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.
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Saturday, 12 April 2008
Tuesday, 25 March 2008
In which the Rodent goes for a walk and then does other things instead of going back to bed to recover.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, 18 March 2008
In which the Rodent has much less trouble getting around.
Suddenly I am fit to go out alone.
Yesterday I failed to get to Rochdale. I missed one train and was too tired out to get another, but the thing is, I looked the train times up myself. I can't articulate why this is so difficult for me when not on strong narcotics, but it is. Yesterday it was simple. This morning, it was simple and I finally got to go.
I didn't just go to Rochdale. I visited the vet there, went to a supermarket and bought everything I wanted to without getting lost or frustrated. I got a taxi to the station and was able to read the signs and make a judgement call as to which train to get home again, finding myself in Manchester Victoria. I did have a small time of being lost, but it resolved fairly quickly and I got myself to Platform 6. It is nice being able to read signs and have them mean something. It's nice to be on a journey and at all times be aware where I am going and why.
Not only did I do all this, but I also had a successful flute lesson. The notes aren't waving lazily around the lines any more, which is making note reading easier. I am still flailing, but that's my own muppetry acting. I can deal with it being muppetry. It just means I need more practice doing sight reading. Ugh.
After the flute lesson I wandered around Bolton town centre. There's a museum and aquarium. Previously, I have spent unfun hours, literally hours, tramping around unable to follow the maps and getting lost. This time it took me about two minutes to work out where it was. Still slow, but I walked straight from the map to the museum and got to see everything and talk about fish care and filters with the two knowledgeable men. One had an enthusiastic air of knowledge, the other had a mop. I ended up suspecting the chap with the mop was probably the senior person there.
I didn't bother with the fake Egyptian artefacts, saving them for another day, but I did get myself a Hall I' Th' Wood mug for £4.75.
No Tramadol (yet) today. Cocodamol at the point where a football being kicked around outside started driving me barmy and I realised I was in pain and probably more cocodamol very soon, but no Tramadol. Tramadol yesterday and Tramadol tomorrow because it's Wednesday and I will have people over. Pain is at about a 5. Annoying but bearable.
Yesterday I failed to get to Rochdale. I missed one train and was too tired out to get another, but the thing is, I looked the train times up myself. I can't articulate why this is so difficult for me when not on strong narcotics, but it is. Yesterday it was simple. This morning, it was simple and I finally got to go.
I didn't just go to Rochdale. I visited the vet there, went to a supermarket and bought everything I wanted to without getting lost or frustrated. I got a taxi to the station and was able to read the signs and make a judgement call as to which train to get home again, finding myself in Manchester Victoria. I did have a small time of being lost, but it resolved fairly quickly and I got myself to Platform 6. It is nice being able to read signs and have them mean something. It's nice to be on a journey and at all times be aware where I am going and why.
Not only did I do all this, but I also had a successful flute lesson. The notes aren't waving lazily around the lines any more, which is making note reading easier. I am still flailing, but that's my own muppetry acting. I can deal with it being muppetry. It just means I need more practice doing sight reading. Ugh.
After the flute lesson I wandered around Bolton town centre. There's a museum and aquarium. Previously, I have spent unfun hours, literally hours, tramping around unable to follow the maps and getting lost. This time it took me about two minutes to work out where it was. Still slow, but I walked straight from the map to the museum and got to see everything and talk about fish care and filters with the two knowledgeable men. One had an enthusiastic air of knowledge, the other had a mop. I ended up suspecting the chap with the mop was probably the senior person there.
I didn't bother with the fake Egyptian artefacts, saving them for another day, but I did get myself a Hall I' Th' Wood mug for £4.75.
No Tramadol (yet) today. Cocodamol at the point where a football being kicked around outside started driving me barmy and I realised I was in pain and probably more cocodamol very soon, but no Tramadol. Tramadol yesterday and Tramadol tomorrow because it's Wednesday and I will have people over. Pain is at about a 5. Annoying but bearable.
Tuesday, 11 March 2008
In which the Rodent learns from past mistakes.
