I'm having a Good Patch. This year, it's been mostly Good Patches.
Friday, I ran flat out all day, doing housework and gardening, including chopping back overgrown lawn with scissors of all things. Only an hour and I cleared a surprising amount.
I say only an hour - that's an hour solid's effort. This is a bizarre amount for me to be doing, with getting up at each handful and carrying the grass to the bucket. I went on from that to make proper rabbit stew from scratch (including chopping the rabbit into servings), to do laundry and make up the guest bed, which is a king-size, so it's not easy. Then I greeted guests, Carol and Gary, saw to their needs and crawled to bed.
The next day, I got up, did my morning routine, took Carol to the Bodyworks exhibition and came home with her and Sessifet both. There was a side-trip to look at a Roman fort. I managed to be together enough to find the time of the train I wanted, notice at Bolton station that it didn't go through to Deansgate, stop and get food, water and tickets, get us on the right train and even arrive in Deansgate on time. My only anxiety was when we couldn't find the well-hidden group that were, from the main entrance, past the car-park, down spiral stairs, through another car park and under some columns. I call that well-hidden.
We saw dead people. They were very beautiful and strange. Then I came back and served us
the rabbit stew. Wisely, I decided to rest inside, instead of going out to the pub. I had a nice, quiet evening chatting with Gary and occasionally feeding him things. He made tea. We watched television. I had a wonderful time. I fell asleep on the sofa later on, being hair-fuzzled into a coma by Pol. I don't remember putting myself to bed.
Why did I need to rest? Well, on Sunday I had to be up at eight, to go on a walk. It was a long walk, and a hard walk, and my legs are sore. Claire came too, and I persuaded her, after, to come over to say hello to Carol and Gary. Then I felt peckish and offered a fried breakfast. But we were out of eggs and bacon and sausages, so off Claire and I walked to the Co-op, and back, and we both put on a slap-up feed, with toast even.
The day didn't finish there. Carol showed me how to heddle-weave, and I was able to pay attention, which was wonderful. No having my concentration 'bbzdt'ed away by blasts of migraine. Carol and Gary left, and Angela came over, so we went for a long drive. I coped with all of this.
Then, after Pol went to bed, I did another hour or two in the garden, losing more skin. The torn-off blisters on my hand are, at worst, mildly annoying, so I suspect my pain threshold is up, or I am Tramadoled to oblivion.
Stress-wise, I was getting a bit anxious about the neighbours shouting outside (playing with their portapool and getting into arguments), so I put on my Bolton Hospital relaxation CD and tried track 6, the body scan. It worked wonderfully and I don't even have too much of a headache to mark the day.
We'll see how I am tomorrow when all the excitement is over.
Showing posts with label coping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coping. Show all posts
Sunday, 11 May 2008
Thursday, 17 April 2008
In which the Rodent discusses meal planning and its online profile.
Look for Supermouse The Rodent, migraine on Google and what you get is myLivejournal. There's no trace of this blog at all. To be honest, that's the way I prefer it. It's just a mild nuisance when I am on a borrowed computer and don't have my bookmarks to hand.
My Livejournal is more or less a report to my friends of everything I've been up to. This blog is a report to myself and possibly medics about how my migraines and ME and other health issues are affecting me. It's much duller, on the whole, but neither are exciting.
Today I want to talk about food, meal planning and how migraines affect what I eat.
On Tuesday I baked trout stuffed with a mixture of sweet potato (which should be precooked), lemon grass paste, ginger paste (very little, but enough) and spring onion. I was intending to cook mackerel, but in my un-drugged addledness accidentally clicked the (much more expensive) 'responsibly raised' trout from some Lord's lake.
It was very nice. It was also three times the price of the meal I'd intended to have.
Migraines make it hard to budget. It's harder to plan a journey properly, because I get confused about when things are, what date is 'now' and what day goes with which date. Even with a calendar in front of my, I can get puzzled. It also makes it hard to work out where to get buses, so I end up with taxis a lot of the time out of a need not to have to think too hard. And, as above, they complicate meal planning.
ME does similar but with extra problems on top. You have the difficulty of planning, and the additional joy of not knowing whether or not you're going to be able to cook the food you've bought. Fresh trout looks very pretty in the fridge, but what if you then are exhausted from putting the shopping away, and can't cook it before it goes off? I eat more fresh food now, just because I can usually rely on myself to be able to cook, for example, fresh meat before it goes green and smelly. I use less tinned milk and tinned fruit. I cook proper meals and then have the energy to freeze portions.
Just as being rich lets people save money that the poor can't (tax rebates, bulk buying, better quality therefore longer-lasting goods), being full of energy lets me save energy. I can cook a huge meal and freeze it later in the same day or the next morning. I've been able to clean up the kitchen right away, so I don't have to scrub off dried-off gunk before I start portioning things out. The kitchen is tidy, so I can find the pen and the freezer containers.
The payoff is that for a while after a cooking session, I can just throw in a home-made frozen meal, nuke it for five-and-a-half minutes and know I've got good food going. I can use the getting-food-ready energy on other things, which might make it even easier next time as I shop for new ingredients and plant food plants so I can pick my own. And, of course, I save money too, money I can spend on taxis.
If I could plan food out properly, I'd save even more. I think, once the Tramadol is properly back in my system, I'll be more able to. I don't think it's worth taking a break of more than three days, just because the migraines then take such a hold that I spend days drugged up but no better off thinking-wise.
Last night, newly back on painkillers, I was in terrible pain and so the planned painting session didn't happen, but I did get to socialise and the planning ability was there, in that I knew it was Wednesday and I knew that Wednesday, therefore this day, was art day. I'd even managed to buy a vinyl table cloth for art, and remember I'd bought it, and put it out before the evening began. I'm quite pleased with the level of joined-up-thinking this implies. I am just greedy and want to be able to apply it to meals.
Tonight's dinner is tinned soup and Matteson's U-shaped sausage. The delicious taste of planning failure.
My Livejournal is more or less a report to my friends of everything I've been up to. This blog is a report to myself and possibly medics about how my migraines and ME and other health issues are affecting me. It's much duller, on the whole, but neither are exciting.
Today I want to talk about food, meal planning and how migraines affect what I eat.
On Tuesday I baked trout stuffed with a mixture of sweet potato (which should be precooked), lemon grass paste, ginger paste (very little, but enough) and spring onion. I was intending to cook mackerel, but in my un-drugged addledness accidentally clicked the (much more expensive) 'responsibly raised' trout from some Lord's lake.
It was very nice. It was also three times the price of the meal I'd intended to have.
Migraines make it hard to budget. It's harder to plan a journey properly, because I get confused about when things are, what date is 'now' and what day goes with which date. Even with a calendar in front of my, I can get puzzled. It also makes it hard to work out where to get buses, so I end up with taxis a lot of the time out of a need not to have to think too hard. And, as above, they complicate meal planning.
ME does similar but with extra problems on top. You have the difficulty of planning, and the additional joy of not knowing whether or not you're going to be able to cook the food you've bought. Fresh trout looks very pretty in the fridge, but what if you then are exhausted from putting the shopping away, and can't cook it before it goes off? I eat more fresh food now, just because I can usually rely on myself to be able to cook, for example, fresh meat before it goes green and smelly. I use less tinned milk and tinned fruit. I cook proper meals and then have the energy to freeze portions.
Just as being rich lets people save money that the poor can't (tax rebates, bulk buying, better quality therefore longer-lasting goods), being full of energy lets me save energy. I can cook a huge meal and freeze it later in the same day or the next morning. I've been able to clean up the kitchen right away, so I don't have to scrub off dried-off gunk before I start portioning things out. The kitchen is tidy, so I can find the pen and the freezer containers.
The payoff is that for a while after a cooking session, I can just throw in a home-made frozen meal, nuke it for five-and-a-half minutes and know I've got good food going. I can use the getting-food-ready energy on other things, which might make it even easier next time as I shop for new ingredients and plant food plants so I can pick my own. And, of course, I save money too, money I can spend on taxis.
If I could plan food out properly, I'd save even more. I think, once the Tramadol is properly back in my system, I'll be more able to. I don't think it's worth taking a break of more than three days, just because the migraines then take such a hold that I spend days drugged up but no better off thinking-wise.
Last night, newly back on painkillers, I was in terrible pain and so the planned painting session didn't happen, but I did get to socialise and the planning ability was there, in that I knew it was Wednesday and I knew that Wednesday, therefore this day, was art day. I'd even managed to buy a vinyl table cloth for art, and remember I'd bought it, and put it out before the evening began. I'm quite pleased with the level of joined-up-thinking this implies. I am just greedy and want to be able to apply it to meals.
Tonight's dinner is tinned soup and Matteson's U-shaped sausage. The delicious taste of planning failure.
Saturday, 12 April 2008
In which the Rodent settles back home and catches up.
