Today you join an energised and focused blogger. You join a man who, although with out all that much of a plan would at least have the wherewithall to carry a plan out, should one materialise.
Sadly, this is not par for the course, and one of the many adjustments that has been forced upon me by the revelation that I am living with MS is the growing realisation that such days may be just that little bit rarer… And that the absolute polar opposite is more than just a possibility.
Intensive Cares
To put things in context, it has been a bit of a busy week. There have been no less than two trips to two separate hospitals (Thankfully neither of which on were on my own behalf). There has been a drive to Blackburn and back, and there has been a trip out for a coffee and a catch up with the folks. Add in a Burn’s Night supper and a wife suffering from sciatica and it’s fair to say that life has been a little intense of late.
To be fair the above was over the course of a whole week, with only the driving being somewhat front-loaded, it being pretty much done and driven by Wednesday. When taken in the context of what for a lot of folks would be a working week, involving 4o hours at the coalface along with the above it doesn’t sound like the most intense passage of events. Does it?
This is where my body and brain would very much like to respectfully disagree.
Driving Force
As I say it was the first three days of the week that were the toughest. A drive with the mother-in-law to Pinderfields hospital, some twenty five minutes away, if one keeps to something close(ish) to speed limits saw Monday out, the longer drive to Blackburn to return some unexpectedly violent cats taking care of Tuesday, which is when things became a little tough.
Thankfully Wednesday’s sojourn was to the far more local Dewsbury & District Hospital and thankfully is exactly the right word, because upon returning from that particular trip I was done. You could have stuck several dozen forks in me, carved me up, and put portions of me in Tupperware containers at the back of the freezer. That’s how done I was.
Luckily, sleep is the great healer, and after a decent night catching Z’s I felt refreshed enough to handle the coffee with the folks. I don’t think I was the best company. I don’t think I sparkled all that much, or even gave off a faint shimmer, but I turned up and I think my attempts at conversation made some kind of sense, in the main.
Sleepy Head
The rest of the week is a little bit of a blur, if I’m honest, with most of it being a Vaseline smeared soft focus type of affair (No, not like that. Clean your mind out). Events unfolded as events tend to, but it all seemed a little far away, a little muted in colour and sound. Again it was sleep that came to my rescue and this time it was a mega-dose of that most marvellous medicine.
We are now talking about yesterday (Saturday, that is). A day that saw me sleep in. Now again, just to provide a little context, I am usually a reasonably early riser. Left to my own devices, with no alarm to waken me, nor drugs to knock me out, I will wake sometime between eight and nine o’clock, which I think is not too shabby for a jobless, feckless, meanderer like myself. Not this particular day though, no. This day I didn’t wake until well after eleven o’clock. To be honest I’m still slightly disgusted by this errant behaviour, even more so when today saw me almost hit double figures once more but, as my wife, Tina has very wisely remarked, I must have needed it and as I mention in my opening remarks I do feel a whole lot better for the prolonged rest.
The Disease-y Life
I guess that it’s all just a symptom of the disease, a symptom of how life is for me right now. It certainly rings very, very true in regards to spoon theory (something I posted about HERE), but perhaps with more a low build up rather than the rather sudden and explosive tiredness the author of that theory experiences. It certainly puts paid to one thing in any case, and that’s the nagging feeling that I should be working. That life should be a little more productive than it is, that I should be bringing in a wage to help support myself and my wife rather that just about surviving on benefits. It’s a fine thought when I’m sat on the couch watching telly, but this week has shown just how little it takes to show the improbability of anything close to a nine-to-five, or, really, any hours that might take some degree of concentration.
Intensive Cares
To put things in context, it has been a bit of a busy week. There have been no less than two trips to two separate hospitals (Thankfully neither of which on were on my own behalf). There has been a drive to Blackburn and back, and there has been a trip out for a coffee and a catch up with the folks. Add in a Burn’s Night supper and a wife suffering from sciatica and it’s fair to say that life has been a little intense of late.
To be fair the above was over the course of a whole week, with only the driving being somewhat front-loaded, it being pretty much done and driven by Wednesday. When taken in the context of what for a lot of folks would be a working week, involving 4o hours at the coalface along with the above it doesn’t sound like the most intense passage of events. Does it?
This is where my body and brain would very much like to respectfully disagree.
Driving Force
As I say it was the first three days of the week that were the toughest. A drive with the mother-in-law to Pinderfields hospital, some twenty five minutes away, if one keeps to something close(ish) to speed limits saw Monday out, the longer drive to Blackburn to return some unexpectedly violent cats taking care of Tuesday, which is when things became a little tough.
Thankfully Wednesday’s sojourn was to the far more local Dewsbury & District Hospital and thankfully is exactly the right word, because upon returning from that particular trip I was done. You could have stuck several dozen forks in me, carved me up, and put portions of me in Tupperware containers at the back of the freezer. That’s how done I was.
Luckily, sleep is the great healer, and after a decent night catching Z’s I felt refreshed enough to handle the coffee with the folks. I don’t think I was the best company. I don’t think I sparkled all that much, or even gave off a faint shimmer, but I turned up and I think my attempts at conversation made some kind of sense, in the main.
Sleepy Head
The rest of the week is a little bit of a blur, if I’m honest, with most of it being a Vaseline smeared soft focus type of affair (No, not like that. Clean your mind out). Events unfolded as events tend to, but it all seemed a little far away, a little muted in colour and sound. Again it was sleep that came to my rescue and this time it was a mega-dose of that most marvellous medicine.
We are now talking about yesterday (Saturday, that is). A day that saw me sleep in. Now again, just to provide a little context, I am usually a reasonably early riser. Left to my own devices, with no alarm to waken me, nor drugs to knock me out, I will wake sometime between eight and nine o’clock, which I think is not too shabby for a jobless, feckless, meanderer like myself. Not this particular day though, no. This day I didn’t wake until well after eleven o’clock. To be honest I’m still slightly disgusted by this errant behaviour, even more so when today saw me almost hit double figures once more but, as my wife, Tina has very wisely remarked, I must have needed it and as I mention in my opening remarks I do feel a whole lot better for the prolonged rest.
The Disease-y Life
I guess that it’s all just a symptom of the disease, a symptom of how life is for me right now. It certainly rings very, very true in regards to spoon theory (something I posted about HERE), but perhaps with more a low build up rather than the rather sudden and explosive tiredness the author of that theory experiences. It certainly puts paid to one thing in any case, and that’s the nagging feeling that I should be working. That life should be a little more productive than it is, that I should be bringing in a wage to help support myself and my wife rather that just about surviving on benefits. It’s a fine thought when I’m sat on the couch watching telly, but this week has shown just how little it takes to show the improbability of anything close to a nine-to-five, or, really, any hours that might take some degree of concentration.
It’s ironic, or very possibly not, that in a week when I’ve finished the first draft of what may, in some alternative reality, turn out to be very nearly a book (only one month late too!) that life has shown me just how utterly draining doing something like that, other than the odd hour or two here and there, can be. I guess the take away is to take it easy on myself, both in itinerary and self-blame, and to focus a little more on quality rather than quantity. That seems to be the way forward. The way of sustainability. Yeah, that seems to be the way.
Now on with that second draft!
Until next time.
Now on with that second draft!
Until next time.
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