Having spent another restless night listening to the wind (and even, at one point, nipping out for a 3am walk to see how bad the wind was), I learned that Tramadol is not really any good to me as a nightcap. Today I took it early. Not terribly early, since I slept through until my flute teacher rang me at some point past 3pm. I may have needed it, today was much better.
I went Outside! I went to the butchers and had returned, unpacked veg and cooked us both breakfast before much more than an hour had passed since waking. This is very quick off the mark for me, but it did put me on edge for the rest of the day: one reason I like two hours to get off the mark from sleep to Out.
Then the second trip was to the garage, pausing only to admire a double part-rainbow, a complete rainbow and a pretty sunset. There I got enough gas for a goodly while and various sundries. I am having fewer episodes where I forget what I was doing and miss chunks of time, which is nice. I was able to stay focused on what I was doing right through all the processes of getting to the garage, getting money, looking around at things and then paying. I did nearly walk off without the gas, but that's fairly normal.
I'm not sure how to explain the difference between normal absent-mindedness and the strange, frightening voids in memory that bother me. I think it's the difference between forgetting to pick up the gas and forgetting what a gas card is and not being able to work out what to do with it, or where I currently am, and why.
A second meal was cooked and eaten: thinly sliced leeks cut on the bias and cooked in butter, white wine and nutmeg, to which grated carrots and then dried tarragon were added. With this, Ruthi had my last vealburger (I made it from high-welfare veal) and I had big, fat venison sausages from the local butcher. We both had sweet potatoes cooked with allspice and sage, pronounced very delicious by Ruthi.
Dessert was underripe pear and overripe red plum cooked in red wine, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and fresh ginger. Ruthi had seconds, so I think she liked it.
Since I've put laundry on, remembered to give Moth her hot water bottle and done the bulk of the washing up, as well as my ten chores, I'd say today was a very high functioning day. It remains to be seen how well tomorrow goes, but hopefully an early night will get me awake in better time to go museum-visiting.
Pain is only about four, bothersome but I can still feel good, spiking to six, ow, or seven where life seems unfun and I have to stop typing.
I went Outside! I went to the butchers and had returned, unpacked veg and cooked us both breakfast before much more than an hour had passed since waking. This is very quick off the mark for me, but it did put me on edge for the rest of the day: one reason I like two hours to get off the mark from sleep to Out.
Then the second trip was to the garage, pausing only to admire a double part-rainbow, a complete rainbow and a pretty sunset. There I got enough gas for a goodly while and various sundries. I am having fewer episodes where I forget what I was doing and miss chunks of time, which is nice. I was able to stay focused on what I was doing right through all the processes of getting to the garage, getting money, looking around at things and then paying. I did nearly walk off without the gas, but that's fairly normal.
I'm not sure how to explain the difference between normal absent-mindedness and the strange, frightening voids in memory that bother me. I think it's the difference between forgetting to pick up the gas and forgetting what a gas card is and not being able to work out what to do with it, or where I currently am, and why.
A second meal was cooked and eaten: thinly sliced leeks cut on the bias and cooked in butter, white wine and nutmeg, to which grated carrots and then dried tarragon were added. With this, Ruthi had my last vealburger (I made it from high-welfare veal) and I had big, fat venison sausages from the local butcher. We both had sweet potatoes cooked with allspice and sage, pronounced very delicious by Ruthi.
Dessert was underripe pear and overripe red plum cooked in red wine, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and fresh ginger. Ruthi had seconds, so I think she liked it.
Since I've put laundry on, remembered to give Moth her hot water bottle and done the bulk of the washing up, as well as my ten chores, I'd say today was a very high functioning day. It remains to be seen how well tomorrow goes, but hopefully an early night will get me awake in better time to go museum-visiting.
Pain is only about four, bothersome but I can still feel good, spiking to six, ow, or seven where life seems unfun and I have to stop typing.
Sunday, 2 March 2008
In which the Rodent battles depression to win biscuit goodness.
I visited the pain clinic and wrote here about how the psychologist seemed more interested in lowering my expectations than in offering to work with me to get a handle on all this pain. The overall impression I got was very negative. I get very upset about being in so much pain and the unhopeful prognosis, so I ended up dropping into a pit of depression for a few days. Insomnia, crying, feelings of hopelessness, you name it. I've had an awful few days emotionally speaking.
