Category Archives: Personal

So, Yesterday…

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Was my 46th birthday.

I’ve been struggling quite a lot with this birthday and I’m not really sure why.

I mean, I know part of it is that I’m now officially closer to 50 than 40 and 50 seems huge.

40 wasn’t huge because I was 20 weeks pregnant at the time with the baby that would become my wonderful little boy. So I was huge, but the birthday wasn’t. šŸ˜€

me and adam today and yesterday

Adam when he was the baby on the interior and yesterday when he was the boy waiting for the school bus.

 

I am, for the most part, happy and content with my life. I have a husband and son whom I love. I have more creative energy than I’ve had at any point in my history. And I enjoy what I do every day.

Yes, I’m sore. A lot. My arms ache and my legs ache and I’m tired a lot of the time. Such is life with Fibromayalgia, after all.

But I’ve been spending the time leading up to yesterday trying to figure out why it seems so huge and reflecting on my life.

And I recognize that I am not where I thought I’d be by this time in my life. I thought I’d be a published writer (well, I am, but only on the ‘net) and/or a professional theatre designer or at least fairly high up in the career that I started on at Kaiser about 20 years ago.

All of which was derailed, very firmly, by my first psychotic break at 25.

But I am, as I said, happy and content.

So why is 46 so hard?

It’s not the signs of ageing. I know I don’t look 46, for one thing. And I don’t really mind the signs that do show my age; my grey hair, my laugh and frown lines and the fact that I seem to be getting my mother’s hands, but without her lovely long thin fingers. šŸ˜€

So…why is 46 so hard?!

I have no idea…

 

Plus la change…

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This week on Agent Carter, set in 1946, Agent Peggy Carter used the excuse “girl things” with the men in her office to get a day off so she could go do agent stuff.

Today I added “girl things” to our Tesco order that I forgot to get when I was in town earlier, rather than send my husband and son to get them for me tomorrow. Not that they wouldn’t, but I’ve taken Adam with me before and it was less than fun. He’s a very curious boy, after all.

As I’ve said before; nothing really changes.

And that’s rather sad.

 

Edit, 10/1/15 – I just realized, re-reading this, that if things are to change, we need to change them. Next time I will send Adam and Simon to buy them. And answer any questions Adam has about it. Which I have done before, actually. As I always answer any and all questions from the floor.

So today

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In England:

A convicted rapist gets a multi-million pound contract, mostly paid for by his future father in law who apparently has no issue with his daughter marrying a convicted rapist. Did I mention he’s a convicted rapist?

In Paris:

A group of men mowed down members of a satiricalĀ magazine in Paris. Last time I checked, it was 12 dead, at least 20 injured. Gunmen still at large.

In the US:

The NAACP may or may not have been part of a terrorist attack. But everyone is claiming there’s no coverage because it involves whatever the PC term is for black people today. It was People of Colour, but I was told that was offensive. Okay. Anyway, the coverage I’ve seen (AP wire on The New York Times site) says they have no idea if it was a terrorist attack at all. And it didn’t do much damage and no one was hurt. There’s enough target racist stuff that happens every day. Can we not get up in arms in something that isn’t?

And that’s the world today.

Sucks, don’t it?

 

 

I’ve seen people asking this Christmas:

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How did you find out Santa wasn’t real?

I never thought he was real.

Santa!

From the time I was born until my father married my Catholic step-mother when I was seven, Christmas wasn’t my holiday. My holiday was Chanukah with the eight presents stuffed into the closet in the utility room and my brother and I lighting the menorah and then picking one to open that night.

So my first Christmas was when I was 7. And as my brother and step-sister and I were trying to go to sleep, there was a lot of banging going on upstairs (my dad and his family lived in a reverse condo with the sleeping area downstairs and the living areas up-stairs) so I got out of bed and went to the bottom of the stairs and yelled up to please keep it down.

My dad’s response? “We’re putting the presents out!”

