When I wrote my last post I fully intended to write again very soon, but for one reason or another I haven't been able to. I've written my next post in my head several times, with it being different each time because of what's been going on at the time, but because of that I've also rather lost track of how long it is since I actually managed to post anything. At last I'm here, albeit two and a half months since my last posting.
So what's been going on for me? Well, it's been the summer and traditionally a time when folk go on holiday. I haven't really been on holiday as such, but I have been up to Edinburgh to stay with my mum on two occasions, each time for about a week. I've taken the kitten - Isobel Artemis - with me each time and she's had no problem with the car journeys or getting used to a different environment, and has really loved darting up and down the stairs at Mum's. I don't have stairs in my flat, so Isobel's first encounter with stairs was at Mum's, and each time we've visited she's had great fun galloping up and down them, sounding like she's wearing boots. She's five months old now, and although young for it, she was spayed last week, mostly because she's desperate to investigate the outside world, but I don't want to risk her getting pregnant. She's healing well, and hasn't had any problems at all, which has been a huge relief because I was worried that she was a little too young, even though the vet said she'd be fine because she's quite 'long for her age'. I am completely besotted with Isobel and she's giving me so much pleasure and delight.
At the middle of July/beginning of August I spent two weeks in hospital with my asthma. I'd had a brilliant couple of days down in London for the Monty Python show and then drove back home on the Thursday. I wanted to be back home in time for choir as it was the last Flotsam rehearsal before the summer break and we were singing at the wedding of a couple of choir members at the end of August. In the end I decided to go straight to Flotsam so that I didn't have that post-drive slump at home and have to go out again almost straight away, but then as I was approaching Gateshead I realised that I was going to arrive a bit too soon so I decided to stop at the Angel of the North. I was absolutely fine when I arrived and when I got out of the car, and fine when I got the wheelchair out of the car and had a little trundle around, but very quickly and suddenly I became extremely ill. I couldn't breathe and my chest felt incredibly tight. I got out my nebuliser and started to use it, but I could feel myself going - the world was going black and I was about to pass out. I knew that if I passed out then I would die. I could see an elderly man sitting on a nearby bench, watching me, looking concerned, but he didn't approach me or ask if I needed help, and then he started to disappear into the encroaching blackness. Just as I was resigning myself to dying under the gaze of an angel, the drugs in my nebuliser started to kick in, the blackness started to dissipate, and my breathing started to ease. For the first time ever I went from being absolutely fine to incredibly ill to fairly okay again in one 'sitting.' It was a huge relief, but also very confusing because I didn't know how to deal with this new situation - would I continue to be okay? Should I go to hospital? Would I be alright if I went home?
When I got back in the car I looked in the mirror and could see that I was far from being the right colour, but my breathing did feel a lot better than they had done and I thought I was probably okay to drive ... although, in retrospect, I probably ought not to have done. I had been very scared by what had just happened and was feeling rather shocked by it, all of which probably contributed to my decision to leave getting checked out until the next day. In the meantime I decided that I would go to choir as planned because it was probably safer for me to be with people in the immediate aftermath of this than to go home and be alone all evening.
It took a long time - a good couple of hours - for me to get back to being the right colour, and during choir I was sweating a great deal and not feeling well, although my breathing remained okay given what had occurred on the way. Perhaps because of the fear of the attack at the angel and being so close to passing out, I didn't tell anyone at the time quite how poorly I'd been (it would be like admitting it to myself), but I did go straight home afterwards rather than join others in the pub for an end of term drink. And when I got home I was exhausted.