As part of clawing my way out of the pit, I spent a while planning my next week's meals and ordering the necessary food and I stuck to my list of ten as much as I could. I emailed the Samaritans at a point where I felt like ending it all and texted the long-suffering Hunter early in the morning to remind myself that other people were alive and I wasn't all alone. Pol spent a chunk of that morning giving me a hug and tell me aw there there. I spent a chunk of that afternoon giving him a hug and telling him aw there there. These days we seem, I think, to be a lot better at being there for each other.
Just now he's away for the weekend. I haven't felt like grabbing people and suggesting a quick jaunt to Blackpool but it's definitely something to do another day.
So, today I feel better. I got to bed at eleven, got to sleep probably about twelvish and didn't wake up until 2pm. Not what I wanted, but I feel so much better today I'll accept that I needed to sleep for thirteen or fourteen hours. Since I'd been feeling MEish as well as depressed, it's not unexpected. Sometimes a bout of ME will get better after a marathon kip.
I did my ten. I got myself a bath and got dressed. I went outside and looked to see if anything is sprouting. I collected rubbish. I practiced flute. I fussed Moth and got her a fresh hot water bottle. I got myself lunch; breakfast was one the oatmeal and ginger biscuits I baked yesterday and a raw carrot. Lunch was baked sweet potato, sausages and steamed bok choy. I didn't finish it in one go and I've just finished the last of it, nuked hot again, now. I had the last biscuit I baked as a snack and I have frozen part-baked biscuits and frozen dry mix in the freezer ready to go.
Go me!
Out in the wider world, the euro news had a report yesterday on what seemed to be a hurricane, hurricane Emma that had hit Germania and chunks of southern Scandewegia. I know we've had force eleven winds here in Britain because I caught the shipping forecast. I couldn't find any mention of hurricane force winds in Europe on Google or the BBC but a friend on Livejournal has since told me that it was indeed Hurricane Emma, that it did just flick Britain with its tail and she pointed me to some relevant news sites.
As part of clawing my way out of the pit, I spent a while planning my next week's meals and ordering the necessary food and I stuck to my list of ten as much as I could. I emailed the Samaritans at a point where I felt like ending it all and texted the long-suffering Hunter early in the morning to remind myself that other people were alive and I wasn't all alone. Pol spent a chunk of that morning giving me a hug and tell me aw there there. I spent a chunk of that afternoon giving him a hug and telling him aw there there. These days we seem, I think, to be a lot better at being there for each other.
Just now he's away for the weekend. I haven't felt like grabbing people and suggesting a quick jaunt to Blackpool but it's definitely something to do another day.
So, today I feel better. I got to bed at eleven, got to sleep probably about twelvish and didn't wake up until 2pm. Not what I wanted, but I feel so much better today I'll accept that I needed to sleep for thirteen or fourteen hours. Since I'd been feeling MEish as well as depressed, it's not unexpected. Sometimes a bout of ME will get better after a marathon kip.
I did my ten. I got myself a bath and got dressed. I went outside and looked to see if anything is sprouting. I collected rubbish. I practiced flute. I fussed Moth and got her a fresh hot water bottle. I got myself lunch; breakfast was one the oatmeal and ginger biscuits I baked yesterday and a raw carrot. Lunch was baked sweet potato, sausages and steamed bok choy. I didn't finish it in one go and I've just finished the last of it, nuked hot again, now. I had the last biscuit I baked as a snack and I have frozen part-baked biscuits and frozen dry mix in the freezer ready to go.
Go me!
Out in the wider world, the euro news had a report yesterday on what seemed to be a hurricane, hurricane Emma that had hit Germania and chunks of southern Scandewegia. I know we've had force eleven winds here in Britain because I caught the shipping forecast. I couldn't find any mention of hurricane force winds in Europe on Google or the BBC but a friend on Livejournal has since told me that it was indeed Hurricane Emma, that it did just flick Britain with its tail and she pointed me to some relevant news sites.
