It's been snowing, raining and beginning to blow outside, thankfully after I finished a nice hour-long walk. Bolton Primary Care Trust have come to the conclusion that more people would walk if they had someone to walk with. I filled in the questionnaire last year that helped them to come to this conclusion. The result is a set of Get Active walks, where you turn up at, in this case, a local library and all set off together to tramp around a country park, taking in the sights and keeping up a flow of inconsequential chatter as a nice distraction from the fact you're outside in the freezing cold being weathered upon.
It works. I've spent a full hour, more than, walking around. On my own, I get too tired in ten minutes. I'm looking forward to going and doing it again. This after doing two sessions of tai chi over the weekend (I seriously recommend tai chi) and various running around for a science fiction convention.
Part of the mental discipline is going to be finding something innocuous to talk about while doing it. I've got a leaflet, Zeppelins over Lancashire, from the Bolton museum, so I'll read up and be able to spout off at will with any luck. I'm having a lot of fun gathering local knowledge and putting down roots like a dandelion.
I didn't feel, somehow, that I could share my memories of a fascinating weekend learning how to deal with a Cyberman invasion. Or about the really cool person in the really cool Jack Harkness outfit who got chosen to lead a team on account of being the most smartly dressed (and most hung over and least able to wriggle out of it.) Or the fun of watching a scenario writer seeing her scenario get played out and enjoyed while all goes to happy chaos. Or the mummer in a flame costume collecting money, or the table full of body parts, or the new author hawking his book (Johnny Nexus is his name, I forget the title of his book but I'm enjoying it so far). Or how cool it is to watch someone you know run a panel next to one of their heroes and manage to look as though he does this all the time.
I did share the tale of Pol giving me a lift back to the Travel Lodge and leaving me in the Landrover to go and get something. As he was coming back, the weather suddenly came up, with literally howling winds. There was a crow trying to land in a tree and being blown back, but it managed to get a grip and, once safe, sat watching poor Pol struggling across the car park as about twenty tonnes of hail and rain were dumped upon his head and blown up his nose. I was digging hail out of his ear when he got back. Of course, as soon as he got into the car and closed the door, all the rain and hail stopped.
We went off to get Moth and the traffic was so awful I had to call my flute teacher. She postponed me until 4:30 and I got through the lesson, albeit badly. I've had two doses of cocodamol and I feel not too bad now. Headachey but it's bearable. It's definitely a migraine. I'm not getting the space between migraines I was hoping for but I am functional and I am only taking about 50mg per day, and not even every day.
Showing posts with label Moth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Moth. Show all posts
Tuesday, 25 March 2008
Tuesday, 26 February 2008
In which the Rodent has its first visit to a pain clinic.
The ME yuk has faded into the background again. Migraines restrict me so much that I am never quite sure if the lack of fluey ache is because I am in remission, because the beta blockers are a miracle drug for my particular woes, or whether I end up accidentally staying at less than seventy percent of capability and thus don't trigger an ME crash. It's impossible to tell without about fifteen thousand similarly afflicted Rodents and a million pounds. Whatever it is, I am lboody grateful.
Today I finally managed to attend a pain clinic after missing the first appointment by turning up on the wrong day. This time it was the right day, although by the end of the two hour assessment I couldn't honestly have told you what day it was without looking at my calendar. The calendar is one of the few Flylady items, I've tried that actually works for me, and this is only after years of slowly adapting the system to my own needs. The main reason the calendar works is because there's no picture and so you end up with two A3 sized pieces of paper for every month.
What I have been told is that after taking no painkillers at all between July 17 2007 and November 17 2007, the headaches are not rebound and I can take whatever kills the pain while the pain clinic teaches me new methods to relax and cope. I'm all for the relaxation, since I think I need it. I don't need the added psychological barrier of being afraid to go out because it will hurt, and that is already beginning to happen. When I explained this, though, I got no feedback at all about whether this was something they did or not. It was very much a talking to blank walls exercise. I could have used their not carefully explaining that they don't offer miracles, since I am feeling crushed and hopeless enough as it is. I'm not expecting to be pain free, or drug free, but it would be nice to be in a better mental place. They kept asking me what I thought they could offer me, and I don't know what they can. Relaxation techniques, CBT, tea and biscuits, who knows? I felt horribly like I was sitting an oral exam I hadn't studied for.
