Sunday the 1st of July 2018
The 1st of July? How the actual fuck has that happened? I remember writing the blog post for the 1st of June and thinking “aye this’ll be it, the month that it all turns around”, June can’t be as bad as May was and in some ways I wasn’t wrong you know. I’ve had a few nice weekends with the penis’d ones, I’ve managed (by the skin of my teeth) to get my hair dried properly for once and some make up on for the first time in MONTHS, we got loads sorted in the house and Eli started swimming lessons. It sounds really productive and I guess, given what we have on – it was.
It’s all swings and roundabouts though innit? All those good things HAVE happened and I’ve been so so grateful that I’ve been able to be a part of them….but…. physically I’m going down hill still and I don’t know how to stop it or fix it. I’m still not able to walk any distance or for any length time which has meant that June saw me finally apply for a blue disability badge – something I’d been putting off. I’m still really sore which means that the huge box of painkillers I was given by the docs is pretty much gone and I’m going to need to ask for more. I’m sleeping more than I have been doing and I’ve shut down more often and finally…. on Friday night I began to get severe jaw pain. I know what you’re thinking – blow job injury. Firstly: filth. Secondly, I wish it fucking was; sucking cock is an infinitely edgier way to have gained an injury than what I’m bringing to the table which is….wait for it… a big pile of “I don’t fucking know”. See nothing happened. Nothing at all. No knock, no stretch, no detaching my jaw to eat a massive sausage (*wink wink*); nothing. It came on all of a sudden and it got worse through the course of yesterday (Saturday) until I was struggling to eat and could only talk from one side of my mouth – I could literally open my mouth a few cm’s and that was it. I’ve never had anything like this before so I’ve no idea what it actually is but I can tell you it feels like joint pain and that Tramadol, Iburprofen and Paracetamol aren’t touching the pain. I’m going to have to go to the docs. Again. Which is a ball ache really because I feel like I’m wasting everyone’s time going; it’s likely to be part of my condition given the onset and nonsensical nature and I dunno what she can do… but I feel it’s important it’s noted somewhere for reasons I can’t really explain – to justify myself maybe? Who knows, anyway that’s what’s on the agenda for tomorrow. I guess it’ll help my weight loss? KARMA?? ARE YOU CALLING ME A FAT BASTARD????
It’s sods law it happened to be honest because yesterday, although I felt grim, I was actually feeling OK about my appearance. That’s quite a bit thing for someone who doesn’t really look in the mirror any more, not for any self pitying reasons mind, just because I don’t really recognise the scruff that looks back at me most days. Every day I try and push myself to do, or at least try, the things that I’ve been forced to stop due to my own lack of capability and yesterday it was the turn of personal grooming. That makes me sound like a filthy street urchin…which maybe I am, fuck it. Anyway, I’ve not been able to hold the hairdryer because it was too heavy, or even stand the heat or noise of the hairdryer since about March time and for a lass who liked her hair shiny and smooth it’s been torture really. I’ve resorted to the “natural” look and I’m lucky that I have curls and can mostly make it look like a deliberate style. I did have the hairdresser dry it a few weeks back in the salon but it took me 3 weeks to get over the sensory overload so I was a bit nervous about the impact of doing it myself. Now I’m aware that makes me sound like an utterly precious snowflake, I hate admitting it but what the fuck can I do? I’ve turned from Arnie Schwarzenegger in his early 30’s prime to Arnie of now; I’m a wrinkly ball sack version of my former self who cannot tolerate the most basic tasks. I did it though you know. Yesterday. I managed to blow dry my hair AND put a bit of mascara on. This is huge for me. HUGE. I looked in the mirror and for the first time in a long time thought I looked alright. I’ve shifted enough weight that I can start moving away from floaty belly covering tops into more fitted numbers and I’d made an effort. Facebook crew you’ve seen one of these pics already; for everyone else’s benefit here – this is a rare display of vanity from yours truly.
Now my hair isn’t styled as it would have been in the past, because I had to stop and I had no other form of make up other than my mascara on but I was never a plaster it on kind of girl anyway so that was OK. I’ve also been told it looks like I’m holding a knob, a shiny smooth knob. I’m not but I’m chuffed some of you know me well enough to question it. It’s mad looking in the mirror now, I still feel like the 3.5 stone heavier lass in my head so it’s a weird seeing something different in the mirror. I’ve a long way to go before I feel totally alright with what I see but given how hard it’s been to get here, it’s a victory I’m revelling in for now.
Where did I go feeling OK with how I looked? Out OUT? Did I fuck, no I went to my mum and dads. Living la vida loca. See, I may have LOOKED OK but I felt fucking shocking. I have done since Friday. We have the jaw thing but we also have the horrific bone thing, all the way through my body but especially my legs. I had been wondering if it was because I’d caught a bit of sun on them on Thursday but I can’t work out how it would? I’ve also been feeling more knackered than I have for a while; I was in bed for the majority of Friday and could have easily repeated that yesterday and today if it hadn’t have been for my own stubborn nature screaming “it’s the fucking weekend woman, get a bastard grip”. As it was we nearly didn’t make it to my folks because of that fucking orange walk I told you about last week. Every road in and out of Cowdenbeath was closed, there was police, and drunks, and pipers everywhere; it was a jolly looking scene, I just hated everything it stood for. So we spent 40 minutes trying to find a way in, being turned back and watching them revelling through every fucking street before finally we found a way of getting to their house. Four thousand people apparently; that’s how many marched, and talking from the march it turns out that fucking Arlene Foster wants to build a bastarding bridge between Northern Ireland and Scotland. Not like a metaphorical bridge; a physical one, because of reasons but she can fuck off if she see’s any sort of alliance with her kind over here. I can guarantee she’d change her mind if we gained independence mind, that’s the bit that makes her nervous about Scotland – there are a fucktonne of us who are not unionists. Between Trump building a wall and her building a fucking bridge it’s like a toddlers lego party.