I had every intention of phoning my GP the next day to get checked over, and I set my alarm to wake me in time to phone for an appointment, but when morning arrived I was too tired to move. I tried to wake up, but I couldn't. My head didn't feel right. In fact it hadn't felt right since I'd almost passed out in the asthma attack - it felt thick and heavy and I couldn't really think straight. I went back to sleep, telling myself that I'd phone the doctor soon, but as the day progressed I wasn't able to stay awake long enough to make the call, and I was fumbling around doing my nebs practically in my sleep. I don't know what happened to the day, but it disappeared, and the next thing I knew my carer for the day was calling my name from the hall. I hadn't heard her ring the bell, knock on the door, or even phone me up, so she'd got the code for my keysafe and let herself in. I managed to explain what had happened, but I still wasn't right, and she said that I seemed a bit confused. I said that I wasn't, that I was just tired, but actually I think I was confused. The carer stayed a while, made me a drink (I didn't want anything to eat), and phoned the office/on-call to tell them what had happened and how I was, and then she had to go.
I can't remember much about that weekend, except that my head didn't feel right and my lungs were slipping again. My GP surgery is closed at weekends and I don't like A&E (plus, I didn't think I really needed to go to A&E) so I was hanging on for Monday. When Monday morning arrived I managed to wake up to make the call to the surgery, got an appointment with one of the doctors, and went straight up to the surgery. Part of me must have known that I'd end up in hospital because I had checked my hospital bag was ready, but part of me was still in denial, or maybe not thinking properly, so I didn't gather my meds together or take anything with me to the surgery. The doctor was lovely, but clearly concerned so had me admitted to my usual ward at Freeman Hospital via an ambulance straight from the surgery.
At first the docs on the ward didn't do very much for me, but I could feel my lungs getting slowly tighter, and the nurses who know me well were concerned for me. My consultant was off (his first sick leave in his whole career), and the registrar had opted to wait and see how things went with me before doing anything proactive, which was tiring and frustrating for me. I didn't see the point of being in hospital if they weren't going to do anything different from what I could do and was doing at home, besides which I could feel my lungs getting slowly tighter and tighter. The following day they agreed that the time had come to intervene and they put up the aminophylline infusion, which slowly, slowly did its thing and I started to get better, except that then the docs were too eager to get it down, despite my telling them that I need to be weaned off it very slowly. It all went pear-shaped and I ended up back on it very soon after it'd first come down. This time they kept it up until I was more stable, and as far as I remember it was up until after my consultant came back to work and could oversee the whole the process. Eventually I was well enough to be free of the aminophylline infusion, and I could start to get some better rest before going home.
I was discharged two weeks after being admitted. The general consensus was that there was most likely something at the Angel of the North to which I'm allergic - a pollen of some kind, probably - and that the confusion and headaches had been due to the lack of oxygen to my brain when I was so acutely unwell. These seemed to get better with time and rest, although I was still extremely tired for about a week after I got home and did very, very little other than sleep or lie in bed for my first week home.
Since then my lungs have settled back into their usual state of unpredictability, but I've got back into life, taking each day as it comes. I've been up to Edinburgh once since then and had some Mum TLC, which is always good for recovery from poorliness, and I've seen various friends at various times too, which help my spirits and remind me how lucky I am to have such lovely people in my life.
There have been a few other medical things going on throughout the summer and recent weeks too, but I'll post about them separately because otherwise it might be overload for both me and you. Besides which, I've just noticed that it's almost 1.40am and I really ought to take myself to bed if I'm to have any chance of seeing any of tomorrow morning, which I'd like to do as I've been enjoying the sunny September weather. So for now I'll bid you goodnight and I'll take Isobel for a cuddle in bed.
Showing posts with label Flotsam. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flotsam. Show all posts
Sunday, 14 September 2014
Monday, 30 December 2013
Review of the year 2013
It's that time again when many of us take some time to look back at the year that has been. 2013 has been a difficult year for me, but I'm still going to do the annual review, so here goes...
1. What has been your biggest achievement this year? Probably just surviving it. It's been tough in many different ways, and there were lots of times when I really doubted that I would get through. I'm still alive, and I reckon that's a huge achievement for this year.
2. What made you laugh most this year? Hmm ... I've had some good laughs with friends, particularly R and M. Other than that, probably (repeats of) the TV show 'Miranda'. Oh, and I went to see Eddie Izzard earlier in the year too, and he was very funny.