I told them fairly honestly what I use to help the pain: two times 8/500 cocodamol two or three times a day, sometimes four, sometimes none. Tramadol if I need my wits about me for any length of time. Alcohol as an occasional alternative when I want to go out with friends (the Solstice was very boozy). Headbutting a wall during the really bad ones.
I forgot to mention super-sour sweets, cinnamon sweets and ice cream, all of which help the pain by giving me a few seconds respite/distraction.
I am thinking I need a non-junkie style way to explain to my migraine doc that when I was on thirty or so tramadol per month I was unhappy and unable to work but able to learn Spanish, travel to Spain, find my own accommodation and keep up my hobbies, while without them I am struggling with getting to the corner shop and back again. Either my brain has deteriorated very swiftly since 2007 and I am in serious trouble (and livejournal entries then and now suggest not), or my mental health has just become that bad for some reason (that's harder to ascertain), or strong pain relief really does help me get it together. I need to get that all out verbally without resorting at any point to screaming GIVE ME DRUGS!! because that won't help my case. Unfortunately, while I can type this out fairly calmly, once I'm talking to a doc I can hear the brain cells dribbling away until I am snivelling about wanting more tramadol because it makes me feel better....
It might even actually be better to be a drug-free zombie and not get habituated, although experience really, really says I need something. I really wanted a doc at the pain clinic I could talk this sort of thing over with, and I didn't get it. I'll be going to a GP I probably haven't seen before and asking for tramadol after a looooooooong gap without them, so I want to do it with backing. For this reason, I have an appointment to phone my doc at the London Migraine Clinic on Friday morning. I'll take her advice as regard tramadol. Cocodamol too, since, although it's available OTC, I still don't want to make things worse.
I am working on my own strategies for being unable to think all day. I do ten pieces of housework every day, or at least make a gesture in their direction, and mark them done (or not done) on a whiteboard. They're beginning to slowly be things I do without having to think about them. In particular, it's been natural now for months to wash up as I wait for the kettle to boil for my first cuppa, but it's now becoming second nature to also grab the no-taint kitchen spray and a square of Bounty cloth and wipe the kitchen surfaces and visible spots down. While I eat breakfast, the kitchen is spotless. This is so much not the case for the rest of the day. Wiping the bathroom and brushing the loo are also becoming less things I think about and more things I do naturally, and so those might also come off the list-of-ten-things. I can then add new things onto the list. At the current rate, with current levels of gaga, I could be fairly self sufficient and possibly working at something very simple in three to five years.
For depression, actually, not having to think what to do next is a huge bonus. It's been helping me deal with those February blues, stopping the vicious circle of lack of arsedness--->mess--->being overwhelmed--->depression--->lack of arsedness. If I get a huge relapse or merely hit my limit in the future, I will still try to keep my morning routine going just for the lack of stress it engenders.
Since feeding the cat and emptying her tray are on the list, Moth thinks it's a very good thing. She will come and get me if her cat tray is too full for her comfort, after spreading litter and poo about, so it's good for both of us if it's emptied regularly.
Pol and I had our usual Huge Row about the fact that he really wants to live in a caravan and I really can't cope with it even though the idea itself appeals. The last time we had this row, he threw me out just before I walked out, then he bought me coffee about a minute later and we got very vommish while addressing the very real concern I had over getting so little sleep each night. We left the caravan and moved to this house soon after. This time, we just sat and talked it through for a while, then went and watched the first episode of Stargate SG1 together. Like the fact that I want a dog, the fact that he likes living in a caravan is going to keep on and keep on coming up in the future, so I'll be looking for some way forward to that dream. Perhaps he'll start sleeping eight hours a night. Either that or I can live in a second caravan. One full of dogs. Smelly dogs.
Today I finally managed to attend a pain clinic after missing the first appointment by turning up on the wrong day. This time it was the right day, although by the end of the two hour assessment I couldn't honestly have told you what day it was without looking at my calendar. The calendar is one of the few Flylady items, I've tried that actually works for me, and this is only after years of slowly adapting the system to my own needs. The main reason the calendar works is because there's no picture and so you end up with two A3 sized pieces of paper for every month.