I've been away, first to Nottingham, then to London. This has made it impossible to update my blog. It's also mean doing a lot of travelling, alone, which I got through just fine, even with all the physical work involved.
It's also meant taking Tramadol nearly every day for several weeks, and I want a break, even if it makes me very headachey. So I am taking a break from any sort of opiates and I've kept my calendar more or less empty. On Monday I have a flute lesson, Tuesday I have a walk in the morning, Wednesday I'll take drugs because we're having an evening of painting and chat and that's a huge problem without the drugs.
Day two drugless and I am headachey but still able to enjoy life. I am eating Skittles Crazy Sours when the pain hits, as a distraction. Oddly, the pain isn't much worse than without the opiates, but my thoughts are starting to scatter. Yesterday was very busy, cold and wet. Today is bright and sunny after a cold, wet start. Neither weather pattern fills me with joy. Getting everything done I wanted to have done does make my life joyful. However, it's getting more difficult to join my thoughts together and do anything needing concentration or memory.
I have an appointment for relaxation training with the Pain Clinic, finally. It's this month, even.
It's also meant taking Tramadol nearly every day for several weeks, and I want a break, even if it makes me very headachey. So I am taking a break from any sort of opiates and I've kept my calendar more or less empty. On Monday I have a flute lesson, Tuesday I have a walk in the morning, Wednesday I'll take drugs because we're having an evening of painting and chat and that's a huge problem without the drugs.
Day two drugless and I am headachey but still able to enjoy life. I am eating Skittles Crazy Sours when the pain hits, as a distraction. Oddly, the pain isn't much worse than without the opiates, but my thoughts are starting to scatter. Yesterday was very busy, cold and wet. Today is bright and sunny after a cold, wet start. Neither weather pattern fills me with joy. Getting everything done I wanted to have done does make my life joyful. However, it's getting more difficult to join my thoughts together and do anything needing concentration or memory.
I have an appointment for relaxation training with the Pain Clinic, finally. It's this month, even.
Saturday, 29 March 2008
In which the Rodent reluctantly updates.
I recognise the signs. That urgh, don't wanna that says if I drop the blog now, I will never, ever, ever pick it up again and then I'll feel guilty, despite the fact that it's something I do for me and so far as I know there's a maximum of one other reader.
This blog is also where I talk about my migraines and health, an indulgence I don't allow myself as much rein on in Livejournal. This is a depressing blog about a depressing subject so a little urgh is to be expected.
Yesterday was bad. I woke up at 4am and went back to bed at 6am when the painkillers kicked in. Then I was woken up again at 8am, full of migraine. The migraines are a lot better if I am allowed to just sleep them off. Yesterday was another reminder of why I go to bed ridiculously early if I need to get up. I woke up because I got bronchitis which is a good thing, honestly.
If I exercise too much in cold weather, by which I mean to the point where I take in a nice, deep breath of cold air, I get a warning pain in my lungs which will invariably turn into a nice chesty case of sick-sheep-coughing bronchitis. This used to be a real problem when I was a child and a teenager, but it hasn't bothered me since I got ME because I haven't been fit enough to exercise to that level. Well, on Thursday I got my lungs seared climbing up Forest Hill Road in Nottingham carrying a week's clothes and my flute and laptop. This is why I woke up at 4am coughing sadly and unable to breathe well. A cuppa and some sitting up time made all better but it did not make me feel much better when I had to get up and start being active outdoors.
Yesterday I helped my sister move. Despite feeling very, very sick (nauseated) and bronchitic and with a pounding head moving between six and eight all day long, I managed to help my sister. She was upset because her landlord isn't getting basic things like her heating sorted out. I have been in crappy housing before. Her house is decent, but not when it doesn't have heating. I know how easy it is to end up just sitting in despair and when my mum said she'd been crying on the phone at the latest problem (shoddy workmen pulling cupboards apart to put in a fridge that doesn't fit) then I had an idea of what to do. I looked around and grabbed a few pretty things I knew she liked. My mum took her blankets and I greeted her at the door with a cushion she owns that has a very smiley happy yellow cat on. This got a smile.
We were sat in her sitting room all full of bags, lamenting how bad the landlord had been and how awkward it was not to be able to hang anything on any of the walls. It came to me that this was a miserable room but full of nice things and that it didn't have to stay miserable. I then got into bullying mode and spent a happy day mercilessly browbeating my relatives. I made her take all the rubbish outside which was a one-minute job she'd not bothered to do. I got a picture white-takked to a door and the blankets put away instead of dumped on the sofa, and suddenly we were off and the place was being put back together.
She said it was as if she was a junkie and we were running an intervention, because everything we made her do was so obvious and made such a difference but she'd just not been able to work out how to get started doing it.
The meter-cupboards had post and phone books dumped on top and looked depressing, so I made her put the phone books away and she white-takked album covers onto the white doors.
I had to argue with my mum about a fireplace behind the chair that the telly is currently balanced on. She told me not to decorate it because it was a depressing, dusty hole and half-hidden anyway. Now it has a little green dressing table (about eight inches high) my sister picked out, with a potter rabbit on top that sis had had on display in her old room and cheerful matching candles and it's a lovely little background note.
Her computer table has had a vintage scarf fastened to the front to hide all the wiring and I put her monitor-decorations back and cleared the table top but for her tiger-print mouse and pretty speakers.
The meter-cupboards have an album cover, a lot of pink tea-lights in stacks and a coloured tile. Her little tiled coffee table she'd stuffed into the corner is now on display, and the room-heater that was sitting on top of an old suitcase is now on her little table. There's a rug in front of her sofa. I hung up a light shade and covered the non-functional radiator. Suddenly the room is part of a home and not what it was before, which was a place to dump things.
Inspired by this, my sister did her room herself, unpacking everything and putting it all away. The task had seemed overwhelming to her, but we'd got things started and that's the hardest part, usually. When we struggled home at 8pm, it was all just about done.
Going home was awful. Since my sister was nearly done, we ended up staying in a house that was getting colder and colder, while we both got hungrier and hungrier and more and more tired. She did need us and I am glad we stayed, but I was crying with pain on the way home and threw up several times after I got back. I did manage to keep down some cocodamol and by 9pm I was back in the land of the living. It did make me realise how much better I've been recently. I felt so ill, but a few weeks ago that level of pain was normal living. I was also amazed at how well I functioned when in so much pain.
I read recently that slow release opiates should be taken for chronic pain (I mean, if you're going to take opiates at all) and quick-release for top-up. This accords with what I have worked out myself through trial and error, that if I take a single Tramadol in the morning of what looks to be a bad day, and perhaps another in the afternoon or evening, then I can top up with cocodamol and perhaps as a last resort have aspirin as well and I am unlikely to end up unable to cope with the pain.
Last year I was taking Tramadol as a last resort and of course I then needed more and often ended up unable to cope. The current regime suits me very well.
Today I've been out shopping and also spent a very happy time hanging my sister's earrings from a ribbon fastened along the top of a door. My migraine is at about a four after drugging up with tramadol at 4am and cocodamol at tennish. I feel so much better than last night.
This blog is also where I talk about my migraines and health, an indulgence I don't allow myself as much rein on in Livejournal. This is a depressing blog about a depressing subject so a little urgh is to be expected.
Yesterday was bad. I woke up at 4am and went back to bed at 6am when the painkillers kicked in. Then I was woken up again at 8am, full of migraine. The migraines are a lot better if I am allowed to just sleep them off. Yesterday was another reminder of why I go to bed ridiculously early if I need to get up. I woke up because I got bronchitis which is a good thing, honestly.
If I exercise too much in cold weather, by which I mean to the point where I take in a nice, deep breath of cold air, I get a warning pain in my lungs which will invariably turn into a nice chesty case of sick-sheep-coughing bronchitis. This used to be a real problem when I was a child and a teenager, but it hasn't bothered me since I got ME because I haven't been fit enough to exercise to that level. Well, on Thursday I got my lungs seared climbing up Forest Hill Road in Nottingham carrying a week's clothes and my flute and laptop. This is why I woke up at 4am coughing sadly and unable to breathe well. A cuppa and some sitting up time made all better but it did not make me feel much better when I had to get up and start being active outdoors.
Yesterday I helped my sister move. Despite feeling very, very sick (nauseated) and bronchitic and with a pounding head moving between six and eight all day long, I managed to help my sister. She was upset because her landlord isn't getting basic things like her heating sorted out. I have been in crappy housing before. Her house is decent, but not when it doesn't have heating. I know how easy it is to end up just sitting in despair and when my mum said she'd been crying on the phone at the latest problem (shoddy workmen pulling cupboards apart to put in a fridge that doesn't fit) then I had an idea of what to do. I looked around and grabbed a few pretty things I knew she liked. My mum took her blankets and I greeted her at the door with a cushion she owns that has a very smiley happy yellow cat on. This got a smile.