3. What unfulfilled hopes do you have for this past year? I really wanted to get my book about my asthma finished, but I had a long, long time this year when I wasn't able to write at all. I've done a bit to add to it, but not enough.
4. What has been your favourite/most listened to piece of music this year? Hmm, tricky ... Probably not one single piece of music. I've gone back to listening to a lot of church choral music this year, maybe because I've done more singing again. I miss taking part in that kind of music, making the music, but I do love listening to it, so I've listened to a lot of CDs of excellent church/cathedral choirs singing anthems and canticles.
5. What was your best holiday this year? I've only had one holiday this year - when I went to Dorset, with stop-offs on the way and way back at Stratford and Derbyshire. It was excellent, and revitalising.
6. What new skill, if any, have you acquired this year? I'm not sure that I have. I'll have a think and get back to you if I come up with anything, but I'm not sure there's anything.
7. What's the best book you've read this year? Oh gosh. I usually read a lot, but for much of this year I found it very difficult to concentrate on reading so I've only read about eight books! However, the best of those was probably 'Tuesdays with Morrie' by Mitch Albom. It's a memoir based around Mitch Albom's weekly meetings with his old university professor who now, twenty years after their first meeting, is dying. It's a moving book, with both sadness and joy, but always full of life.
8. What has been the biggest challenge of this year? Depression and the various reasons behind it, but particularly one very difficult situation that I haven't been able to write about on my blog, but that had repercussions through many aspects of my life. In some rather complicated ways it got kind of tangled up with physical health stuff as well as depression, but things are at last settling.
9. What is your happiest/fondest memory of this year? Despite the year's difficulties, I've been extremely lucky to have the friends I do, and my fondest memories of this year are those of fabulous friends who have shown me such love and gentleness, often at times when I was at my lowest.
10. Of what one creation of the past year are you most proud or pleased? I'm pretty pleased with some of the writing I have managed to do for my book, maybe in part because it's been so challenging to write, but if we're thinking of more artistic creations then I guess the piece of glass that I made at a glass workshop in November. So far as skill is concerned, there was very little in it, but I know the frame of mind I had been in the morning of that day, how insecure and incapable I'd been feeling. I got the fired pieces back just before Christmas, and I'm really pleased with the main piece that I spent most of the workshop working on.
11. What new hobby did you take up/old hobby did you reinstate this year? Singing. Actually, that's not strictly true, because I helped to start up Flotsam (the choir) at the end of 2012, but I've kept at it this year, despite the hospital admissions and various health problems. This year I also took part in the Christmas choir at church, which I haven't done for about three years. We don't usually have a choir at the church I go to, but every year at Christmas those of us who want have six or seven rehearsals in the weeks running up to Christmas and 'perform' at the service of Nine Lessons and Carols. It was lovely to be a part of that again.
12. What one thing would you really like to do next year? Finish writing my book about my asthma.
13. What was the saddest thing of this year? There has been a lot of sadness this year. One was at the beginning of the year when my dad had to move in to a care home; another, just a few short weeks ago, was the death of my wonderful friend Caroline.
14. What has been your best discovery of this year? Probably the company Good Wine Online who specialise in sulphite-free and low-sulphite wines. I'm extremely allergic to sulphites and have missed having a glass of wine, because sulphite-free wines are practically impossible to find in the shops. I was very, very lucky to be given a case of twelve bottles of wine from GWO from my brother and sister-in-law for Christmas.
15. What news story of this year has had the biggest impact on you/do you most remember? Gosh, a year of many news stories, with many of them being of particular note. Possibly the two international news stories that I most remember are 1) The chemical weapons attack on the children in Syria; and 2) The gunmen's siege of the shopping centre in South Africa. Having said that, the news of Nelson Mandela's death was also significant. I think a lot of the news stories about freak weather events, both abroad and in the UK, have also had a big impact on me - things that no-one can prevent and have potential to affect all regardless of status or wealth. There seem to be increasing numbers of wild weather events causing widespread devastation.