Despite Arlene and her “presence” we had a right lovely afternoon just spending time with my mum and dad in their garden. I’ve said before that I always feel right proud of how much he loves them and it’s so clear to see when he’s there; he just loves his family and seeing as he’s going to be an only child that makes me feel really content. He’ll always have his cousins and although life may take them all on different roads he’s got a choice to pick up with them whenever it suits him. It was a worry for a while though you know; him being an only child. Not that he would grow up spoiled, both Christiaan and I are firm with him, but that the burden of our old age and care would fall with him alone. There’s a part of me that thinks “well it’s fucking pay back innit, I wiped your welded shite from your arse often enough” and then another part that doesn’t want him bothered with any of it. I think a happy medium (suggested by a friend when I spilled my guts about my fears) is to save for our old age – not our pensions, we have those sorted already, but for our care. To be honest though, if we’re off our heads, or vegetative then I’ll be getting my wrinkly old arse to Switzerland to finish myself off with the blessing of my family. I’d rather go from the world with dignity than in a pool of my own piss amongst people who wish it had happened ages ago. I’ll not be doing that this weekend right enough I may feel about 109 but I’m only thirty fucking seven. Yes I’m only 37, I know I look older, and Christiaan looks younger when in fact he’s nearly 43, I’ve just had a hard paper round alright?
Today’s been a right chilled out day; it’s needed to be right enough because I have all the energy of a deflated beach ball. I’m fucked, my jaw is killing and every bone is screaming in pain so it was a quick jaunt out to the wee mans swimming lesson where I sat and watched and then home again to sit out in the garden for the afternoon. I’m always so grateful that Christiaan is happy to go in the pool with Eli; I’d hate for him to miss out because I’m not fit and he’s generally so patient with our situation (because he knows no different) that I want him to do fun things when he has the opportunity. He did really well this week though – there was no crying, he didn’t think the float was satan and was quite happy to do as he was asked. We also missed the Chinese couple who were on the way in when we were on the way out; close call. So I’m up to my eyes in painkillers and now wondering why my legs are covered in wee red spots.
I don’t have any freckles on my legs by the way, oh actually there are two but the rest are all wee red flat spots, or marks….. oh and cellulite, which ironically I didn’t have until I had Eli. Fucker. I’ve no idea what’s caused the rash but they’re not itchy and they’re not bothering me so I’ll ignore them I reckon – it’s probably summit to do with being in the sun.
Tomorrow is day one of solo parenting and I’ve got to say I’m dreading it. Not spending time with Eli, I generally always enjoy that, even if he’s being a tit, but if I’m feeling the way I am right now it’s going to be a huge struggle physically. It’s to be a bit cooler tomorrow but still nice enough to sit out, so I could always get my arse parked on a picnic blanket and let the wee man run riot…. in fact that’s what I’ll do I reckon. Tuesday see’s us at the dentists for Eli’s first check up which apparently he should have had a year ago and I knew nothing about; he barely had any teeth back then and what he did have he used to bite so she’s had a close call. I’m supposed to be having mine n all but given I can’t open my mouth very far I’m not sure what she’s gonna be able to see bar a close up of my lady-tache. Joy.
For now though, I’m signing off…. I need sleeps and lots and lots of it.
- I managed to look not like a homeless for the first time in months yesterday
- We had a really cracking afternoon at my folks just enjoying each others company
- Eli did so much better at his lesson today
- I’ve had a lot of down time to try and prepare for the next two solo parenting days
- Gammy jaw, knackered, really sore
- I need to go back to the docs… she’s always really nice, but I always feel like a faker because I don’t have something I can show her or point at
- I’m hiding this here because I’m hoping not too many of you read this far; technically I’m being sneaky but I promised I’d be honest with you all and I am… I’m gutted I missed writing the last few nights. Again. I know I shouldn’t be and honestly, I’m not asking for your sympathy, in fact it would make my tits itch if you were sympathetic but it’s just a pile of shite all this and I really want it to fuck off
- What’s on the menu Mellars? All of this has been no fun to eat and taken ages given the state of my fucking jaw but at the very least it should help my diet hah!
- Breakfast – Raspberries, yoghurt and a 35g portion of granola
- Lunch – a tiny wee burger from the left over pork mince mix on Friday with a dry fried egg on top, a couple of spoons of beans and a portion of mushrooms
- Dinner – Pulled pork made in my InstantPot with chips (Actifry numbers) and salad.
Are you new round here?
If you’ve just stumbled across TryingToDoItAll and have no bastarding idea what’s going on you should probably go back and read a few blogs from the beginning. Don’t panic, I won’t ask you to read them all, but these few posts will help explain. Oh stop sighing, it’ll only take you a few minutes. Fucks sake.
- Well you’re here, so you may as well get comfy
- Can’t stop M.E. now…. ahmm having such a good time, ahmm tickling your balllssss!
- When are the grown ups coming?
- Major surgery…again?
- You’ve got to be kidding M.E.?
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ME Blogger extraordinaire… not really