We were sat in her sitting room all full of bags, lamenting how bad the landlord had been and how awkward it was not to be able to hang anything on any of the walls. It came to me that this was a miserable room but full of nice things and that it didn't have to stay miserable. I then got into bullying mode and spent a happy day mercilessly browbeating my relatives. I made her take all the rubbish outside which was a one-minute job she'd not bothered to do. I got a picture white-takked to a door and the blankets put away instead of dumped on the sofa, and suddenly we were off and the place was being put back together.
She said it was as if she was a junkie and we were running an intervention, because everything we made her do was so obvious and made such a difference but she'd just not been able to work out how to get started doing it.
The meter-cupboards had post and phone books dumped on top and looked depressing, so I made her put the phone books away and she white-takked album covers onto the white doors.
I had to argue with my mum about a fireplace behind the chair that the telly is currently balanced on. She told me not to decorate it because it was a depressing, dusty hole and half-hidden anyway. Now it has a little green dressing table (about eight inches high) my sister picked out, with a potter rabbit on top that sis had had on display in her old room and cheerful matching candles and it's a lovely little background note.
Her computer table has had a vintage scarf fastened to the front to hide all the wiring and I put her monitor-decorations back and cleared the table top but for her tiger-print mouse and pretty speakers.
The meter-cupboards have an album cover, a lot of pink tea-lights in stacks and a coloured tile. Her little tiled coffee table she'd stuffed into the corner is now on display, and the room-heater that was sitting on top of an old suitcase is now on her little table. There's a rug in front of her sofa. I hung up a light shade and covered the non-functional radiator. Suddenly the room is part of a home and not what it was before, which was a place to dump things.
Inspired by this, my sister did her room herself, unpacking everything and putting it all away. The task had seemed overwhelming to her, but we'd got things started and that's the hardest part, usually. When we struggled home at 8pm, it was all just about done.
Going home was awful. Since my sister was nearly done, we ended up staying in a house that was getting colder and colder, while we both got hungrier and hungrier and more and more tired. She did need us and I am glad we stayed, but I was crying with pain on the way home and threw up several times after I got back. I did manage to keep down some cocodamol and by 9pm I was back in the land of the living. It did make me realise how much better I've been recently. I felt so ill, but a few weeks ago that level of pain was normal living. I was also amazed at how well I functioned when in so much pain.
I read recently that slow release opiates should be taken for chronic pain (I mean, if you're going to take opiates at all) and quick-release for top-up. This accords with what I have worked out myself through trial and error, that if I take a single Tramadol in the morning of what looks to be a bad day, and perhaps another in the afternoon or evening, then I can top up with cocodamol and perhaps as a last resort have aspirin as well and I am unlikely to end up unable to cope with the pain.
Last year I was taking Tramadol as a last resort and of course I then needed more and often ended up unable to cope. The current regime suits me very well.
Today I've been out shopping and also spent a very happy time hanging my sister's earrings from a ribbon fastened along the top of a door. My migraine is at about a four after drugging up with tramadol at 4am and cocodamol at tennish. I feel so much better than last night.
Wednesday, 19 March 2008
In which the Rodent makes fish pie.
Today's not a bad day, although I am considering a nap before people turn up tonight. I woke up at half past four in the morning again and used the time to clean up, watch telly and get Pol his breakfast.
I don't feel quite up to going out, but given all of yesterday's activity, that is to be expected. I did have enough energy to make a fish pie.
This is my first attempt at a home made fish pie, so the recipe follows exactly what happened. The final recipe will of course be altered to produce a better result.
Home made fish pie.
Take two fillets of coley defrosted the night before.
Put on baking tray and sprinkle with sunflower oil.
Add a lime leaf to the top of each and cover only the top of each fillet with a tinfoil hat to protect it from scorching and thetans.
Place into cold oven because you forgot to preheat, at gas mark 4
Set timer for fifteen minutes.
Peel and slice five small/medium maris piper or other mashing potatoes.
Cover in cold water in a thin-walled pan and put on to cook. Immediately wash knife and chopping board to guard them from starch thetans.
Place about 30g/quarter of an inch of butter in a heavy-bottomed pan at a low heat. While it's melting, grate a sad little carrot which, while not at all rotten, is about a day past its best. Put grated carrot into the bottom of a small casserole which holds about three pints.
To the melted butter, add about a dessert spoonful and a half of wholemeal flour. Reflect on the sadness that leads to using wholemeal flour and thus turns white sauces beige. Leave to cook for a surprsingly long time on a low heat, to rid roux of all possible traces of flouriness (probably thetan-attracting).
Take God's gift to brocolli, which is emerald green and splendid and has been lording it over the sad carrot for the last day or so. Chop off a few florets and then finely chop until it's all little tiny green bits, because who wants to bite into a fish pie and get a soggy mouthful of brocolli? I like brocolli, but it has to know its place. Add to casserole with carrot. There should be about equal volumes of green bits and orange bits. Add same quantity of sweetcorn as there is of carrot and stir. Reassure delicate little vegetables that no one is going to pour tinned soup over them.
Stir roux, which is beginning to smell agreeably bicuitlike. Become alarmed at spitting noises from oven, and scared that the fish is going to be all scorched and dead. Pull out and examine. Discover it needs about another five minutes. Glance at timer, which has another five minutes to run. Feel smug.
Put fish back in oven, then stir roux harshly and add about half a cup from half a litre/just under a pint of semi-skimmed milk. Whisk very thoroughly and quickly add more before it turns into actual pastry and causes lumps. Whisking makes white (or beige) sauce feel loved. Once you've added enough to leave the end result looking like thin cream, if thin cream was beige and had bits of bran in it, turn up the heat just a little. Whisk very thoroughly one more time as a gesture of love, then leave it to do other things.
(At this point, if I had trouble standing, I would pour the sauce into a glass bowl and nuke it for a minute or two at a time until it had thickened to my satisfaction).
Turn oven off with two minutes left to go. Turn potatoes down and turn them over. Stir white (or beige) sauce. Chop a small onion finely, then eye vegetables and seemingly huge pile of onion. Add about half the onion to the mix and mutter about waste while discarding other half. Remove fish from oven and flake it into the veg. Be agreeably surprised at the pleasant, entirely foodlike smell which comes up. Stir sauce.
Turn potatoes off, empty into colander, then empty colander back into pan. Wash colander immediately to rid it of starch thetans. Go back to sauce, which can take just about anything except lack of attention. Whisk again to tell it you love it and then shake in dried or fresh parsley until the smell changes from a biscuity smell to a wonderful, only slightly herby parsley sauce smell. Adjust until the smell of the sauce seems like it would go well with the veg and fish mix. Add sauce to mix and discover that of course there's too much, but not by that much. Stir what is now finished pie mix and put to one side.
Mash potatoes, adding a pinch or two of nutmeg. You want enough to give a certain something, but not nearly enough to actually be able to tell the something is nutmeg. Spoon potatoes onto pie. Smooth over with a fork, reliving childhood days in nursery school and leaving patterns. Put pie into oven at gas mark 4 and set timer for half an hour.
Clean up kitchen, feeling good about life. Turn to leave, only to discover potato pan which has been beset by starch thetans. Battle and destroy all thetans, then clean up resulting mess from counter tops. Retire to the computer, cuppa in hand. Discover an hour later the timer has failed to go off, that the pie is fine and that next time you'll put it in at gas mark 6.
Next time I will also add butter and cream or milk to the mash, since it's a little too plain without.
Migraine pain got a little thumpy, about sixish, and then got splatted with tramadol. It's now down to a barely annoying three and spiking five only when kids play football outside. The pain bothers me less than the thumping.
I don't feel quite up to going out, but given all of yesterday's activity, that is to be expected. I did have enough energy to make a fish pie.
This is my first attempt at a home made fish pie, so the recipe follows exactly what happened. The final recipe will of course be altered to produce a better result.
Home made fish pie.
Take two fillets of coley defrosted the night before.
Put on baking tray and sprinkle with sunflower oil.
Add a lime leaf to the top of each and cover only the top of each fillet with a tinfoil hat to protect it from scorching and thetans.
Place into cold oven because you forgot to preheat, at gas mark 4
Set timer for fifteen minutes.
Peel and slice five small/medium maris piper or other mashing potatoes.
Cover in cold water in a thin-walled pan and put on to cook. Immediately wash knife and chopping board to guard them from starch thetans.
Place about 30g/quarter of an inch of butter in a heavy-bottomed pan at a low heat. While it's melting, grate a sad little carrot which, while not at all rotten, is about a day past its best. Put grated carrot into the bottom of a small casserole which holds about three pints.
To the melted butter, add about a dessert spoonful and a half of wholemeal flour. Reflect on the sadness that leads to using wholemeal flour and thus turns white sauces beige. Leave to cook for a surprsingly long time on a low heat, to rid roux of all possible traces of flouriness (probably thetan-attracting).
