Back in May we had a general election. Much to my utter horror England elected a Conservative majority party - how?! Many years ago Margaret Thatcher started this country on the path of "me, me, greed, greed, me, me". David Cameron's government is taking it all to a higher level. He and his grinning millionaire minions are stamping so hard on the disadvantaged but their voices aren't heard loud enough or wide enough because the vast majority of the press are on the side of the ruling elite - after all, they are very rich and don't give a shit about anyone other than themselves.
Next week George Osborne, our Chancellor (who can't balance his cheque book or understand the rules of claiming expenses) will launch his "emergency" budget. Now that the truth of the country's massive debt is trickling out, he'll refuse to go after company tax dodgers (oh, he'll say the words but he won't actually do it) and put more screws onto those who can least afford to shoulder the crap. He's already done away with a key piece of funding for disabled people - and yet the rallying cry is "we look after the most disadvantaged in society" - aye, look after them so well we kill them. What kind of government kills off its own people? Well, there's an answer to that and, unfortunately, too many in England can't see it/refuse to see it/don't give a shit because at the moment "I'm alright Jack".
It scares me. It really scares me. I struggled for 4 years with debilitating chronic illness and trying to work full time, paying my taxes. Fortunately I had a wonderful line manager and section head who supported me, the only reason I lasted 4 years. Then the government change the goal posts - you'd think it would be an easy life being chronically ill and not working. The Government think so. I'm not able to work full time any more but I couldn't live on a part-time wage (who can?). At the moment I'm lucky, I get Carers Allowance and Income Support in order to provide a minimum of 35 hours a week care to Mum. Dad falls into the care bracket too now but he's not recognised by the State either because he still manages to get around & look after (mostly) his personal care needs. That being said I get £105 a week. Try living on that, it's easier than £71 a week but it's not as easy as £400 a week, which is roughly what I was earning at work.
Next week I fully anticipate the taxes on fuel to rise (despite a pre-election promise not to) - after all we only pay 80% tax on a litre of fuel. That's another wee rant - the change in fuel measurement from gallon down to litre. After all, the public would never have accepted £5 a gallon charge on fuel but they will accept £1.24 + a litre. That's £5.46 a gallon 1 gallon = 4.4 litres - but the man in the street doesn't know this, so he/she grumbles but pays up. Who rakes in the money? The government, because 80% of that amount is tax of one kind or another.
Anyway, so, yeah, I am scared shitless of what that bunch of conservative bastards will do next. At the moment the only reason I survive is because Mum and Dad are very generous and supportive, and they can only be that way because they worked very hard for a long time.
Then there's the pain - in addition to the background 24/7 muscle & joint pain. I can't recall mentioning my broken heel - in 2013,while walking across a car park heading to the local hospital to visit Mum I managed to break my heel. Shards of bone subsequently embedded themselves in the base of my Achilles tendon, the site of a lovely lump. After months of tooing & frowing with medics and podiatrists I was referred to a surgeon - who told me that given my age I should just get used to the fact that things will go wrong & I need to learn to live with it (I kid you not). I eventually got a "boot" which helped but I can no longer wear the "boot" because the restriction in blood supply sets off my cellulitis (whohoo!). Anyway, so, there I am, hobbling round a supermarket when rrrriiiiiippppp - white hot, blinding pain. The bone fragments in my heel have moved, shifted, f*******g agony. I have a new ridge on the lump - a pointy ridge. Makes wearing shoes impossible. Makes walking incredibly painful. Makes stairs even harder (especially as my "good" thigh is now ripping and tearing).
And yet, as I sat before my computer this morning and feeling panic, fear and desperation welling up like my own personal tsunami,I had to remind myself, over and over and over - I can actually deal with whatever happens next. I may not like it, I may not enjoy it and it may cause incredible hardship but I can handle it. I'm a unicorn farting rainbows, I can handle just about anything (and I will keep telling myself that, one day I might believe it).
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Thursday, 2 July 2015
Saturday, 27 June 2015
The Uncomfy topic of Depression
An awful lot of my fellow carers get diagnosed with depression: and I can understand why.
An awful lot of my fellow chronic ailment suffers get diagnosed with depression; and I can understand why.
I'm feeling more than a little down at the moment. It's been a progressive slide over the last 3 weeks or so.
I'm currently on antibiotics for a sinus infection - I read somewhere recently that killing off your natural gut bacteria can result in a temporary bout of depression. I'm hoping that is what is behind this current nose dive. Will find out next week, once the antibiotics are finished & I restock my gut flora.
Unfortunately, I am not convinced that the antibiotics are the only cause.