16. What's the best film you've seen this year? Another year when I haven't seen even half of the films I've wanted to see. I've yet to see Philomena or Gravity, both of which or on my list to see before it's too late. Perhaps the best film I saw this year was Les Miserables.
17. What was your best buy this year? I think that has to be my Ugg boots. Obviously I didn't get much wear from them through the summer, but they were great through the very cold spring and excellent again now. My mum helped me buy them, and they were at her suggestion after I got frostbite in three of my toes in my left foot in February (actually, the night I went to see Les Miserables at the cinema). My big toe has never fully recovered, and the circulation in my feet seems to be pretty poor, but the Ugg boots certainly help to keep my feet cosy.
18. What has been your best day out this year? I was thinking about this in bed earlier today, trying to think of days out that I've had, and you know, they've been rather few and far between this year. I had a nice day out with my brother, Dad, and step-mum around Easter time (I think my brother came up on his own, without his wife or children). We went to Belsay and had a walk/trundle through the quarry garden to the castle. Other than that, the other day/part-day out that sticks out was the glass workshop I mentioned earlier.
19. If there’s one thing you did this year that you’d do differently if you could, what would it be? There was a misunderstanding and over-reaction (on my part) that led to an argument with an online friend. It was resolved relatively quickly with the person it was actually with, but someone else jumped in on the act and raised it again months later. If I could change that initial argument, misunderstanding, and over-reaction, I would.
20. Is there anywhere you'd like to visit next year? Yes, there's a place nearby that opened almost two years ago, but to which I haven't yet been and want to. It's a sculptured landscape called Northumberlandia and is only about 20 minutes drive away so I really don't have any excuse.
21. Name one thing you did this year that you'd like to do again? The glass workshop. Once I let go of the mangle of stuff in my head that day, I had a wonderful time and thoroughly enjoyed it. I know that I will do it again because I got a voucher for Christmas from my step-dad for a full day's workshop at the same place :o)
22. Who gave you the best advice this year? My psychologist. She's given me lots of advice, or at least helped me to find my own advice, seeing as that's how therapy kind of works. Actually, one of the best pieces of advice she did clearly give me was to share with my friends that I was depressed. I was distancing myself from people, from my friends, in the fear that they'd distance themselves from me if they knew that I was depressed. S made me realise the paradox in this and helped me to question the helpfulness of my action. She suggested I tell some of them. I have been blessed with wonderful friends who have embraced me in my depression and loved me through it. I know it's not easy for them, but they've stayed with me all the same. I thank God for them, and I thank S for her advice.
23. What new skill would you like to acquire next year? I've forgotten the scraps of crochet that I learnt last year, but I'd like to learn to do it, and this time properly. I need to persevere with it once I've started, and really acquire it as a skill.
24. What was your favourite TV/radio programme this year? Broadchurch I think I missed the first episode, but I saw the second with my mum and J when they were staying with me for a couple of days. I got completely sucked in to it and loved it. I was ridiculously excited when I discovered that West Bay, near where I went on my holiday, was where Broadchurch was filmed. Fab. Can't wait for a second series.
25. What would you like to make more time for next year? Writing. I have lots of time. In many ways, far too much time, but I need to make sure that I dedicate a decent amount of that time to writing. I need to stop thinking about it and just do it. I need to stop talking about it and just do it. I just need to do it.
26. What has been the biggest disappointment this year? Most of the year has been a huge disappointment, and perhaps the resurgence of depression has been one of the biggest disappointments. Some of the causes of some of that depression have maybe been bigger disappointments, but I suppose that ultimately I've been hugely disappointed in myself. I have lost direction and lost some of myself, and that is an enormous disappointment.
27. What was the best or most enjoyable concert you went to this year? Nigel Kennedy He's an odd chap, but a fantastic violinist, and his concert was amazing. A huge mix of straight baroque, jazzed up baroque, and jazz, with a big eastern European influence at times.
28. What do you think was the best thing that you did for yourself during the last year? Stood my ground when I needed to, even though it was incredibly difficult. I sought the help that I needed to stand my ground, and to get through the protracted aftermath of it. It was terrible in many ways, but has also been a huge relief - a step to getting myself back.