What I have been told is that after taking no painkillers at all between July 17 2007 and November 17 2007, the headaches are not rebound and I can take whatever kills the pain while the pain clinic teaches me new methods to relax and cope. I'm all for the relaxation, since I think I need it. I don't need the added psychological barrier of being afraid to go out because it will hurt, and that is already beginning to happen. When I explained this, though, I got no feedback at all about whether this was something they did or not. It was very much a talking to blank walls exercise. I could have used their not carefully explaining that they don't offer miracles, since I am feeling crushed and hopeless enough as it is. I'm not expecting to be pain free, or drug free, but it would be nice to be in a better mental place. They kept asking me what I thought they could offer me, and I don't know what they can. Relaxation techniques, CBT, tea and biscuits, who knows? I felt horribly like I was sitting an oral exam I hadn't studied for.
I told them fairly honestly what I use to help the pain: two times 8/500 cocodamol two or three times a day, sometimes four, sometimes none. Tramadol if I need my wits about me for any length of time. Alcohol as an occasional alternative when I want to go out with friends (the Solstice was very boozy). Headbutting a wall during the really bad ones.
I forgot to mention super-sour sweets, cinnamon sweets and ice cream, all of which help the pain by giving me a few seconds respite/distraction.
I am thinking I need a non-junkie style way to explain to my migraine doc that when I was on thirty or so tramadol per month I was unhappy and unable to work but able to learn Spanish, travel to Spain, find my own accommodation and keep up my hobbies, while without them I am struggling with getting to the corner shop and back again. Either my brain has deteriorated very swiftly since 2007 and I am in serious trouble (and livejournal entries then and now suggest not), or my mental health has just become that bad for some reason (that's harder to ascertain), or strong pain relief really does help me get it together. I need to get that all out verbally without resorting at any point to screaming GIVE ME DRUGS!! because that won't help my case. Unfortunately, while I can type this out fairly calmly, once I'm talking to a doc I can hear the brain cells dribbling away until I am snivelling about wanting more tramadol because it makes me feel better....
It might even actually be better to be a drug-free zombie and not get habituated, although experience really, really says I need something. I really wanted a doc at the pain clinic I could talk this sort of thing over with, and I didn't get it. I'll be going to a GP I probably haven't seen before and asking for tramadol after a looooooooong gap without them, so I want to do it with backing. For this reason, I have an appointment to phone my doc at the London Migraine Clinic on Friday morning. I'll take her advice as regard tramadol. Cocodamol too, since, although it's available OTC, I still don't want to make things worse.
I am working on my own strategies for being unable to think all day. I do ten pieces of housework every day, or at least make a gesture in their direction, and mark them done (or not done) on a whiteboard. They're beginning to slowly be things I do without having to think about them. In particular, it's been natural now for months to wash up as I wait for the kettle to boil for my first cuppa, but it's now becoming second nature to also grab the no-taint kitchen spray and a square of Bounty cloth and wipe the kitchen surfaces and visible spots down. While I eat breakfast, the kitchen is spotless. This is so much not the case for the rest of the day. Wiping the bathroom and brushing the loo are also becoming less things I think about and more things I do naturally, and so those might also come off the list-of-ten-things. I can then add new things onto the list. At the current rate, with current levels of gaga, I could be fairly self sufficient and possibly working at something very simple in three to five years.
For depression, actually, not having to think what to do next is a huge bonus. It's been helping me deal with those February blues, stopping the vicious circle of lack of arsedness--->mess--->being overwhelmed--->depression--->lack of arsedness. If I get a huge relapse or merely hit my limit in the future, I will still try to keep my morning routine going just for the lack of stress it engenders.
Since feeding the cat and emptying her tray are on the list, Moth thinks it's a very good thing. She will come and get me if her cat tray is too full for her comfort, after spreading litter and poo about, so it's good for both of us if it's emptied regularly.
Pol and I had our usual Huge Row about the fact that he really wants to live in a caravan and I really can't cope with it even though the idea itself appeals. The last time we had this row, he threw me out just before I walked out, then he bought me coffee about a minute later and we got very vommish while addressing the very real concern I had over getting so little sleep each night. We left the caravan and moved to this house soon after. This time, we just sat and talked it through for a while, then went and watched the first episode of Stargate SG1 together. Like the fact that I want a dog, the fact that he likes living in a caravan is going to keep on and keep on coming up in the future, so I'll be looking for some way forward to that dream. Perhaps he'll start sleeping eight hours a night. Either that or I can live in a second caravan. One full of dogs. Smelly dogs.