It's not been the best of weeks. But at least tonight Mum isn't having one of her turns - the last two nights she has become unresponsive or combative when the carers have come in for their evening (& last) visit of the day. Her turns are hard to describe because until you see one the words meaning nothing. In a nutshell her eyes close, her body goes completely limp and yet she calls out for "Harry" meaning dad. If she doesn't get what she's calling for she becomes increasingly agitated. Mostly, anyway, sometimes it's other people. She can hear what you say to her but she won't respond with words, you might get a slight nod of the head, but then again she may just go still. I should probably enquire of Social Work what is going on in her head during these turns, since they seem to know everything else. . . !
We have quite a big garden, too big for us to manage appropriately any more. But dad likes to buy plants, though there really isn't anywhere to put them now. My sister likes to point out that he shouldn't be doing this, which leads to a good old fashioned row. I merely add to the furore by planting things in tubs/pots/planters.
Well, didn't I discover this morning - after the issue of my power screwdriver having "disappeared", a whistle blow from mum (aka shit patrol), my disappointment at not having strong enough hands or wrists any more to make do without a power screwdriver - that someone had chopped down one of my trees.
I almost cried.
Isn't it daft? A tree being cut down either through stupidity, careless or maliciousness, is the straw which breaks the camels back.
And yet dad cannot understand why I won't plant my plants in the garden - the fact that if I do he promptly digs them up and either throws them out or chops them up so badly they die after he shoves them into an inappropriate spot in the garden, isn't relevant.
The fact that one can only tidy up shit and be continually supportive of another human being for so long, is relevant.
The fact that my "good" thigh is now ripping with each stair I climb is irrelevant.
Trouble is, none of it is irrelevant - to me. To the rest of the world my wants/needs/desires are totally irrelevant, but, to me, it isn't.
I've had people in the past say to me "anything we can do to help" but when you ask them specifically, suddenly, the offer is withdrawn. Don't say things you don't mean - a lot of the time I haven't the energy or the spare brain capacity to be anything other than literal.
So, as I listen to the washing machine, on, again, to 2 television sets competing, I consider the fact that it's entirely possible I am developing depression. I've been down this road before. I had hoped never to go down it again but sometimes life conspires against you and those you rely upon to help maintain the balance have too much on their own plates to be there even for a small restorative conversation. But, that's life. Self sufficiency & all that - trouble is, we get trapped in our own thinking and that's when things go wrong.
Here's hoping it's a quiet night (unlikely since it's Gala Day and people will be roaring drunk and screaming/shouting/singing as they wander along the path outside the house) and that, with the end of the antibiotic, comes the sunlight at the end of this tunnel.
An awful lot of my fellow chronic ailment suffers get diagnosed with depression; and I can understand why.
I'm feeling more than a little down at the moment. It's been a progressive slide over the last 3 weeks or so.
I'm currently on antibiotics for a sinus infection - I read somewhere recently that killing off your natural gut bacteria can result in a temporary bout of depression. I'm hoping that is what is behind this current nose dive. Will find out next week, once the antibiotics are finished & I restock my gut flora.
Unfortunately, I am not convinced that the antibiotics are the only cause.
It's not been the best of weeks. But at least tonight Mum isn't having one of her turns - the last two nights she has become unresponsive or combative when the carers have come in for their evening (& last) visit of the day. Her turns are hard to describe because until you see one the words meaning nothing. In a nutshell her eyes close, her body goes completely limp and yet she calls out for "Harry" meaning dad. If she doesn't get what she's calling for she becomes increasingly agitated. Mostly, anyway, sometimes it's other people. She can hear what you say to her but she won't respond with words, you might get a slight nod of the head, but then again she may just go still. I should probably enquire of Social Work what is going on in her head during these turns, since they seem to know everything else. . . !
We have quite a big garden, too big for us to manage appropriately any more. But dad likes to buy plants, though there really isn't anywhere to put them now. My sister likes to point out that he shouldn't be doing this, which leads to a good old fashioned row. I merely add to the furore by planting things in tubs/pots/planters.
Well, didn't I discover this morning - after the issue of my power screwdriver having "disappeared", a whistle blow from mum (aka shit patrol), my disappointment at not having strong enough hands or wrists any more to make do without a power screwdriver - that someone had chopped down one of my trees.
I almost cried.
Isn't it daft? A tree being cut down either through stupidity, careless or maliciousness, is the straw which breaks the camels back.
And yet dad cannot understand why I won't plant my plants in the garden - the fact that if I do he promptly digs them up and either throws them out or chops them up so badly they die after he shoves them into an inappropriate spot in the garden, isn't relevant.