29. What is the biggest difference in yourself from this time last year? I'm no longer in an abusive situation and I'm finding my way through the damage that was done.
30. What are you most looking forward to about next year? Time with friends and time with family. It's both my mum's and step-dad's 70th birthdays next year, and between the two they're having a joint birthday week away with all the family. There's going to be immediate family like myself, my brothers, and my step-dad's brothers, but also extended family of my step-dad's nephews and their families. I think various people will be coming and going through the week, but there's going to be one day of particular celebration when all those who can only come for the day will join us. I'm really looking forward to the time away and the time with family.
3. What unfulfilled hopes do you have for this past year? I really wanted to get my book about my asthma finished, but I had a long, long time this year when I wasn't able to write at all. I've done a bit to add to it, but not enough.
4. What has been your favourite/most listened to piece of music this year? Hmm, tricky ... Probably not one single piece of music. I've gone back to listening to a lot of church choral music this year, maybe because I've done more singing again. I miss taking part in that kind of music, making the music, but I do love listening to it, so I've listened to a lot of CDs of excellent church/cathedral choirs singing anthems and canticles.
5. What was your best holiday this year? I've only had one holiday this year - when I went to Dorset, with stop-offs on the way and way back at Stratford and Derbyshire. It was excellent, and revitalising.
6. What new skill, if any, have you acquired this year? I'm not sure that I have. I'll have a think and get back to you if I come up with anything, but I'm not sure there's anything.
7. What's the best book you've read this year? Oh gosh. I usually read a lot, but for much of this year I found it very difficult to concentrate on reading so I've only read about eight books! However, the best of those was probably 'Tuesdays with Morrie' by Mitch Albom. It's a memoir based around Mitch Albom's weekly meetings with his old university professor who now, twenty years after their first meeting, is dying. It's a moving book, with both sadness and joy, but always full of life.
8. What has been the biggest challenge of this year? Depression and the various reasons behind it, but particularly one very difficult situation that I haven't been able to write about on my blog, but that had repercussions through many aspects of my life. In some rather complicated ways it got kind of tangled up with physical health stuff as well as depression, but things are at last settling.
9. What is your happiest/fondest memory of this year? Despite the year's difficulties, I've been extremely lucky to have the friends I do, and my fondest memories of this year are those of fabulous friends who have shown me such love and gentleness, often at times when I was at my lowest.
10. Of what one creation of the past year are you most proud or pleased? I'm pretty pleased with some of the writing I have managed to do for my book, maybe in part because it's been so challenging to write, but if we're thinking of more artistic creations then I guess the piece of glass that I made at a glass workshop in November. So far as skill is concerned, there was very little in it, but I know the frame of mind I had been in the morning of that day, how insecure and incapable I'd been feeling. I got the fired pieces back just before Christmas, and I'm really pleased with the main piece that I spent most of the workshop working on.
11. What new hobby did you take up/old hobby did you reinstate this year? Singing. Actually, that's not strictly true, because I helped to start up Flotsam (the choir) at the end of 2012, but I've kept at it this year, despite the hospital admissions and various health problems. This year I also took part in the Christmas choir at church, which I haven't done for about three years. We don't usually have a choir at the church I go to, but every year at Christmas those of us who want have six or seven rehearsals in the weeks running up to Christmas and 'perform' at the service of Nine Lessons and Carols. It was lovely to be a part of that again.
12. What one thing would you really like to do next year? Finish writing my book about my asthma.
13. What was the saddest thing of this year? There has been a lot of sadness this year. One was at the beginning of the year when my dad had to move in to a care home; another, just a few short weeks ago, was the death of my wonderful friend Caroline.
14. What has been your best discovery of this year? Probably the company Good Wine Online who specialise in sulphite-free and low-sulphite wines. I'm extremely allergic to sulphites and have missed having a glass of wine, because sulphite-free wines are practically impossible to find in the shops. I was very, very lucky to be given a case of twelve bottles of wine from GWO from my brother and sister-in-law for Christmas.