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.
Wednesday, 13 February 2008
In which the Rodent has a sinus headache that is NOT A MIGRAINE.
I've had daily migraines since June 2006. This is not news.
I've had a constant state of migraine, 24 hours a day, since July 2007, when I tried taking no painkillers for a few months. Again, this is not news.
I still have a headache now. The aspiring I took on top of the cocodamol have kicked in. I'd noticed a certain clarity of thinking. Signs like being able to go downstairs to put on hot water and coming upstairs having put the hot water on. Now, this is actually a major achievement for me.
What I did notice a few minutes ago was that all of my headache suddenly went up to the top of my head. This is where I'd expect sinus pain to manifest. It feels like sinus pain, in fact. The front of my face is burning and I have a lumpy weight pressing down from the top.
However. IT IS NOT A MIGRAINE. It's a headache, but it's not a migraine headache. For the first time in over six months I am free of migraine.
I have snorted salt water into my sinuses and been rewarded with green solid gunk and blood. Yummy.
I've had a constant state of migraine, 24 hours a day, since July 2007, when I tried taking no painkillers for a few months. Again, this is not news.
I still have a headache now. The aspiring I took on top of the cocodamol have kicked in. I'd noticed a certain clarity of thinking. Signs like being able to go downstairs to put on hot water and coming upstairs having put the hot water on. Now, this is actually a major achievement for me.
What I did notice a few minutes ago was that all of my headache suddenly went up to the top of my head. This is where I'd expect sinus pain to manifest. It feels like sinus pain, in fact. The front of my face is burning and I have a lumpy weight pressing down from the top.
However. IT IS NOT A MIGRAINE. It's a headache, but it's not a migraine headache. For the first time in over six months I am free of migraine.
I have snorted salt water into my sinuses and been rewarded with green solid gunk and blood. Yummy.
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.
Sunday, 3 February 2008
In which the Rodent has a lazy Sunday alone.
(Start Game Stuff)
The party now works as a team and Kevin keeps us all keyed up for the full ten hours or so we're there, which is not bad going. The party feels very settled now. I like the feeling that my cleric is valuable. I was trying spells with her I hadn't tried before, and buffing up other PCs, and it was all working. We got through a harrowing fight in time to not die, although we lost a horse, and then, having more or less shrugged off this near-death experience thinking a few drinks and a good night's sleep would solve it, our party wandered into a bureaucracy. Fill in form P235B to get a new horse... My cleric is pretty much incapacitated by the lawfulness of it all.
(End Game Stuff)
So, I rolled in at about 1am, with the painkillers worn off, having had a great game with good snacks. Apparently I left my keys in the front door, since someone had posted them back through the letter box when I woke up. Did I mention that I am not very with it when migrainous? Things like dropping things repeatedly and leaving the house insecure get me down.
Moth was very pleased to see me. After a while slumped on the sofa, I ended up running around after her, with her galloping about being Wildebeest, tail up. She loves the spare room being so open and empty, since it makes a great playground for her. I still have books to sort through and I will.
I didn't wake up at all until about 5pm or so. I was vaguely aware that Moth came and tried to rouse me at various points, but I just turned over and went straight back to sleep. It was wonderful.
So, the day after being exhausted, I set about my own routine of television and housework. I'm all washed and dressed. I have put laundry on and it's now drying. Pol's clean clothes have been put away. I've fed Moth, cleaned out the kitchen bin and replaced the bag, watered the cat grass (Moth has stopped throwing up since we got her cat grass), eaten sausages and green peas (yay vegetables!), wiped the kitchen and the bathroom, cleaned the loo, replaced the hand towel and taken the rubbish out of my room.
I've taken cocodamol, despite my pain levels only being five or six, because I want to go Outside and get more gas and electricity before they run out, and I am hurting enough that I am avoiding bending down or going out. It's not so much the pain that's always a problem, as the avoiding doing things because they'll hurt and make me throw up. If it was one migraine a week, fine, but I can't avoid everything forever. So, I've taken drugs. Yay drugs.