Take God's gift to brocolli, which is emerald green and splendid and has been lording it over the sad carrot for the last day or so. Chop off a few florets and then finely chop until it's all little tiny green bits, because who wants to bite into a fish pie and get a soggy mouthful of brocolli? I like brocolli, but it has to know its place. Add to casserole with carrot. There should be about equal volumes of green bits and orange bits. Add same quantity of sweetcorn as there is of carrot and stir. Reassure delicate little vegetables that no one is going to pour tinned soup over them.
Stir roux, which is beginning to smell agreeably bicuitlike. Become alarmed at spitting noises from oven, and scared that the fish is going to be all scorched and dead. Pull out and examine. Discover it needs about another five minutes. Glance at timer, which has another five minutes to run. Feel smug.
Put fish back in oven, then stir roux harshly and add about half a cup from half a litre/just under a pint of semi-skimmed milk. Whisk very thoroughly and quickly add more before it turns into actual pastry and causes lumps. Whisking makes white (or beige) sauce feel loved. Once you've added enough to leave the end result looking like thin cream, if thin cream was beige and had bits of bran in it, turn up the heat just a little. Whisk very thoroughly one more time as a gesture of love, then leave it to do other things.
(At this point, if I had trouble standing, I would pour the sauce into a glass bowl and nuke it for a minute or two at a time until it had thickened to my satisfaction).
Turn oven off with two minutes left to go. Turn potatoes down and turn them over. Stir white (or beige) sauce. Chop a small onion finely, then eye vegetables and seemingly huge pile of onion. Add about half the onion to the mix and mutter about waste while discarding other half. Remove fish from oven and flake it into the veg. Be agreeably surprised at the pleasant, entirely foodlike smell which comes up. Stir sauce.
Turn potatoes off, empty into colander, then empty colander back into pan. Wash colander immediately to rid it of starch thetans. Go back to sauce, which can take just about anything except lack of attention. Whisk again to tell it you love it and then shake in dried or fresh parsley until the smell changes from a biscuity smell to a wonderful, only slightly herby parsley sauce smell. Adjust until the smell of the sauce seems like it would go well with the veg and fish mix. Add sauce to mix and discover that of course there's too much, but not by that much. Stir what is now finished pie mix and put to one side.
Mash potatoes, adding a pinch or two of nutmeg. You want enough to give a certain something, but not nearly enough to actually be able to tell the something is nutmeg. Spoon potatoes onto pie. Smooth over with a fork, reliving childhood days in nursery school and leaving patterns. Put pie into oven at gas mark 4 and set timer for half an hour.
Clean up kitchen, feeling good about life. Turn to leave, only to discover potato pan which has been beset by starch thetans. Battle and destroy all thetans, then clean up resulting mess from counter tops. Retire to the computer, cuppa in hand. Discover an hour later the timer has failed to go off, that the pie is fine and that next time you'll put it in at gas mark 6.
Next time I will also add butter and cream or milk to the mash, since it's a little too plain without.
Migraine pain got a little thumpy, about sixish, and then got splatted with tramadol. It's now down to a barely annoying three and spiking five only when kids play football outside. The pain bothers me less than the thumping.
Monday, 10 March 2008
In which the Rodent lives the life better stoned.
The first day of Tramadol did not go well, because I slept badly and then got woken up several times an hour and a half apart each time by poor well-meaning Pol. This left me wiped out on Sunday. I got poor-quality sleep in the afternoon and of course stayed awake all night. Then I had to get up to host Ruthi (a person of much, much shininess). My first painkiller of the day was HFCC again, but, on being reminded I have Tramadol as an option, I took one tonight.
The headache's still there but I can think clearly through it and the pain is somehow ignorable. I have no idea why opiates help me the way they do. They clearly do help, but crivvens if I can see why. I'm not addicted to them and every doctor going says they don't help alleviated migraine symptoms, so why do they leave me able to follow thoughts in a straight line?
To give an example, just now before finally dropping off, I've finished the process of getting back on MSN and Skype and I've uploaded my preferred icon, which will end up here when I find out how to do things with pictures. Part of the uploading involved installing an image converter and using it to convert a gif to a bmp. I kept getting it wrong, which is the sort of thing which makes my migraines spike massively, normally. Trying to problem solve and stay on-task like that is very, very hard with a migraine. Just now I have a humdinger but I've still done all that and even remembered to blog before I go to sleep.
The five months of unremitting pain have left me without any fear of the worst migraines can throw at me painwise, so in a good world I won't get into a despair spiral when the headache gets sore. Tramadol being a very effective painkiller, I think I'll notice the pain more when it wears off, an effect I'd seen already with cocodamol. I was convinced that Tramadol had helped me think more clearly back in late 2006/early 2007, during which time I learned a good chunk of Spanish, moved to Seville for several months, found a good (very good) hostel as a temporary measure (Hostel Oasis in Seville is a very, very good place), rented a flat and dealt with flights back to the UK (although I did need help with booking a train). I wasn't happy, and I was too unreliable to be fit to work, but I was functional. Unhappy, in pain but still feeling like a person.
Contrast to my time without, which was spent more or less doing nothing. Forgive the self-pitying tone here, but it was a crappy second half to the year. My social life dwindled because I couldn't stand to see anyone and, worse, can't remember from one conversation to the next what has been discussed. Trying to concentrate to remember is a migraine spike, usually. Not right now, when drugged on Tramadol, but usually. My old skills all fell away and I lost the ability to learn new things. I tried to plan a Solstice meal and couldn't, until I started back on cocodamol.
Magical opiates allow me to think, reason, remember and plan. I can without, but such cognitive efforts are always fragmentary and disordered. I lose the thread of what I am trying to do and the inevitable frustration that engenders causes a small vicious circle of pain until I drop what I was trying to do and go back to lalala butterflies again.
It was a pity that the first day left me an insomniac wreck, but I'll see how it goes from here.
It's 2am, later than I planned on sleeping, but it's still within my definition of 'night' since I am generally a 3am-11am sleeper when healthy. I think I can drop off and even if I don't, there are strict instructions left to let me sleep it out tomorrow so I can get my head straight. Pain is base five, spiking eight.
The headache's still there but I can think clearly through it and the pain is somehow ignorable. I have no idea why opiates help me the way they do. They clearly do help, but crivvens if I can see why. I'm not addicted to them and every doctor going says they don't help alleviated migraine symptoms, so why do they leave me able to follow thoughts in a straight line?
To give an example, just now before finally dropping off, I've finished the process of getting back on MSN and Skype and I've uploaded my preferred icon, which will end up here when I find out how to do things with pictures. Part of the uploading involved installing an image converter and using it to convert a gif to a bmp. I kept getting it wrong, which is the sort of thing which makes my migraines spike massively, normally. Trying to problem solve and stay on-task like that is very, very hard with a migraine. Just now I have a humdinger but I've still done all that and even remembered to blog before I go to sleep.
The five months of unremitting pain have left me without any fear of the worst migraines can throw at me painwise, so in a good world I won't get into a despair spiral when the headache gets sore. Tramadol being a very effective painkiller, I think I'll notice the pain more when it wears off, an effect I'd seen already with cocodamol. I was convinced that Tramadol had helped me think more clearly back in late 2006/early 2007, during which time I learned a good chunk of Spanish, moved to Seville for several months, found a good (very good) hostel as a temporary measure (Hostel Oasis in Seville is a very, very good place), rented a flat and dealt with flights back to the UK (although I did need help with booking a train). I wasn't happy, and I was too unreliable to be fit to work, but I was functional. Unhappy, in pain but still feeling like a person.
Contrast to my time without, which was spent more or less doing nothing. Forgive the self-pitying tone here, but it was a crappy second half to the year. My social life dwindled because I couldn't stand to see anyone and, worse, can't remember from one conversation to the next what has been discussed. Trying to concentrate to remember is a migraine spike, usually. Not right now, when drugged on Tramadol, but usually. My old skills all fell away and I lost the ability to learn new things. I tried to plan a Solstice meal and couldn't, until I started back on cocodamol.
Magical opiates allow me to think, reason, remember and plan. I can without, but such cognitive efforts are always fragmentary and disordered. I lose the thread of what I am trying to do and the inevitable frustration that engenders causes a small vicious circle of pain until I drop what I was trying to do and go back to lalala butterflies again.
It was a pity that the first day left me an insomniac wreck, but I'll see how it goes from here.
It's 2am, later than I planned on sleeping, but it's still within my definition of 'night' since I am generally a 3am-11am sleeper when healthy. I think I can drop off and even if I don't, there are strict instructions left to let me sleep it out tomorrow so I can get my head straight. Pain is base five, spiking eight.
Thursday, 21 February 2008
In which the Rodent eats far too few vegetables.