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
In which the Rodent contemplates its own nails.
My nail beds grow to a point, extending invisibly under the white of the nail in a thin overhang of sensitive quick. Because of this, I eventually discovered that the best way to cut my nails was to a point, claw-like, following the shape of the nail bed in a Gothic arch. Moth looooooooves my nails when they are freshly sharpened and has been getting happily stoned on the action of rubbing her chin on the points. It made it very hard to get up from the sofa and get moving. The purring. My gods, the purring!
Moving around this afternoon made me contrast it with the recent patch of depression. Instead of it taking five hours to get moving at all, I was downstairs and scrubbing dishes in less than an hour from blearily looking at the clock. I've cleaned a patch of goodness knows what from around Moth's feeding station, wiped the kitchen, sorted out the day's post, put a hook in the door for Pol's keys so I can hang up my 'to be returned' post bag too, had breakfast (with real coffee), examined the lawnmower and the new blade (must ring Tim at fiveish to ask for correct sized spanner to borrow), moved Pol's grandad's coffee table to my room to use as a computer stand at the end of the bed, taken books downstairs, cleared the coffee table (and filled it again), checked the kitchen bin and had time to watch telly too. I was awake at 1:26pm and it's now 2:54pm.
The readiness to go is down to lack of depression, which saps the will to get moving or to stop one thing and move to another. It's an ongoing state of forever. The ability to move without much pain I am putting down to a judicious glass of Happy Fun Cocodamol before going to sleep. Current pain is about a three or four. I am aware of it without having to concentrate on it, but it's not stopping me from doing anything.
Just now, I am procrastinating getting washed and dressed and finding my return prescription to take to the doc. I am nearly out of beta blockers. I have enough Happy Fun Cocodamol to withstand a siege and I am not going to be shy about using it this week, since going without narcotics has been doing me no good at all.
Moving around this afternoon made me contrast it with the recent patch of depression. Instead of it taking five hours to get moving at all, I was downstairs and scrubbing dishes in less than an hour from blearily looking at the clock. I've cleaned a patch of goodness knows what from around Moth's feeding station, wiped the kitchen, sorted out the day's post, put a hook in the door for Pol's keys so I can hang up my 'to be returned' post bag too, had breakfast (with real coffee), examined the lawnmower and the new blade (must ring Tim at fiveish to ask for correct sized spanner to borrow), moved Pol's grandad's coffee table to my room to use as a computer stand at the end of the bed, taken books downstairs, cleared the coffee table (and filled it again), checked the kitchen bin and had time to watch telly too. I was awake at 1:26pm and it's now 2:54pm.
The readiness to go is down to lack of depression, which saps the will to get moving or to stop one thing and move to another. It's an ongoing state of forever. The ability to move without much pain I am putting down to a judicious glass of Happy Fun Cocodamol before going to sleep. Current pain is about a three or four. I am aware of it without having to concentrate on it, but it's not stopping me from doing anything.
Just now, I am procrastinating getting washed and dressed and finding my return prescription to take to the doc. I am nearly out of beta blockers. I have enough Happy Fun Cocodamol to withstand a siege and I am not going to be shy about using it this week, since going without narcotics has been doing me no good at all.
Wednesday, 16 January 2008
In which the Rodent spends a lot of time with one taxi driver.
First he took me to the hospital, for my pain clinic appointment. I went in, announced myself, handed over the letter, had it explained to me in small words that today is Wednesday the 16th of January, and not Tuesday the 15th of January. Or, as I'd been thinking, Wednesday the 15th. At least I had the right month.
They don't redo appointments for first timers who fail to show. Unless they're very, very stupid - apparently rank daftness gives you a free pass. I think I'll get Pol to enter my new appointment in the calendar so this doesn't happen again.
So then I called for a taxi, and they said back to $street? I said no, to the railway station. Back comes the driver, surprised to see me so soon and thinking he was taking me home again. I explained about being daft and wanting to buy train tickets while he took me to the railway station, where I bought train tickets, turning down late-night travel for £14 and plumping for a £62 return in the afternoon. Rush hour travel would be £245. It's not where you go, it's when you go...
Back into the same taxi, this time to home, as expected. We talked about train tickets and the prices, and then travel to Spain, and then about Seville! That was an easy subject, although he knew the parts I wasn't so aware of. I discovered I can't remember the name of any of the districts.