There's a move made to provide evening and weekend GP cover in Scotland which matters to me, because I want the same sort of provision down here. Pol really ought to be seeing a doctor for his low mood, but can't because he's working in Solihull and can't see a GP there, and they're all closed during the day. He can't apparently afford to take time off to get this all sorted out.
I get upset that Pol's apparently in a good job and is always acting as though we're only just scraping by. He snaps about money and working long hours, and yet he will buy a holiday in Sicily for us both without a second thought. I can't ever get him to tell me what's going on without first blustering, talking at me at length and then losing his temper when I don't immediately grasp things. I know he's obfuscating, but I can't work out how to sort out what is coming in (never enough) and what's going out (always too much) and how we can be too broke to do sensible things but have enough to splash out. Even seeing the bank statements doesn't clarify things.
I've put together a menu for the week, to see what vegetables I want to buy from the butcher. The winter menu is different to the summer menu, because I buy locally. It's nice.
The party now works as a team and Kevin keeps us all keyed up for the full ten hours or so we're there, which is not bad going. The party feels very settled now. I like the feeling that my cleric is valuable. I was trying spells with her I hadn't tried before, and buffing up other PCs, and it was all working. We got through a harrowing fight in time to not die, although we lost a horse, and then, having more or less shrugged off this near-death experience thinking a few drinks and a good night's sleep would solve it, our party wandered into a bureaucracy. Fill in form P235B to get a new horse... My cleric is pretty much incapacitated by the lawfulness of it all.
(End Game Stuff)
So, I rolled in at about 1am, with the painkillers worn off, having had a great game with good snacks. Apparently I left my keys in the front door, since someone had posted them back through the letter box when I woke up. Did I mention that I am not very with it when migrainous? Things like dropping things repeatedly and leaving the house insecure get me down.
Moth was very pleased to see me. After a while slumped on the sofa, I ended up running around after her, with her galloping about being Wildebeest, tail up. She loves the spare room being so open and empty, since it makes a great playground for her. I still have books to sort through and I will.
I didn't wake up at all until about 5pm or so. I was vaguely aware that Moth came and tried to rouse me at various points, but I just turned over and went straight back to sleep. It was wonderful.
So, the day after being exhausted, I set about my own routine of television and housework. I'm all washed and dressed. I have put laundry on and it's now drying. Pol's clean clothes have been put away. I've fed Moth, cleaned out the kitchen bin and replaced the bag, watered the cat grass (Moth has stopped throwing up since we got her cat grass), eaten sausages and green peas (yay vegetables!), wiped the kitchen and the bathroom, cleaned the loo, replaced the hand towel and taken the rubbish out of my room.
I've taken cocodamol, despite my pain levels only being five or six, because I want to go Outside and get more gas and electricity before they run out, and I am hurting enough that I am avoiding bending down or going out. It's not so much the pain that's always a problem, as the avoiding doing things because they'll hurt and make me throw up. If it was one migraine a week, fine, but I can't avoid everything forever. So, I've taken drugs. Yay drugs.
There's a move made to provide evening and weekend GP cover in Scotland which matters to me, because I want the same sort of provision down here. Pol really ought to be seeing a doctor for his low mood, but can't because he's working in Solihull and can't see a GP there, and they're all closed during the day. He can't apparently afford to take time off to get this all sorted out.
I get upset that Pol's apparently in a good job and is always acting as though we're only just scraping by. He snaps about money and working long hours, and yet he will buy a holiday in Sicily for us both without a second thought. I can't ever get him to tell me what's going on without first blustering, talking at me at length and then losing his temper when I don't immediately grasp things. I know he's obfuscating, but I can't work out how to sort out what is coming in (never enough) and what's going out (always too much) and how we can be too broke to do sensible things but have enough to splash out. Even seeing the bank statements doesn't clarify things.
I've put together a menu for the week, to see what vegetables I want to buy from the butcher. The winter menu is different to the summer menu, because I buy locally. It's nice.
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.
Friday, 18 January 2008
In which the Rodent moves three times its own weight in furniture.