15. What news story of this year has had the biggest impact on you/do you most remember? Gosh, a year of many news stories, with many of them being of particular note. Possibly the two international news stories that I most remember are 1) The chemical weapons attack on the children in Syria; and 2) The gunmen's siege of the shopping centre in South Africa. Having said that, the news of Nelson Mandela's death was also significant. I think a lot of the news stories about freak weather events, both abroad and in the UK, have also had a big impact on me - things that no-one can prevent and have potential to affect all regardless of status or wealth. There seem to be increasing numbers of wild weather events causing widespread devastation.
16. What's the best film you've seen this year? Another year when I haven't seen even half of the films I've wanted to see. I've yet to see Philomena or Gravity, both of which or on my list to see before it's too late. Perhaps the best film I saw this year was Les Miserables.
17. What was your best buy this year? I think that has to be my Ugg boots. Obviously I didn't get much wear from them through the summer, but they were great through the very cold spring and excellent again now. My mum helped me buy them, and they were at her suggestion after I got frostbite in three of my toes in my left foot in February (actually, the night I went to see Les Miserables at the cinema). My big toe has never fully recovered, and the circulation in my feet seems to be pretty poor, but the Ugg boots certainly help to keep my feet cosy.
18. What has been your best day out this year? I was thinking about this in bed earlier today, trying to think of days out that I've had, and you know, they've been rather few and far between this year. I had a nice day out with my brother, Dad, and step-mum around Easter time (I think my brother came up on his own, without his wife or children). We went to Belsay and had a walk/trundle through the quarry garden to the castle. Other than that, the other day/part-day out that sticks out was the glass workshop I mentioned earlier.
19. If there’s one thing you did this year that you’d do differently if you could, what would it be? There was a misunderstanding and over-reaction (on my part) that led to an argument with an online friend. It was resolved relatively quickly with the person it was actually with, but someone else jumped in on the act and raised it again months later. If I could change that initial argument, misunderstanding, and over-reaction, I would.
20. Is there anywhere you'd like to visit next year? Yes, there's a place nearby that opened almost two years ago, but to which I haven't yet been and want to. It's a sculptured landscape called Northumberlandia and is only about 20 minutes drive away so I really don't have any excuse.
21. Name one thing you did this year that you'd like to do again? The glass workshop. Once I let go of the mangle of stuff in my head that day, I had a wonderful time and thoroughly enjoyed it. I know that I will do it again because I got a voucher for Christmas from my step-dad for a full day's workshop at the same place :o)
22. Who gave you the best advice this year? My psychologist. She's given me lots of advice, or at least helped me to find my own advice, seeing as that's how therapy kind of works. Actually, one of the best pieces of advice she did clearly give me was to share with my friends that I was depressed. I was distancing myself from people, from my friends, in the fear that they'd distance themselves from me if they knew that I was depressed. S made me realise the paradox in this and helped me to question the helpfulness of my action. She suggested I tell some of them. I have been blessed with wonderful friends who have embraced me in my depression and loved me through it. I know it's not easy for them, but they've stayed with me all the same. I thank God for them, and I thank S for her advice.
23. What new skill would you like to acquire next year? I've forgotten the scraps of crochet that I learnt last year, but I'd like to learn to do it, and this time properly. I need to persevere with it once I've started, and really acquire it as a skill.
24. What was your favourite TV/radio programme this year? Broadchurch I think I missed the first episode, but I saw the second with my mum and J when they were staying with me for a couple of days. I got completely sucked in to it and loved it. I was ridiculously excited when I discovered that West Bay, near where I went on my holiday, was where Broadchurch was filmed. Fab. Can't wait for a second series.
25. What would you like to make more time for next year? Writing. I have lots of time. In many ways, far too much time, but I need to make sure that I dedicate a decent amount of that time to writing. I need to stop thinking about it and just do it. I need to stop talking about it and just do it. I just need to do it.