The fact that one can only tidy up shit and be continually supportive of another human being for so long, is relevant.
The fact that my "good" thigh is now ripping with each stair I climb is irrelevant.
Trouble is, none of it is irrelevant - to me. To the rest of the world my wants/needs/desires are totally irrelevant, but, to me, it isn't.
I've had people in the past say to me "anything we can do to help" but when you ask them specifically, suddenly, the offer is withdrawn. Don't say things you don't mean - a lot of the time I haven't the energy or the spare brain capacity to be anything other than literal.
So, as I listen to the washing machine, on, again, to 2 television sets competing, I consider the fact that it's entirely possible I am developing depression. I've been down this road before. I had hoped never to go down it again but sometimes life conspires against you and those you rely upon to help maintain the balance have too much on their own plates to be there even for a small restorative conversation. But, that's life. Self sufficiency & all that - trouble is, we get trapped in our own thinking and that's when things go wrong.
Here's hoping it's a quiet night (unlikely since it's Gala Day and people will be roaring drunk and screaming/shouting/singing as they wander along the path outside the house) and that, with the end of the antibiotic, comes the sunlight at the end of this tunnel.
Wednesday, 3 June 2015
A unicorn farting rainbows
I noticed the other day, as I was standing at Mum's bedside helping her eat breakfast that my lower back, hips and one leg were extraordinarily sore. Admittedly my entire left leg is giving me far more pain than it used to and that pain's lasting longer, but I did wonder.
So, this morning, I paid a great deal of attention to what I did and how long I was on my feet. My day started at 5:20. As usual, I sat on the side of the bed for a minute or two just letting everything adjust to the fact that I was upright and preparing to move. The first 15/20 steps are THE worst, absolutely nothing wants to work and walking is like having shards of glass poking into the soles of my feet, red hot bolts of steel being rammed into my ankles from almost every direction - and so the pain progresses upwards, all the way to my neck, shoulder and sometimes elbows (depending on how I sat up in bed). Wrists and fingers generally just ache.
But, after that, I have no idea where the time went. Before I knew it, it was 6:50 and I needed to start getting breakfasts and pills organised (because Wednesday is shopping day for dad - usually his only time out the house). There were also a fair few dishes to be dealt with this morning (because I couldn't be arsed dealing with them the night before). The cats were getting picky about the state of their food corner, so that needed dealing with.
For 20 minutes I was moving constantly about the kitchen, sometimes pausing in one place for several minutes. Then I had my breakfast - one day I'll have a leisurely breakfast not wolfing down food because I have others to see to. That was about 5/7 minutes sitting watching breakfast TV (ye gawds but do they whitter about daft, inconsequential stuff which apparently their audience really needs to actually care about), then painkillers. Then finish Mum's breakfast prep (the ice cream part - she's 83, she can have what she wants for breakfast lol). Upstairs with the tray then stand around in her room organising stuff, getting straws, feeding - that's another 5 - 10 minutes. By this point I was in agony.
So, 30 minutes of puttering backwards & forwards seems to be the max before I have to sit down or face excess pain tomorrow. If I was constantly on the move, I think I could possibly last longer because it's not really the movement which is the issue it's the standing still (don't mention queues!).
The point of this? If I know how long I can putter and how long I need to rest between putterings, I can better schedule the things I have to do. I mean, there is no way to change the times of Mum's meals/pills but I can work better around them. But things like vacuuming (which does eventually need to get done or I'd go insane), emptying recycling bins, cats, fish,doing washing, interspersed with whatever needs doing upstairs.
Then, in my "free" time I can dress up in my tutu, put a cone on my forehead and cover myself in lashings of sprinkles before sliding around the kitchen floor pretending to be a magical unicorn! Thanks, Wendy, you made my day with that visualisation. Note to self: life may be crap at times, life may be all pain at times but one should always make room in a day, somewhere, to be a unicorn farting rainbows!
So, this morning, I paid a great deal of attention to what I did and how long I was on my feet. My day started at 5:20. As usual, I sat on the side of the bed for a minute or two just letting everything adjust to the fact that I was upright and preparing to move. The first 15/20 steps are THE worst, absolutely nothing wants to work and walking is like having shards of glass poking into the soles of my feet, red hot bolts of steel being rammed into my ankles from almost every direction - and so the pain progresses upwards, all the way to my neck, shoulder and sometimes elbows (depending on how I sat up in bed). Wrists and fingers generally just ache.