I've been out yet again! The cold snap has gone. Pol and I walked in the rain down to the closer postbox. There was a tree next to it, covered in flowers and a road safety poster for some poor road victim. After that we went to the sandwich shop for bin lids. I had steak Canadien (mechanically recovered meat) with mushrooms and onions, and a cup of pea and ham soup. Three portions of veg for breakfast if you don't mind them being half the recommended size.
Pol told me the powers that be have upped the ante to seven fruit and veg a day. Given their recommended portion sizes (three whole sticks of celery or one dessert bowl of salad is one portion) does anyone actually eat that? A soup made from three sticks of celery, two carrots, a turnip, one bowl of cabbage, two cups of whole grain, two small onions and one and a half cups of mushrooms would feed me for two days, but add that to a bowl of shredded wheat and a glass of orange juice, and it's government recommended intake. Actually, I should try that one day, just to see if I can eat that much.
The walk hasn't hurt me at all and I've done my ten things as well. I hit the cocodamol heavily yesterday, since I had Claire over to play cards. Three doses in the day. Today migraines haven't bothered me until just now and it's 2pm and the pain has kicked in at a lowly four. I'll eat the lunch I cooked but forgot about and see if it helps before I take drugs today. I've finished watching Scrubs now, all the five series I own. It was great fun and now it's over.
Pol told me the powers that be have upped the ante to seven fruit and veg a day. Given their recommended portion sizes (three whole sticks of celery or one dessert bowl of salad is one portion) does anyone actually eat that? A soup made from three sticks of celery, two carrots, a turnip, one bowl of cabbage, two cups of whole grain, two small onions and one and a half cups of mushrooms would feed me for two days, but add that to a bowl of shredded wheat and a glass of orange juice, and it's government recommended intake. Actually, I should try that one day, just to see if I can eat that much.
The walk hasn't hurt me at all and I've done my ten things as well. I hit the cocodamol heavily yesterday, since I had Claire over to play cards. Three doses in the day. Today migraines haven't bothered me until just now and it's 2pm and the pain has kicked in at a lowly four. I'll eat the lunch I cooked but forgot about and see if it helps before I take drugs today. I've finished watching Scrubs now, all the five series I own. It was great fun and now it's over.
Monday, 18 February 2008
In which the Rodent contemplates a sunset in the Pennines.
It's been another bright and sunny day. I've been out twice, once with sunglasses and once without. I ended up taking cocodamol twice today. The pain got all the way up to seven, and yet an hour later I feel pretty good. It spikes up to seven and then fades back to an ignorable three.
Yesterday we went out shopping. It wasn't so much of an ordeal as I remember it being. I found a nice picture for Anne. We went part of the way to Nottingham to deliver it, then Pol got tired and we turned back, just in time to spend a long time in a queue behind a very unpleasant smash on the M62. We could see all the lights clustered about half a mile away. We were in the Pennines and spent a while contemplating some stunning scenery in between being freezing. I had a migraine but no pills, but even through the sunglasses and pain it was very pretty indeed. The sun was lighting everything dark orange to the west, sending black shadows to the east, while frost painted the ground to the north of stands of trees.
It's been another bright and sunny day. I've been out twice, once with sunglasses and once without. I ended up taking cocodamol twice today. The pain got all the way up to seven, and yet an hour later I feel pretty good. It spikes up to seven and then fades back to an ignorable three.
Yesterday we went out shopping. It wasn't so much of an ordeal as I remember it being. I found a nice picture for Anne. We went part of the way to Nottingham to deliver it, then Pol got tired and we turned back, just in time to spend a long time in a queue behind a very unpleasant smash on the M62. We could see all the lights clustered about half a mile away. We were in the Pennines and spent a while contemplating some stunning scenery in between being freezing. I had a migraine but no pills, but even through the sunglasses and pain it was very pretty indeed.
Yesterday we went out shopping. It wasn't so much of an ordeal as I remember it being. I found a nice picture for Anne. We went part of the way to Nottingham to deliver it, then Pol got tired and we turned back, just in time to spend a long time in a queue behind a very unpleasant smash on the M62. We could see all the lights clustered about half a mile away. We were in the Pennines and spent a while contemplating some stunning scenery in between being freezing. I had a migraine but no pills, but even through the sunglasses and pain it was very pretty indeed. The sun was lighting everything dark orange to the west, sending black shadows to the east, while frost painted the ground to the north of stands of trees.
It's been another bright and sunny day. I've been out twice, once with sunglasses and once without. I ended up taking cocodamol twice today. The pain got all the way up to seven, and yet an hour later I feel pretty good. It spikes up to seven and then fades back to an ignorable three.
Yesterday we went out shopping. It wasn't so much of an ordeal as I remember it being. I found a nice picture for Anne. We went part of the way to Nottingham to deliver it, then Pol got tired and we turned back, just in time to spend a long time in a queue behind a very unpleasant smash on the M62. We could see all the lights clustered about half a mile away. We were in the Pennines and spent a while contemplating some stunning scenery in between being freezing. I had a migraine but no pills, but even through the sunglasses and pain it was very pretty indeed.
Monday, 11 February 2008
In which the Rodent plants bulbs and plays the flute.
I don't know whether this is my fourth or fifth lesson. I'd practised, but I am just not getting those eight-count blasts of noise, so that is my homework. Bizarrely, I can't read notes right after the rest, at least not when migrainous. The rest turns into an extra line or even two, and it makes it difficult to read the note straight after, especially if it's a minim. The solution turns out to be pencilling in a vertical line after the break to halt the bleeding of one mark into another.
This problem solved, we played on and I turned out to be spectacularly inept at C. This, alas, I cannot blame on my migraines. Sometimes I just am bad at something. :0) I have to be able to produce C easily too. If it's for 8 counts, this will be a bonus. Alex aims for one note per lesson and I am falling behind. I am still enjoying it. The tunes I produce may not be exciting, but they're tunes and I am sight reading them.
Since it was a nice day, I finally planted the bulbs I bought just after the January New Year. Then I rested and ate before my friend arrived. She helped me with the DLA forms, which have long ago run past their deadline because I've had no one to help me with the forms. This need for help was starkly realised within a page or two - left alone, I would have given up. As it is, I need to find a dozen pieces of paper and I am not sure I can. One page where everything was a stark YES I need help was communication. To those reading this blog, this might seem odd, but it's true. I avoid letters, forms and telephones because they hurt. Without Pol to pay the bills, I'd be sunk.
In between this, I fed her on wild boar sausages, steamed broccoli (florets and thin slices from the stem), raw carrots cut into matchsticks and thin slices of celery in crescents, with ketjap manis in a tiny little shot glass as a dip bowl.
The headache started waxing at about the time I sat down with the forms, lunchtime, which is amazingly late in the day for me. Usually I've had at least one by the time I have been up a few hours. As it is, the same headache is now pounding away at my head six hours later, which is all par for the course. I took cocodamol when it hit. I resisted taking it again just now, but I think actually I should if I am convinced that many painkillers mean fewer migraines in the long run. I have just trained myself to put up with the pain.
This problem solved, we played on and I turned out to be spectacularly inept at C. This, alas, I cannot blame on my migraines. Sometimes I just am bad at something. :0) I have to be able to produce C easily too. If it's for 8 counts, this will be a bonus. Alex aims for one note per lesson and I am falling behind. I am still enjoying it. The tunes I produce may not be exciting, but they're tunes and I am sight reading them.
Since it was a nice day, I finally planted the bulbs I bought just after the January New Year. Then I rested and ate before my friend arrived. She helped me with the DLA forms, which have long ago run past their deadline because I've had no one to help me with the forms. This need for help was starkly realised within a page or two - left alone, I would have given up. As it is, I need to find a dozen pieces of paper and I am not sure I can. One page where everything was a stark YES I need help was communication. To those reading this blog, this might seem odd, but it's true. I avoid letters, forms and telephones because they hurt. Without Pol to pay the bills, I'd be sunk.
In between this, I fed her on wild boar sausages, steamed broccoli (florets and thin slices from the stem), raw carrots cut into matchsticks and thin slices of celery in crescents, with ketjap manis in a tiny little shot glass as a dip bowl.
The headache started waxing at about the time I sat down with the forms, lunchtime, which is amazingly late in the day for me. Usually I've had at least one by the time I have been up a few hours. As it is, the same headache is now pounding away at my head six hours later, which is all par for the course. I took cocodamol when it hit. I resisted taking it again just now, but I think actually I should if I am convinced that many painkillers mean fewer migraines in the long run. I have just trained myself to put up with the pain.
Sunday, 10 February 2008
In which the Rodent has a productive and not too painful day.
This morning has been quietly productive. Yesterday was very much a day of leaving things where they fall, which will very, very quickly reduce a house to squalor.