26. What has been the biggest disappointment this year? Most of the year has been a huge disappointment, and perhaps the resurgence of depression has been one of the biggest disappointments. Some of the causes of some of that depression have maybe been bigger disappointments, but I suppose that ultimately I've been hugely disappointed in myself. I have lost direction and lost some of myself, and that is an enormous disappointment.
27. What was the best or most enjoyable concert you went to this year? Nigel Kennedy He's an odd chap, but a fantastic violinist, and his concert was amazing. A huge mix of straight baroque, jazzed up baroque, and jazz, with a big eastern European influence at times.
28. What do you think was the best thing that you did for yourself during the last year? Stood my ground when I needed to, even though it was incredibly difficult. I sought the help that I needed to stand my ground, and to get through the protracted aftermath of it. It was terrible in many ways, but has also been a huge relief - a step to getting myself back.
29. What is the biggest difference in yourself from this time last year? I'm no longer in an abusive situation and I'm finding my way through the damage that was done.
30. What are you most looking forward to about next year? Time with friends and time with family. It's both my mum's and step-dad's 70th birthdays next year, and between the two they're having a joint birthday week away with all the family. There's going to be immediate family like myself, my brothers, and my step-dad's brothers, but also extended family of my step-dad's nephews and their families. I think various people will be coming and going through the week, but there's going to be one day of particular celebration when all those who can only come for the day will join us. I'm really looking forward to the time away and the time with family.
Saturday, 9 November 2013
A little bit of a few things
I'm far too aware that it's far, far too long that I wrote a proper post, any post at all in fact, but particularly a proper one. I haven't even finished showing you photos of my holiday, but it's even longer since I actually wrote anything. Part of my absence is because I've been trying to gather myself. This year has been tough, very tough, in many different ways. I've shared some of the depression here, and some of the physical illness, and some of the other stresses, but there's been a fair bit that I haven't shared. Some of it I can't talk about here, not yet anyway, but I think it's enough for the moment just to say that there's more going on behind the scenes than most are aware of.
I've needed a bit of space. My holiday helped, but there's always a certain amount of post-holiday gathering that needs to be done to get one back in to the real world. That can be tough when the real world has been tough.
I still have a fair amount going on - difficult things/situations to deal with - but I'm slowly beginning to feel a bit more ... more me. I think the start of term has helped somewhat, not that I'm a student these days, but choir (Flotsam) only runs through term time, and it just feels like there's generally a bit more structure around with other things going on. Having said that, I did sign up for a short writing course at Newcastle University again. It's actually a course - Memoir Writing - that I did as a module towards my MA, but the short modules are open to the public too. After not having my brain function in the right way for 'proper writing' almost all year, I was feeling closed up, blocked, trapped, and I thought that the short course might help to open things up again. It did. Six weeks of prompting, encouragement, recapping on technical aspects, etc really helped, and I wrote close to 10,000 words towards my book. After almost a year of practically zero words, that's a huge improvement. I hope I can keep up the momentum, but finding motivation for anything is still challenging at times.
One major difference between now and a few months ago is that I am able to look forward to things. I was trying to keep putting things in the diary before, but mustering up a sense of excited anticipation for anything I would ordinary have looked forward to wasn't happening. I'm a way up that hole now and can enjoy the anticipation of good things ahead. Last weekend I went over to a friend's for chocolate fondue with a few others to help R celebrate her birthday. I had a lovely evening with lovely people, lovely fondue, and a fun game of Apples to Apples, which I'd never heard of before.
On Tuesday a couple of us went to a local fireworks display. Twenty to thirty minutes or so of colourful explosions filling the dark November sky really does help to blow dust from the brain - that and friendship :o)
Tomorrow afternoon I'm joining some friends for a workshop in glass work. I'm not quite sure what it's going to involve, but I'm really looking forward to it. The anticipation of fun with others, learning something new, something creative, making something, it's all good, and I love that I can enjoy the anticipation.