But, after that, I have no idea where the time went. Before I knew it, it was 6:50 and I needed to start getting breakfasts and pills organised (because Wednesday is shopping day for dad - usually his only time out the house). There were also a fair few dishes to be dealt with this morning (because I couldn't be arsed dealing with them the night before). The cats were getting picky about the state of their food corner, so that needed dealing with.
For 20 minutes I was moving constantly about the kitchen, sometimes pausing in one place for several minutes. Then I had my breakfast - one day I'll have a leisurely breakfast not wolfing down food because I have others to see to. That was about 5/7 minutes sitting watching breakfast TV (ye gawds but do they whitter about daft, inconsequential stuff which apparently their audience really needs to actually care about), then painkillers. Then finish Mum's breakfast prep (the ice cream part - she's 83, she can have what she wants for breakfast lol). Upstairs with the tray then stand around in her room organising stuff, getting straws, feeding - that's another 5 - 10 minutes. By this point I was in agony.
So, 30 minutes of puttering backwards & forwards seems to be the max before I have to sit down or face excess pain tomorrow. If I was constantly on the move, I think I could possibly last longer because it's not really the movement which is the issue it's the standing still (don't mention queues!).
The point of this? If I know how long I can putter and how long I need to rest between putterings, I can better schedule the things I have to do. I mean, there is no way to change the times of Mum's meals/pills but I can work better around them. But things like vacuuming (which does eventually need to get done or I'd go insane), emptying recycling bins, cats, fish,doing washing, interspersed with whatever needs doing upstairs.
Then, in my "free" time I can dress up in my tutu, put a cone on my forehead and cover myself in lashings of sprinkles before sliding around the kitchen floor pretending to be a magical unicorn! Thanks, Wendy, you made my day with that visualisation. Note to self: life may be crap at times, life may be all pain at times but one should always make room in a day, somewhere, to be a unicorn farting rainbows!
Wednesday, 13 May 2015
Word for the day "Awesome"
It's been a day of 2 parts today.
First thing this morning, after body had decided it would graciously obey the mind's instructions to MOVE, I went out to feed the birds. (I'm going to have to create a new bird feeding station though, the one I have is falling apart.) I take a relatively large bucket with food out to put some on the wee table, some on the ground on the slabs and fill the actual feeder. Usually I hear all the birds in the surrounding hedges sound the battle drums, the call to breakfast!
Today I was also aware of being watched from the roof, the gutter just above the living room window to be precise. A solitary, and not very large, pigeon (most of our resident pigeons are quite substantial). What absolutely gorgeous colours it had.
Poor thing must have been hungry because as soon as I had tipped some seed onto the table it flapped in. I was still at the table, bending over, getting another beaker full. I heard the wings, I felt the down draft and I felt really quite humbled that the poor thing would risk my immediate presence.
I didn't freak, I didn't shriek, I just stayed bent over until the pigeon had made its mind up whether to try landing or return to the gutter.
It tried again as I put the seed on the ground.
Finally I just had to look at it and suggest it give me about 20 or 30 seconds to fill the feeder and step away. It gave me that look - the "are you talking to me" look.
Job finished, I stepped away, one step, just to see how desperate/brave the pigeon was. Yup, SWOOP! Straight in, wings about 6 inches from my nose.
AWESOME - I don't use that word lightly but I did feel it was a particularly awesome moment.
This was followed by the usual frenetic "breakfast" issues, followed by a delayed departure for dad's weekly shopping trip (due to an unscheduled, pre-breakfast trip into town by my sister, following a call from her son), followed by a "proper" shopping trip.
It was just after 1 p.m.when I finally got to stretch out on my bed, until then pain hadn't been too bad & all limbs worked reasonably well.
Just after 2 p.m. Mum shouts "I need help!"
I tried to spring out of bed, hit the floor running and see what the problem was. Reality, sit up - deal with resultant dizzy spell. Get feet on floor to find one foot seems to want to not work right. Try to stand up, immediately sit back onto bed, deal with more dizziness. Eventually get to feet. Hand braced against wall. Right foot still not wanting to work accompanied by this rather nasty red hot tearing pain around heel (which is already damaged) and ankle. Pause, deep breath, put down pain. Stagger through to Mum's room.
"I think I've had a bowel motion," I'm informed. Not exactly a 999 situation.
When you become a carer, in the sense of providing physical care, you soon learn there is nothing about someone else's body you will not become more familiar with than you might otherwise care to. Consequently, I know my mother's bowel habits as well as I know my own. So, when informed of this situation, I realise I am either headed to a "pebble" situation, a "turd" situation or a liquid mess situation. Worst one is the liquid one.
