Sunday, May 17, 2015

For No Other Reason...

...than I read an article on olive oil (yes, really) and remembered a joke that, as far as I'm aware, is still in play.

Once I told my (now thankfully) ex-husband that tradition had meant olives were to be picked only by virgins from the local villages.  When they had a bumper crop then they would need to hire these "extra virgins" from towns and therefore it was more expensive as the oil was purer.

Yes that makes no economic sense but it went down as yet another thing I knew about and I know he told at least one other person this amazing fact.

Unlike the Corrs* prank I never did come clean, that is to say I forgot to do so. Simple things for simple minds, eh?

*On remarking how alike the Corrs were (they're siblings) and wondering if they were from the same family, I told him that they'd just had plastic surgery so they would resemble each other. Again, completely forgot about it until a few years later when he mentioned something about it and I had to admit to having him on about the whole thing. Back when we could joke around and didn't want each other to disappear in a puff of smoke.

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

::wash::rinse::repeat::

This is ME/CFS/SEID/Whatever-new-name-they-want-to-call-it Awareness Day.
All this and more could be yours!

Something I didn't know is that this particular date was chosen as it is Florence Nightingale's birthday and there is a theory that the illness blighting her life after the Crimea was very possibly, maybe, could well have been the very same one I have.  So, tenuous link with a famous person established.

It does show how desperate those of us who suffer this are, that we look to history for examples of this most definitely not being of our imagination.  Despite what fancy pants name they think of that is what most people think - we've made it up.

In the four years since I've had this (and that includes the two years it took to whittle it down to actually being this) I've heard the following at least once:

- But you look well

- Oh I get really tired too

- You should just get on with things and not dwell on it

- Oh is *that* what is wrong, uhuh

- Isn't that the thing they can't *prove* you have (knowing glance)

- You're just feeling a little blue, you should ask the doctor for some pills and snap out of it

- You'd feel better if you just (enter exercise/diet regime of the month here)

I could make an ME bingo card to play every time someone finds out, because of the above I rarely tell people why I'm not out working my socks off as once I did.  There is almost a determination in people to deliberately downplay any illness that doesn't have a "proper" test and cure.  I can't think of many, if any, who would gladly swap everything they do and everything they enjoy to spend every day feeling as though they've just run a marathon.

For those who scoff how happy they'd be if they could stay in bed for a day I wonder if they really mean it, do they honestly want to write off days at a time just because they dared use up what little energy they have left?

There are so many sides to this disease.  So many ways it can ebb away at life until you end up like a husk just hoping that maybe tomorrow is the day you wake up and feel as though you've slept.  Oh yes, that is a choice many would want if it meant they didn't have to work full-time - and note that is dripping with sarcasm there.

I try to look on the positive, I don't wallow in what I can't do, instead I enjoy what I can.

What did I want to achieve with this post?  It's just another of my ramblings really.  Maybe I'll mention it again, maybe you'll see me dancing down the street when a cure is found or if I'm one of the lucky ones who really does wake up one morning to find it gone, maybe I'll do as in real life and pretend it isn't happening.  In the meantime it is very real, very annoying and very there, I don't expect sympathy, empathy or acknowledgement but I do expect people to remember that it can happen to anyone at any point and for that to be respected.


Wednesday, April 29, 2015

All The Single Parents

On parents evening:

That moment when you've heard all the teacher's opinions, you've seen all the exam/assessment results and you're like...


My work here is done!

Bright futures and remember your auld mither!

Tuesday, April 07, 2015

When The Sun Shines

All feels right with the world so let's go for a walk. 

The fresh, Spring air, nature dotted with human rubbish every so often.
Bonus if you can see my sons, this could be like the old "Spot The Ball" competitions but no prize, sorry. They did get down, no broken bones, thankfully.
The peaceful, man made loch. The man (company) who made the loch now wants to turn the area into yet more housing, no doubt luxury housing so screw you nature. For now enjoy the quiet, the birds swimming by; I recognise ducks, coots, moorhens and, um, sadly that's as far as my wildlife knowledge goes. No swans, they're off bothering tourists at the Palace loch.
Happy dog had a spring in his step, being able to go for a paddle in not quite so freezing cold water.  Except when he launched himself into water too deep for his liking.  Then he wasn't such a happy dog.


And that was our afternoon.  I'm working on the "spoon theory", or as I prefer to use pebbles in my explanation then the "pebble theory" so I have borrowed heavily for today but as the Easter holiday stretches out then I can take time for a CFS crash without worrying about the boys getting to school or coming back from school.

When the sun is shining, drink it in, take a moment, enjoy the blue skies.

Wednesday, March 04, 2015

I have never...

eaten this delicacy, I don't think I can quite tolerate it.  Prefer something with a little more bite, more wit I think.


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Tuesday, March 03, 2015

One Year On

Yesterday was the first anniversary of my mother dying.  Six years (at the end of the month) on from my dad passing and you'd think I'd be used to it.  Yet there is a strange difference that doesn't sit quite comfortably with me.

While we all still miss and mourn my dad it sounds almost callous to say that we don't miss mum that much.  No, that's not quite right, it isn't about missing her I think it has to do with how she died.

Dad was ill for three months in hospital, his dying seemed inevitable but because his illness pushed his dementia to the front it felt like we weren't able to say goodbye properly.  I felt cheated, that despite his age (89) I wasn't quite ready to see him go.  Even now there are moments I want to share with him, especially when the boys achieve something.

With mum her downward spiral started in the year after dad died.  She gave up, we weren't enough for her to hold on for and in the last few years she unclipped herself from daily life, ending up in the care home thanks in part to my ME/CFS and thanks in part to the level of care she needed.  I just couldn't carry her any more mentally or physically.  When someone does give up it is extremely hard, impossible even, to help them and once you help them with something you find yourself doing that for them from then on.

Does that sound selfish?  Maybe, but I've spent so long worrying about others, doing everything for them, grinding myself down in the meantime that perhaps I need that sliver of selfishness.

The last week, when mum was taken in to hospital for the umpteenth time, I admit to having been blasé about it.  I'd gotten in to a routine of planning my life around visits, demands, taking her to and from the place.  Realising this was the final time was a shock but in a way I was so well prepared that I was completely ready for what happened next.

That made the difference.

We were used to her no longer paying attention, of being withdrawn and uninterested.  It is still hard to walk past the care home knowing someone else is in her little flat, I think it would be harder if we were to see the flat, all those memories from that last few years.  Does this mean that at some point it will hit me and I will grieve properly?  Who knows.

I don't chose to remember my mother from that time, our relationship had been a roller-coaster and I select the best memories from that but I don't feel the wish to talk to her again like I do for my dad.

Remembering her properly, not as the person she became.  We were on our way to Millport, to pay tribute to my dad, this is the person I miss.



Saturday, February 28, 2015

Sometimes It Works Out Okay

A splodge of ink, a sweep and scribble of pastel and what initially was turning disastrous began to look acceptable.  Times two.