It's amazing how much more active I am every time I refill the house with fresh vegetables. I had a mild migraine all day, say about a 2 since it wasn't bothering me unless I rolled my eyes or shook my head. Towards the evening, I got snappy and miserable and kept rowing with Pol over stupid thing. I finally realised I was in pain at 7ish levels, so I've had cocodamol and I am less miserable and also less in pain.
Friday, 8 February 2008
In which the Rodent posts the letter of complaint and celebrates with suicidal leeks.
I went out and posted a letter of complaint after the unpleasantness with the court officer or whoever she was yesterday, with all the bells and whistles.
The weather's dry and quite warm. I did manage to get to the chemist to get a form for getting drugs delivered. I get so stressed out about trying to keep up with the beta blockers, if I can use this service, then I can keep regular with the drugs and also use my energy for other things. For example, I'd like to get Moth registered at a new vet, get my teeth seen to, various other things I've been putting off.
I had to fill in a form and the chemist was just closing for lunch, so I grabbed a sarnie at the local cafe - actually one of three local cafes! They lent me a pen, and I got the form done and posted, but it did leave me migrainous. Something about filling in forms sets them off and I think it's a combination of the leaning forward and the having to focus eyes and attention. The leaning forward problem would also explain why I can read a book in bed or in the bath but not when out of the house - being outside means sitting upright, which means looking down to read.
On then to the butcher, to get meat and veggies. I want to do veal burger on a bed of leeks and vichy carrots, which is just carrots split and cooked in slightly sugared water to give them a glaze. Courgettes, carrots, white turnips, some leeks which kept trying to commit suicide by leaping, so I got the butcher to decapitate them and save them the trouble. Mixed peppers, lemons, celery. A good sized leg of lamb for the weekend and some sausages. No sweet potatoes though. They seem to be out of season. The entire lot was £16 and it's basically enough food for most of a week.
While I was walking from the butcher, a piece of paper fell out of my pocket, but it didn't look like much and I thought it must be an old receipt, since I couldn't remember anything papery I had wanted to keep. Since I was sweating and trembling and it was small and not important, I let it go. It's only occurred to me now that it was probably the tracking number for the letter I sent. Bother. My brain just does not seem to connect things in real time - I am always working them out later on.
Back home, feeling sick enough to nearly lose the bacon and egg sarnie, and distinctly not enjoying life even a little, in fact completely miserable with pain, not even wanting to put the veg away. Putting veg into the drawer and seeing all the tempting ingredients usually makes me happy and full of recipe ideas. The complete lack of pleasure puts the pain at about a 7. I persuaded myself to take cocodamol, but I think I've missed my opportunity since my head is pounding merrily.
The weather's dry and quite warm. I did manage to get to the chemist to get a form for getting drugs delivered. I get so stressed out about trying to keep up with the beta blockers, if I can use this service, then I can keep regular with the drugs and also use my energy for other things. For example, I'd like to get Moth registered at a new vet, get my teeth seen to, various other things I've been putting off.
I had to fill in a form and the chemist was just closing for lunch, so I grabbed a sarnie at the local cafe - actually one of three local cafes! They lent me a pen, and I got the form done and posted, but it did leave me migrainous. Something about filling in forms sets them off and I think it's a combination of the leaning forward and the having to focus eyes and attention. The leaning forward problem would also explain why I can read a book in bed or in the bath but not when out of the house - being outside means sitting upright, which means looking down to read.
On then to the butcher, to get meat and veggies. I want to do veal burger on a bed of leeks and vichy carrots, which is just carrots split and cooked in slightly sugared water to give them a glaze. Courgettes, carrots, white turnips, some leeks which kept trying to commit suicide by leaping, so I got the butcher to decapitate them and save them the trouble. Mixed peppers, lemons, celery. A good sized leg of lamb for the weekend and some sausages. No sweet potatoes though. They seem to be out of season. The entire lot was £16 and it's basically enough food for most of a week.
While I was walking from the butcher, a piece of paper fell out of my pocket, but it didn't look like much and I thought it must be an old receipt, since I couldn't remember anything papery I had wanted to keep. Since I was sweating and trembling and it was small and not important, I let it go. It's only occurred to me now that it was probably the tracking number for the letter I sent. Bother. My brain just does not seem to connect things in real time - I am always working them out later on.
Back home, feeling sick enough to nearly lose the bacon and egg sarnie, and distinctly not enjoying life even a little, in fact completely miserable with pain, not even wanting to put the veg away. Putting veg into the drawer and seeing all the tempting ingredients usually makes me happy and full of recipe ideas. The complete lack of pleasure puts the pain at about a 7. I persuaded myself to take cocodamol, but I think I've missed my opportunity since my head is pounding merrily.
Wednesday, 6 February 2008
In which the Rodent eats steamed buns and watches Reaper with friends.
Happy New Year for Friday, to those it affects.
I woke up and came downstairs as usual, but Pol came back from work just as I was waking up. I hadn't realised just how much I needed that first groggy hour of watching inane drivel on telly. As a result, I ended up on edge and snappy while he was trying to unwrap his new purchases.
Pol unpacked various things and when Rob, Angela and Claire came round, Rob helped him take it up. He gave me a box of good acrylic paints, shiny! Very shiny when some of them are Windsor and Newton. Big tubes, too. These will get used. Painting is very hard for me to do now, since my head has to be tilted forward and it takes a level of concentration and detailed vision in good light.
We talked about Chinese restaurants, about how irrational jealousy can make people very isolated, played Identify the Steamed Bun and flux and watched Reaper on E4 for buggy goodness.
Now I am tired and headachey and very, very happy. Being in pain didn't stop me having a good time. I do want drugs though, so I'll get some more after typing this up, making two doses of cocodamol for today. My pain level is at a nice, solid thumping 6, heading toward the 7 where I stop enjoying myself, and I want to be able to keep this sense of having had a good time. When it gets to 7, I literally can't enjoy anything, although I still function.
I woke up and came downstairs as usual, but Pol came back from work just as I was waking up. I hadn't realised just how much I needed that first groggy hour of watching inane drivel on telly. As a result, I ended up on edge and snappy while he was trying to unwrap his new purchases.
Pol unpacked various things and when Rob, Angela and Claire came round, Rob helped him take it up. He gave me a box of good acrylic paints, shiny! Very shiny when some of them are Windsor and Newton. Big tubes, too. These will get used. Painting is very hard for me to do now, since my head has to be tilted forward and it takes a level of concentration and detailed vision in good light.
We talked about Chinese restaurants, about how irrational jealousy can make people very isolated, played Identify the Steamed Bun and flux and watched Reaper on E4 for buggy goodness.
Now I am tired and headachey and very, very happy. Being in pain didn't stop me having a good time. I do want drugs though, so I'll get some more after typing this up, making two doses of cocodamol for today. My pain level is at a nice, solid thumping 6, heading toward the 7 where I stop enjoying myself, and I want to be able to keep this sense of having had a good time. When it gets to 7, I literally can't enjoy anything, although I still function.
Friday, 1 February 2008
In which the Rodent takes drugs.
So, I've gone back to just taking painkillers, mostly Happy Fun Cocodamol (i.e. the fizzy 8/500s) whenever I feel blech due to pain without worrying about taking too many or rebound headaches. This is working out to be about once or twice a day, generally in the evening.
The end result seems to be that my migraines are calming back down again. I no longer actively dread any task that will mean having to bend forward. I've seen to the cat tray two days in a row now. I did online shopping, which I haven't done for ages because I couldn't focus long enough to work through it all. If I take painkillers, I seem to be in less pain, even after the painkillers have worn off. Avoiding painkillers left me in a lot of pain and unable to function.
Now, how to articulate this for the pain clinic people...
Today's food is veal. Since it's possible now to get high-welfare veal raised in the UK in reasonable living conditions, I got some from Odaco. I made it into burgers, using wholemeal breadcrumbs made by folding past-its-best bread into a lump and grating it, about a third the volume of bread to meat, two eggs, a good-sized double-handful of veal and enough ketjap manis (a thick, sticky, sweetish soy sauce) to be able to taste the difference. It was nice, cooked until done in the Foreman grill. I had it with cajun sweetcorn fritters.
The end result seems to be that my migraines are calming back down again. I no longer actively dread any task that will mean having to bend forward. I've seen to the cat tray two days in a row now. I did online shopping, which I haven't done for ages because I couldn't focus long enough to work through it all. If I take painkillers, I seem to be in less pain, even after the painkillers have worn off. Avoiding painkillers left me in a lot of pain and unable to function.
Now, how to articulate this for the pain clinic people...
Today's food is veal. Since it's possible now to get high-welfare veal raised in the UK in reasonable living conditions, I got some from Odaco. I made it into burgers, using wholemeal breadcrumbs made by folding past-its-best bread into a lump and grating it, about a third the volume of bread to meat, two eggs, a good-sized double-handful of veal and enough ketjap manis (a thick, sticky, sweetish soy sauce) to be able to taste the difference. It was nice, cooked until done in the Foreman grill. I had it with cajun sweetcorn fritters.