Now in and sitting down reluctant to move again today, and with Moth purring her heart out by my side, just where I can reach out and scratch her head. She seems happier now she's got wet food and will forgive me for yesterday soon.
Moth's fit and well and vaccinated, but she does not like being in a car for hours at a time, so we're changing vet. It's a shame, because Crown House Vets in Rochdale have been excellent to us and I don't want to leave. Moth disagrees, especially if she has to travel for an hour, then get rained on all the way to the door, then stuck with a needle (the part she minds least because she looooooooves vets), then back again, and, horror of horrors, not even a drop of evaporated milk, or even tuna cat food. Just dry biscuits and water. Poor cat.
Thanks to Pol, this deficit has since been remedied.
They don't redo appointments for first timers who fail to show. Unless they're very, very stupid - apparently rank daftness gives you a free pass. I think I'll get Pol to enter my new appointment in the calendar so this doesn't happen again.
So then I called for a taxi, and they said back to $street? I said no, to the railway station. Back comes the driver, surprised to see me so soon and thinking he was taking me home again. I explained about being daft and wanting to buy train tickets while he took me to the railway station, where I bought train tickets, turning down late-night travel for £14 and plumping for a £62 return in the afternoon. Rush hour travel would be £245. It's not where you go, it's when you go...
Back into the same taxi, this time to home, as expected. We talked about train tickets and the prices, and then travel to Spain, and then about Seville! That was an easy subject, although he knew the parts I wasn't so aware of. I discovered I can't remember the name of any of the districts.
Now in and sitting down reluctant to move again today, and with Moth purring her heart out by my side, just where I can reach out and scratch her head. She seems happier now she's got wet food and will forgive me for yesterday soon.
Moth's fit and well and vaccinated, but she does not like being in a car for hours at a time, so we're changing vet. It's a shame, because Crown House Vets in Rochdale have been excellent to us and I don't want to leave. Moth disagrees, especially if she has to travel for an hour, then get rained on all the way to the door, then stuck with a needle (the part she minds least because she looooooooves vets), then back again, and, horror of horrors, not even a drop of evaporated milk, or even tuna cat food. Just dry biscuits and water. Poor cat.
Thanks to Pol, this deficit has since been remedied.
Monday, 14 January 2008
In which the Rodent had its second flute lesson.
I don't like being awake at 2am, but it's a step closer to normal living; it's 'morning'. Another couple of days and I'll be back on everyone else's schedule, which makes it much easier to shop. Actually, even waking at 5am isn't bad for being ready to move when the shops are open, it just makes socialising a little difficult. Ideally, I wake at about 10 or 11, breakfast at 12ish and am ready to move at around 2pm.
My second flute lesson went well. I'd apparently put in enough practice to be able to play along to the music, and Alexandra seemed pleased. Today we covered the note A and had a look at G but my fingers cramped. Next time. I like her a lot.
After two lessons so close together, the next one is not for a long time, because of the trip to London. Which reminds me, I have to either get Barclays to make my card work with lboody Visa Verify (it works for everything else), OR get to a train station and buy cards manually from a person. For now, I have no tickets and the lack of getting is going to cost me.
The cat carrier is down for the trip to Crown House Vet in Rochdale. Moth was eyeing it dubiously. She gets catnip from there, but also trips to the vet, so she is not sure whether it being around is a Good Thing or a Bad Thing. She's compromised in settling down by my side in a cottage loaf shape and purring loudly to remind me that she's exactly where my hand will reach.
My second flute lesson went well. I'd apparently put in enough practice to be able to play along to the music, and Alexandra seemed pleased. Today we covered the note A and had a look at G but my fingers cramped. Next time. I like her a lot.
After two lessons so close together, the next one is not for a long time, because of the trip to London. Which reminds me, I have to either get Barclays to make my card work with lboody Visa Verify (it works for everything else), OR get to a train station and buy cards manually from a person. For now, I have no tickets and the lack of getting is going to cost me.
The cat carrier is down for the trip to Crown House Vet in Rochdale. Moth was eyeing it dubiously. She gets catnip from there, but also trips to the vet, so she is not sure whether it being around is a Good Thing or a Bad Thing. She's compromised in settling down by my side in a cottage loaf shape and purring loudly to remind me that she's exactly where my hand will reach.
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