So much for Santa. šŸ˜€

I hope everyone had a lovely and peaceful holiday this year and that everyone has a fantastic 2015.

Giving them Roots and Wings

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Last night I was talking to my sister in law and 2 nieces on Skype and we were trying to remember how old my oldest niece, now 14, was when she was first allowed to walk to their downtown on her own. We all concurred that she was probably 10, the same age she was allowed to walk to school on her own.

It got me thinking about the things we are working on with our son. He’s 5 and most definitely Not Neurotypical (NNT) in some, as yet undiagnosed, way. But his father and I are doing our best to make him as independant as possible. He has no sense about cars or other danger, so I’m not sending him to the corner shop, but we certainly expect certain things, i.e. clearing his plate, throwing out his own garbage, tidying his toys.

And I was reminded of a story a friend of mine told me. She was visiting a friend with a childĀ the same age as my son. This child handed my friend a piece of paper or something to throw away, even though they were both standing right next to the kitchen bin. When my friend pointed this out, the child looked at her like he didn’t understand what she was saying. He had obviously never thrown anything away before. At least not at home.

So, by logical conclusion, my NNT son is more independent than her NT child.

So now I’m wondering, in general, how much you let your child do themselves. How old are they?

Are you giving them roots and wings? Or just roots?

Lessons From The Not Quite 5 Year Old…

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“What did you do today mummy?”

“Well, I walked you to school and then I went to the GP’s office for prescriptions and then to the chemist to get them filled and then to the supermarket for bread and pancakes and cereal bars. And then I came home and had a coffee and did some knitting and then had some lunch and then came to meet your bus. So, really, I did nothing today because I’m not feeling well. Again.”

“But you took me to school and then went to the chemist and the supermarket!”

“True, but I meant I didn’t do any housework today, like I had wanted to.”

“But you knitted! That’s housework!”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” With nearly 5 year old conviction. “You did lots today.”

Who Am I If I’m Not In Pain?

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So due to an incredible set of circumstances, I am remarkably pain free.

First I took up knitting to help my arthritic hands. And it worked. My hands are much looser and practically pain free. I still get twinges and opening jars is beyond me, but day to day activity is so much improved I am actually thinking about trying to draw by hand again.

Then the chemist couldn’t get me any Xanax. It’s not a drug that is prescribed in the UK, since the NHS doesn’t cover it (I’ve been paying private ‘script charges on it for years), so the European distributors haven’t been keeping it in the country. So I am in the process of switching to Zoloft. Guess what else Zoloft is good for, along with anxiety? Fibro pain.

So despite the fact that the med switch has given me some insomnia, I’m not really in fibro pain at the moment. I have nearly a full range of movement in my arms and the new pains that had started in my upper legs has totally gone. I’m still getting the fatigue and fibro brain, but I can deal with all of that, if there’s no pain.

Finally, I have been working with a podiatrist to pinpoint why my left leg hurts so badly, even with having had cortisone and exercise and losing weight and all those things. And for the first time someone looked at me and said ‘Your left leg is shorter than your right.’ Around 30 years my left leg has hurt in one way or another and this is the first time someone has noticed that. And that is skews the way I walk and the way I stand.

So I have a temporary thing for my left shoe that I am to try different thicknesses on, using, belive it or not, beer mats to raise or lower it as feels comfortable. And in four weeks I go back to report and have casts made of my feet and custom shoe inserts created. Just one day of having this temp thing in my left shoe and my leg feels better.

So how does it feel to not be in constant never ending pain?

Fucking terrifying.

I am trying so hard to not get my hopes up that this is how I will feel all the time now. I am trying to treat each day as a gift of painlessness.

And I’m not sure who to be any more. I’ve been Tee, the woman with three chronic pain conditions for a long time. I can’t even imagine what I might get done if I’m not spending days on the sofa just trying to get from one minute to the next.

But I am going to find out!