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.
Sunday, 20 January 2008
In which the Rodent visits Hall i' th' Wood and is depressed the following day.
Yesterday Pol, myself and our new lodger all went to Hall i' th' Wood (pronounced Hollith Wood) in Bolton. It's a Tudor building, which was owned by various people in history, including the Crompton family. One of the Cromptons of the house was named Samuel. His mother span cotton and I think his father wove. Samuel Crompton was interested in this, but thought the method too laborious. He looked at the Spinning Jenny and came up with the Spinning Mule, and the rest is mills, cloth caps, custard tarts and industrial history. One of the founders of the industrial revolution did all his thinking in a little room in a nice, but very warped, Tudor house in the north of what is now Bolton Town.
Time moved on and the Hall i' th' Wood fell into disrepair - people were too busy with the new factories and mills and the fall of the British Empire. It was getting decidedly ricketty when this chap named Lever was looking around for philanthropic uses of the money he'd made selling Sunlight Soap with his brother. (The Lever Bros. company is now of course the giant Unilever.) He picked up the Hall some time after he picked up the title Lord Leverhulme and messed about with it until he decided that it would make a nice museum for day to day artefacts of past life.
So now it's there, with a Tudor hall, kitchen and dairy, a nice staircase, a 17th century dining room and withdrawing room (complete with discrete garderobe), a few rooms given over to Samuel Crompton and his family (and his walking stick and death mask) and some really enthusiastic staff. The signposting was appalling, but once we found it, it was great. A nice day out, then back to the house.
Today I'm up, washed, dressed, fed and ready to deal with life. It's only taken me twelve hours... I'm mildly depressed (no surprise in January) which means I spend too long thinking about what I am about to do but lacking the get up and go to do it. I get things done, but it takes a while to get moving. Then I daren't stop in case I don't get going again. Thank goodness for cuppas.
I spent five hours this morning sitting playing Bejeweled and Peggle before I could drag myself downstairs to get my first cuppa of the day and breakfast. Five hours. I was hungry. It's silly. I knew at the time it was, but the will to move was just not there. That's depression for you. Luckily, making sure I am clean and well fed does stop the worthless and hopeless parts.
I don't have a little grey goblin counting coins of self-deprecation out loud. I hate that goblin so much. It sits there in your head, and you can hear it. 'You're worthless. You're stupid. Look at the stupid thing you did.' Like little greasy coins of shame.
I wonder what the chemical is in your brain that gives you the effort of will that lets you get moving once you've decided to act. It's definitely less in depressives - serotonin probably, although I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out to be something else that serotonin acts on.
I have migraines as well, naturally, but they're only at a level to make me irritable and I haven't had to curl up and cry with them all day. I did have a glass of port at 11ish to make sure. I only dare eat so much aspirin and I want to save this week's dosage of narcotics for when I am in London.
Time moved on and the Hall i' th' Wood fell into disrepair - people were too busy with the new factories and mills and the fall of the British Empire. It was getting decidedly ricketty when this chap named Lever was looking around for philanthropic uses of the money he'd made selling Sunlight Soap with his brother. (The Lever Bros. company is now of course the giant Unilever.) He picked up the Hall some time after he picked up the title Lord Leverhulme and messed about with it until he decided that it would make a nice museum for day to day artefacts of past life.
So now it's there, with a Tudor hall, kitchen and dairy, a nice staircase, a 17th century dining room and withdrawing room (complete with discrete garderobe), a few rooms given over to Samuel Crompton and his family (and his walking stick and death mask) and some really enthusiastic staff. The signposting was appalling, but once we found it, it was great. A nice day out, then back to the house.
Today I'm up, washed, dressed, fed and ready to deal with life. It's only taken me twelve hours... I'm mildly depressed (no surprise in January) which means I spend too long thinking about what I am about to do but lacking the get up and go to do it. I get things done, but it takes a while to get moving. Then I daren't stop in case I don't get going again. Thank goodness for cuppas.
I spent five hours this morning sitting playing Bejeweled and Peggle before I could drag myself downstairs to get my first cuppa of the day and breakfast. Five hours. I was hungry. It's silly. I knew at the time it was, but the will to move was just not there. That's depression for you. Luckily, making sure I am clean and well fed does stop the worthless and hopeless parts.
I don't have a little grey goblin counting coins of self-deprecation out loud. I hate that goblin so much. It sits there in your head, and you can hear it. 'You're worthless. You're stupid. Look at the stupid thing you did.' Like little greasy coins of shame.
I wonder what the chemical is in your brain that gives you the effort of will that lets you get moving once you've decided to act. It's definitely less in depressives - serotonin probably, although I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out to be something else that serotonin acts on.
I have migraines as well, naturally, but they're only at a level to make me irritable and I haven't had to curl up and cry with them all day. I did have a glass of port at 11ish to make sure. I only dare eat so much aspirin and I want to save this week's dosage of narcotics for when I am in London.
Monday, 14 January 2008
In which the Rodent gets ready to go to Rochdale.
It's 6:45am and Pol and I are both overwhelmingly enthusiastic about being awake at this hour. Yes indeedy. I'm now dressed, although not booted, coated, scarfed and hatted. Pol is getting into the bath I ran for him and presumably checking out the large cup of tea I made. I can be nice, sometimes.
I breakfasted on wood-smoked Skippers (brisling), which are very small, very delicious fish that will probably turn out to be ethically horrible, but they are so very, very delicious. Moth, when presented with a single fish in tomato sauce, carefully ate all the tomato sauce and left the fish intact. Well, then.
My little weather gadget tells me that outside it's raining, 7C and with the faintest of breezes. My clock says my room is at a massive 20.7C. No wonder Pol is complaining he's been cooked all night. I strongly suspect the heating has been left on, which means we will be short on gas. The landlord has finally agreed to real meters, on receipt of a £250 bond. Frankly, it'll pay for itself within a few months, so we're going for it.
I still have more books to sort than I know how to deal with, and I need to remember to bother Tim for clips and things since at the moment the room is full of what are just boxes until the rest is put together.
I want Rochdale to have a little snow on the hills when we go there. It doesn't have to be much. Then Pol goes off to his interview and I go back to Bolton in a taxi with an unhappy, freshly vaccinated cat.
My head hurts. I know this is not news. I'm pondering aspirin or just having a joyous pain-free day of Tramadol in return for the risk of a worse headache when I am safely tucked in bed, and possible nausea meanwhile. If I take Tramadol, I might be able to go shopping. I am running out of food and Moth's been down to just biscuits for a couple of days. It's a thought, isn't it?
I breakfasted on wood-smoked Skippers (brisling), which are very small, very delicious fish that will probably turn out to be ethically horrible, but they are so very, very delicious. Moth, when presented with a single fish in tomato sauce, carefully ate all the tomato sauce and left the fish intact. Well, then.
My little weather gadget tells me that outside it's raining, 7C and with the faintest of breezes. My clock says my room is at a massive 20.7C. No wonder Pol is complaining he's been cooked all night. I strongly suspect the heating has been left on, which means we will be short on gas. The landlord has finally agreed to real meters, on receipt of a £250 bond. Frankly, it'll pay for itself within a few months, so we're going for it.
I still have more books to sort than I know how to deal with, and I need to remember to bother Tim for clips and things since at the moment the room is full of what are just boxes until the rest is put together.
I want Rochdale to have a little snow on the hills when we go there. It doesn't have to be much. Then Pol goes off to his interview and I go back to Bolton in a taxi with an unhappy, freshly vaccinated cat.
My head hurts. I know this is not news. I'm pondering aspirin or just having a joyous pain-free day of Tramadol in return for the risk of a worse headache when I am safely tucked in bed, and possible nausea meanwhile. If I take Tramadol, I might be able to go shopping. I am running out of food and Moth's been down to just biscuits for a couple of days. It's a thought, isn't it?
Sunday, 13 January 2008
In which the Rodent had a fruit smoothie.
Today's a lot better than the last few days. I've put through a load of laundry which is drying now and I'm confident I'll be able to put it away before I go for my second flute lesson at 4:30pm Monday.
Today I had the fruit smoothie I prepped Saturday night, with the flesh of two nectarines, a plum and about two dozen grapes, all peeled, with a large spoon of Belvoir cranberry cordial and the freshly ground seeds from one pod of green cardamom.
It was delicious. Then with pie, I had green beans nuked in a mixture of water, chicken OXO and some very, very nice English mustard. That was delicious as well.
All in all, I feel well taken care of, which is nice when it's me doing it. Pol's also looking fairly happy with life, or at least with this weekend. We've had enough together time and he's seen people he wanted to see.
I have loud, whistling tinnitus and an aching neck, which suggest the current respite from pain is about to end, but at least it's done it after I got through the chores for the day.