So, bearing in mind that body has not acclimatised to being in an upright position, right leg feels massive but empty, left leg is as iffy as it usually is and back is saying "don't you dare bend over yet".
Yes, I could raise Mum's bed up - it certainly has that facility. But, in order to deal with this situation, Mum needs to be on her side. If her bed is elevated she has a drop between her and dad's bed. Sooooo the choice is - raise the bed up, save my back but have Mum wobble around so much it's impossible to have 2 hands free OR have her bed down, propped against dad's bed and potentially injure my back. What a choice!
Situation sorted, everyone cleaned, freshened, ointment on etc etc etc. Mum a bit better frame of mind. Me? Back killing me, right leg filled with red hot liquid pain and left leg laughing at me when I instruct it to move.
So, aside from cooking, delivering & helping consumption of supper & putting a load of washing on, I haven't done much this afternoon. Now I seem to have a red hot steel spike in my right ankle, I do hope it eases off soon, it's a bloody nuisance.
First thing this morning, after body had decided it would graciously obey the mind's instructions to MOVE, I went out to feed the birds. (I'm going to have to create a new bird feeding station though, the one I have is falling apart.) I take a relatively large bucket with food out to put some on the wee table, some on the ground on the slabs and fill the actual feeder. Usually I hear all the birds in the surrounding hedges sound the battle drums, the call to breakfast!
Today I was also aware of being watched from the roof, the gutter just above the living room window to be precise. A solitary, and not very large, pigeon (most of our resident pigeons are quite substantial). What absolutely gorgeous colours it had.
Poor thing must have been hungry because as soon as I had tipped some seed onto the table it flapped in. I was still at the table, bending over, getting another beaker full. I heard the wings, I felt the down draft and I felt really quite humbled that the poor thing would risk my immediate presence.
I didn't freak, I didn't shriek, I just stayed bent over until the pigeon had made its mind up whether to try landing or return to the gutter.
It tried again as I put the seed on the ground.
Finally I just had to look at it and suggest it give me about 20 or 30 seconds to fill the feeder and step away. It gave me that look - the "are you talking to me" look.
Job finished, I stepped away, one step, just to see how desperate/brave the pigeon was. Yup, SWOOP! Straight in, wings about 6 inches from my nose.
AWESOME - I don't use that word lightly but I did feel it was a particularly awesome moment.
This was followed by the usual frenetic "breakfast" issues, followed by a delayed departure for dad's weekly shopping trip (due to an unscheduled, pre-breakfast trip into town by my sister, following a call from her son), followed by a "proper" shopping trip.
It was just after 1 p.m.when I finally got to stretch out on my bed, until then pain hadn't been too bad & all limbs worked reasonably well.
Just after 2 p.m. Mum shouts "I need help!"
I tried to spring out of bed, hit the floor running and see what the problem was. Reality, sit up - deal with resultant dizzy spell. Get feet on floor to find one foot seems to want to not work right. Try to stand up, immediately sit back onto bed, deal with more dizziness. Eventually get to feet. Hand braced against wall. Right foot still not wanting to work accompanied by this rather nasty red hot tearing pain around heel (which is already damaged) and ankle. Pause, deep breath, put down pain. Stagger through to Mum's room.
"I think I've had a bowel motion," I'm informed. Not exactly a 999 situation.
When you become a carer, in the sense of providing physical care, you soon learn there is nothing about someone else's body you will not become more familiar with than you might otherwise care to. Consequently, I know my mother's bowel habits as well as I know my own. So, when informed of this situation, I realise I am either headed to a "pebble" situation, a "turd" situation or a liquid mess situation. Worst one is the liquid one.
So, bearing in mind that body has not acclimatised to being in an upright position, right leg feels massive but empty, left leg is as iffy as it usually is and back is saying "don't you dare bend over yet".
Yes, I could raise Mum's bed up - it certainly has that facility. But, in order to deal with this situation, Mum needs to be on her side. If her bed is elevated she has a drop between her and dad's bed. Sooooo the choice is - raise the bed up, save my back but have Mum wobble around so much it's impossible to have 2 hands free OR have her bed down, propped against dad's bed and potentially injure my back. What a choice!
Situation sorted, everyone cleaned, freshened, ointment on etc etc etc. Mum a bit better frame of mind. Me? Back killing me, right leg filled with red hot liquid pain and left leg laughing at me when I instruct it to move.
So, aside from cooking, delivering & helping consumption of supper & putting a load of washing on, I haven't done much this afternoon. Now I seem to have a red hot steel spike in my right ankle, I do hope it eases off soon, it's a bloody nuisance.
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