I woke up in the middle of the night sweating, with sharp pains in my chest and stomach and with my heart going at about 120bpm as though I'd just done a short sprint up a hill. Couple in the aching, lactic muscles and this is a typical ME attack presaging a day of extreme flueyness and lack of spoons. No wonder after the day I've had.
A friend of ours has decided to drop the life they were living elsewhere and take up residence at Chez Rodent, so said Rodent went along to lug what furniture it can. Various others were there too, as muscle. I'm not wild about the circumstances of the flit, but it did have to happen sooner or later, so I did what I could. Two of us that had gone down in Pol's landrover ended up travelling back again in it with all the furniture, while the others, including the flitter, all went off for a nice large lunch, staying away until we'd both had plenty of time to eat lunch and then empty the entire landrover our own two selves. Which we did. Go us.
Part of lunch was a snack I like, frozen sweetcorn nuked in water for a minute or two with butter and cajun spice. It's delicious, quick, filling and one of your five a day. What more do you want in
a snack? The rest was, regrettably, nukeaburger with a slice of onion added. Mechanically recovered meat, plastic white, white bread, artificial 'tomatoey' ketchup and plastic cheese food product. Mmmm-mm. Sad to say, I enjoyed it. A Big Mac meal would have been healthier. But still. Sweetcorn!
Part of getting the room ready was moving all those damned books I've been working through for weeks. Those were bundled out of the way as best we could, and then the other person did all the heavy lifting while I put things in logical places. No opening of boxes, but the loose fragile stuff was put on shelves and the pictures were stacked together for ease of putting up.
After that, about an hour later, everyone else arrived and sat and clustered around flitter for pretty much the rest of the evening until I faded out and had to go to bed. I woke up to television noises in the state mentioned above. Miserable and sweating and with a sore back and a right leg that doesn't want to carry me. Time for milk, aspirin, propranolol and decaf coffee with bad television. Another few hours sleep and now it's 5:30 am and squalls are being forecast everywhere in the UK, it sounds like.
In a few hours the whole new household of three starts and I suspect I'll end up sleeping through most of it until I go to Lunnon for over a week. I'd like to be showing flitter how the house works, but with these weird sleeping spurts and other factors, I doubt I'll get a look in.
A friend of ours has decided to drop the life they were living elsewhere and take up residence at Chez Rodent, so said Rodent went along to lug what furniture it can. Various others were there too, as muscle. I'm not wild about the circumstances of the flit, but it did have to happen sooner or later, so I did what I could. Two of us that had gone down in Pol's landrover ended up travelling back again in it with all the furniture, while the others, including the flitter, all went off for a nice large lunch, staying away until we'd both had plenty of time to eat lunch and then empty the entire landrover our own two selves. Which we did. Go us.
Part of lunch was a snack I like, frozen sweetcorn nuked in water for a minute or two with butter and cajun spice. It's delicious, quick, filling and one of your five a day. What more do you want in
a snack? The rest was, regrettably, nukeaburger with a slice of onion added. Mechanically recovered meat, plastic white, white bread, artificial 'tomatoey' ketchup and plastic cheese food product. Mmmm-mm. Sad to say, I enjoyed it. A Big Mac meal would have been healthier. But still. Sweetcorn!
Part of getting the room ready was moving all those damned books I've been working through for weeks. Those were bundled out of the way as best we could, and then the other person did all the heavy lifting while I put things in logical places. No opening of boxes, but the loose fragile stuff was put on shelves and the pictures were stacked together for ease of putting up.
After that, about an hour later, everyone else arrived and sat and clustered around flitter for pretty much the rest of the evening until I faded out and had to go to bed. I woke up to television noises in the state mentioned above. Miserable and sweating and with a sore back and a right leg that doesn't want to carry me. Time for milk, aspirin, propranolol and decaf coffee with bad television. Another few hours sleep and now it's 5:30 am and squalls are being forecast everywhere in the UK, it sounds like.
In a few hours the whole new household of three starts and I suspect I'll end up sleeping through most of it until I go to Lunnon for over a week. I'd like to be showing flitter how the house works, but with these weird sleeping spurts and other factors, I doubt I'll get a look in.
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?
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.
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