it properly and I’d had to do the hokey kokey with them about trying to get someone else out; I had to find my own plumber you bunch of bell ends and he’s fixing it next week. They know this… she found “the note on the system” after I started talking. FUCK MY LIFE.
The second call was to discuss “recent events” but this number, magically, gets you straight through to the unicorn and rainbow brigade; i.e. “retention”. One cannot transfer to the other because they are different companies apparently….no… I’ve no idea why either. Anyway, my policy is due to expire on the 25th of April; the claim has landed (although not even paid out yet) and I KNEW this wouldn’t have a happy ending but Doreen and I exchanged pleasantries while she tapped away her end and then confirmed what we both knew was coming; my policy premium would double. Like fuck it would Doreen, you can go and shit in your shoes lady, I’m not paying that. I’m going somewhere else.
So I did but fuck me, sorting house insurance is a pain in the tits. I’ve no idea if I’m covered in the way I need to be, or what happens if I get held up by a deranged badger wielding a gun, attempting to steal my possessions and dance maliciously on my hot water pipes all at the same time (badgers can be tricky bastards)… we’ll just need to wait for that shit storm to unfold, knowing my luck we’ll not be waiting long.
So there you go. That’s been my morning and unsurprisingly my brain is knackered and I want to punch a Nun. I am not relaxed, I am drained and my neck will likely throw in a map of Africa later for shits and giggles.
These are cheering me up mind.
I’d been looking for some flowers to cheer the place up and give me something to look at this week while I’ve been “resting” but it looked like a gang of demented rabbits had been through Morrisons when I was there the other week. I had the choice of some dead daffodils or something that smelt like cat piss; I was enamoured by neither so I left it. Clearly he wins all the husband points because he went out last night and got me these – that man, love him. 😍
I’m hoping tomorrow will be more “relaxing”. I have no calls to make, nothing to do and nowhere I need to be. I’m going to stay on the sofa and watch telly. That’s it. That’s my plan.
Wish me luck!
So today’s synopsis:
- Eli has been at nursery so I’ve been child free – he’s had a good day by all accounts
- I’ve renewed our home insurance
- I’ve got some smashin flowers
- Insurance firms are bunch of arseholes
- Game of Thrones neck signals an urgent need to sit the fuck down” more
- No down time
- Whats on the menu Mellars?
- Breakfast – a yoghurt… don’t… I couldn’t be arsed
- Lunch – a tiny portion of pasta with some mushrooms, onions and chopped tomatoes, it was incredibly dull
- Dinner – Chicken goujons, chips and salad.