Today I had the fruit smoothie I prepped Saturday night, with the flesh of two nectarines, a plum and about two dozen grapes, all peeled, with a large spoon of Belvoir cranberry cordial and the freshly ground seeds from one pod of green cardamom.
It was delicious. Then with pie, I had green beans nuked in a mixture of water, chicken OXO and some very, very nice English mustard. That was delicious as well.
All in all, I feel well taken care of, which is nice when it's me doing it. Pol's also looking fairly happy with life, or at least with this weekend. We've had enough together time and he's seen people he wanted to see.
I have loud, whistling tinnitus and an aching neck, which suggest the current respite from pain is about to end, but at least it's done it after I got through the chores for the day.
Saturday, 12 January 2008
In which the Rodent contemplates life with constant pain.
I can remember a time when a headache like tonight's would have left me completely flattened for days. I woke up feeling dreadful, moaning in pain and wanting only for it to end, by whatever means. These days, it just means I take longer than usual to haul myself out of bed, wash, dress and go downstairs to my daily round of junk telly, snack meals and short bursts of housework. The pain is still bad, even unbearable, but you learn to get your body moving even while you're wanting to throw up.
I did end up raiding Pol's aspirin supply, which I'll try to replace this week, along with the bottle of aspirin I bought and then promptly lost. 900mg of aspirin will actually help the pain, bringing it from an 8 (utterly miserable and retching) down to a 5 or 6 (very much hurting but more or less functional if I don't try to do too much). I had a glass of port when the aspirin wore off and the rest has been a matter of gritting my teeth and getting through it, but it's getting less bad by the hour.
The last couple of days have been unusually headachey. I've also been awake all night and asleep all day. I can't help wondering if the two are connected, but I can't seem to manage to haul my sleep pattern to where it should be. At least today I did manage to get properly dressed and to eat more or less well. Duck pancakes, and tinned curry with peas added because I fancied peas. I peeled and chopped fruit for a smoothie tomorrow, but I can't make it now because it's 3am and Pol might be a little annoyed to be woken up this early.
Frozen peas are an incredible luxury. Back in Regency days, green garden peas were a short-lived seasonal delicacy which could sell for incredibly high prices. Even then, in the city, the peas would have been brought in from the countryside by horse and cart, and would have been losing freshness all the time they were travelling. It's one of those cases where frozen is better than fresh, as peas are delicate. Too much time, too much cooking and they lose that fantastic green sweet flavour. I can well believe that frozen peas, even 'frozen in the field', are not a patch on peas taken straight from the plants in your garden, but they're a very good second.
Some people swear by peas with garden mint. I can't abide mint anyway, and it's a ludicrously strong taste to impose on something as sweet and pleasant as garden peas. Just a little butter, or even nuked in a little hot water and eaten on their own, and peas are delicious.
I did end up raiding Pol's aspirin supply, which I'll try to replace this week, along with the bottle of aspirin I bought and then promptly lost. 900mg of aspirin will actually help the pain, bringing it from an 8 (utterly miserable and retching) down to a 5 or 6 (very much hurting but more or less functional if I don't try to do too much). I had a glass of port when the aspirin wore off and the rest has been a matter of gritting my teeth and getting through it, but it's getting less bad by the hour.
The last couple of days have been unusually headachey. I've also been awake all night and asleep all day. I can't help wondering if the two are connected, but I can't seem to manage to haul my sleep pattern to where it should be. At least today I did manage to get properly dressed and to eat more or less well. Duck pancakes, and tinned curry with peas added because I fancied peas. I peeled and chopped fruit for a smoothie tomorrow, but I can't make it now because it's 3am and Pol might be a little annoyed to be woken up this early.
Frozen peas are an incredible luxury. Back in Regency days, green garden peas were a short-lived seasonal delicacy which could sell for incredibly high prices. Even then, in the city, the peas would have been brought in from the countryside by horse and cart, and would have been losing freshness all the time they were travelling. It's one of those cases where frozen is better than fresh, as peas are delicate. Too much time, too much cooking and they lose that fantastic green sweet flavour. I can well believe that frozen peas, even 'frozen in the field', are not a patch on peas taken straight from the plants in your garden, but they're a very good second.
Some people swear by peas with garden mint. I can't abide mint anyway, and it's a ludicrously strong taste to impose on something as sweet and pleasant as garden peas. Just a little butter, or even nuked in a little hot water and eaten on their own, and peas are delicious.
Friday, 11 January 2008
In which the Rodent considers battery farming and drugs.
Today has been given over to the full enjoyment of migraines, of which I think I'm on my third so far. At least, it's peaked to 'completely miserable' (8) three times. At this level, I am not up to doing anything at all vigorous and moving makes me retch. I can just about cope with television to take my mind off things. In between the peaks, I washed up, cooked sausages and beans and toasted some marshmallows over the gas ring. Pol polished his shoes because it's interview season again.
I watched Jamie Oliver and his battery farming demonstrations, trying to convince people over toward longer-lived, slower growing, less intensively reared birds for meat and eggs. The MRM demonstration was interesting. I was thinking, as I watched the carcases being squeezed for meaty goo, of a very, very expensive dish produced in only a few restaurants: pressed duck. It needs special equipment, because part of the process is to put the basically raw bones of the duck into a press and crush them to get out the marrow juices. Why is this so rare and fine, and crushed chicken goo so disgustingly horrific? Frankly, I like that we can use every particle of the chicken in this way. If we're going to rear birds, we should use everything we can.
I watched Jamie Oliver and his battery farming demonstrations, trying to convince people over toward longer-lived, slower growing, less intensively reared birds for meat and eggs. The MRM demonstration was interesting. I was thinking, as I watched the carcases being squeezed for meaty goo, of a very, very expensive dish produced in only a few restaurants: pressed duck. It needs special equipment, because part of the process is to put the basically raw bones of the duck into a press and crush them to get out the marrow juices. Why is this so rare and fine, and crushed chicken goo so disgustingly horrific? Frankly, I like that we can use every particle of the chicken in this way. If we're going to rear birds, we should use everything we can.
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
In which the Rodent copes with a cold house by having hot cuppas.
My bedroom is currently a balmy and tropical 11.5 Celsius. It was 10.2 when I woke up. Since then, I've been out to go and buy more gas, since we were down to a fiver and that only just pays for Pol's daily bath and the washing up. I'm going to clamber over the sofa to jam the card into the meter and then put the heating on. Oddly enough, I'm quite warm at the moment, but then I am wearing a jumper and a cardigan, wool trousers and warm fluffy slippers, and, of course, the hat.
Outside, Bolton is looking very well after the squalls and thunder last night. There doesn't seem to be any damage. I did hear on the radio about trees being down somewhere or other.
Going out has left me tired and migrainous, but not so much I can't enjoy life. Say about a 5, where I can more or less do things but it's sore. In theory, I should be very, very poorly because I did a lot on Monday and it's been cold, a major trigger. I feel... slightly achey. Healthy, almost, other than the dragging headache in one eye and the slight nausea.
Just about everything I had been watching on the telly has been taken off again. My day used to have double Scrubs, DIY SOS and a few other things in. Now it's Ray Mears and A&E, and it's just not the same. It might be sad to build my day around television, but it works. I huddle under a duvet watching television, then during the breaks I do housework. The programme coming on gives me an excuse to stop what I am doing and take a rest, which may be helping the M.E. and does stop me triggering major migraine from hell. The programme finishing gets me wanting a cuppa, which gets me on my feet, which is good for stopping me wallowing in winter depression.
If I'm on the computer, I tend to just stay on for hours, unless I sit on the edge of the bed like now in a cold room with no cuppa and only Radio Four for company. Radio Four gets me awake and ready to get up in the first place.
Outside, Bolton is looking very well after the squalls and thunder last night. There doesn't seem to be any damage. I did hear on the radio about trees being down somewhere or other.
Going out has left me tired and migrainous, but not so much I can't enjoy life. Say about a 5, where I can more or less do things but it's sore. In theory, I should be very, very poorly because I did a lot on Monday and it's been cold, a major trigger. I feel... slightly achey. Healthy, almost, other than the dragging headache in one eye and the slight nausea.
Just about everything I had been watching on the telly has been taken off again. My day used to have double Scrubs, DIY SOS and a few other things in. Now it's Ray Mears and A&E, and it's just not the same. It might be sad to build my day around television, but it works. I huddle under a duvet watching television, then during the breaks I do housework. The programme coming on gives me an excuse to stop what I am doing and take a rest, which may be helping the M.E. and does stop me triggering major migraine from hell. The programme finishing gets me wanting a cuppa, which gets me on my feet, which is good for stopping me wallowing in winter depression.
If I'm on the computer, I tend to just stay on for hours, unless I sit on the edge of the bed like now in a cold room with no cuppa and only Radio Four for company. Radio Four gets me awake and ready to get up in the first place.
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