There's been some health stuff going on over the past couple of weeks. I don't really want to discuss it at the moment because I don't have firm answers yet. I've had various blood tests, and have another - hopefully the last for a while - on Monday, after which I'm hoping my GP will give me some of those answers. When he does I'll tell you about it, but to be honest, I've been finding it all rather overwhelming lately and haven't wanted to think about it too much while I still don't have a truly confirmed diagnosis, even though the doctor is 90% certain of his preliminary diagnosis.
Part of the process of gathering myself has been evaluating where I'm at in a slightly more general way than just the immediate present. For quite some time I've had ideas of possibilities for myself and my life, but they all ground to a halt when I got trapped in the great pit of depression. In reality, the possibilities never really disappeared, but I was so far down the pit that I couldn't see the possibilities over the top of the hole. I'm climbing out of that pit now, and every so often I get a little glimpse of things that are waiting at the top. I've caught sight of one of those possibilities, and after failing to believe it for a while, I'm now thinking that maybe it could happen - maybe I'll get out of the pit, climb over the edge, and have those possibilities become realities. I'm digging a foothold in to the edge of this hole to give me more of a grasp to the edge. I'm trying to climb up and eventually out, and one of the things I've done that I'm hoping will get me out is arrange a meeting. I have a meeting next week with one of the professors in the English department at Newcastle University to informally discuss the possibilities of doing a PhD in creative writing. There are a lot of things around it to discuss, with funding being a major issue, and my health not being insignificant either, but it's something I want to do. I do. I really want to do it. You know, even ten years ago I didn't think I was intelligent enough even to do an undergraduate degree, but I got a First class honours in my BA. I actually started my post graduate studies during my last year of my undergraduate degree so got my Post Graduate Certificate in creative writing within a month of undergrad degree ceremony. A year later I got my MA. I want to go further. I want to do a PhD, and not just for the sake of it, or to prove anything to myself or anyone else. I want to do it because I love learning, I know what my proposal would be, I know what I want to get out of it, and there might be possibilities for me once I've done it. The earliest I could possibly start would be next September, but I know too what I would do between now and then - the book that I've been working on for a while. The meeting next Wednesday is one huge mass of possibilities, and the outcome of it could have a huge impact on the rest of my life, even though it's informal.
This, all of this, the possibility of a PhD, the love of education, what I get from writing, what I hope I give through writing, my music, my singing, my health, my creativity, my friends, my friendships, fireworks, games, fondue, and words, these are the things that help make up me. These are my possibilities. These are all important in rediscovering myself. Gathering them all together again, back in to the pot of me, takes time because they've been spilled out and scattered in dark corners of the pit, but I'm finding them again, and I'm more hopeful that before too long I'll be standing at the top of that deep hole and shouting, 'Hello folks, I'm me again.'
I've needed a bit of space. My holiday helped, but there's always a certain amount of post-holiday gathering that needs to be done to get one back in to the real world. That can be tough when the real world has been tough.
I still have a fair amount going on - difficult things/situations to deal with - but I'm slowly beginning to feel a bit more ... more me. I think the start of term has helped somewhat, not that I'm a student these days, but choir (Flotsam) only runs through term time, and it just feels like there's generally a bit more structure around with other things going on. Having said that, I did sign up for a short writing course at Newcastle University again. It's actually a course - Memoir Writing - that I did as a module towards my MA, but the short modules are open to the public too. After not having my brain function in the right way for 'proper writing' almost all year, I was feeling closed up, blocked, trapped, and I thought that the short course might help to open things up again. It did. Six weeks of prompting, encouragement, recapping on technical aspects, etc really helped, and I wrote close to 10,000 words towards my book. After almost a year of practically zero words, that's a huge improvement. I hope I can keep up the momentum, but finding motivation for anything is still challenging at times.
One major difference between now and a few months ago is that I am able to look forward to things. I was trying to keep putting things in the diary before, but mustering up a sense of excited anticipation for anything I would ordinary have looked forward to wasn't happening. I'm a way up that hole now and can enjoy the anticipation of good things ahead. Last weekend I went over to a friend's for chocolate fondue with a few others to help R celebrate her birthday. I had a lovely evening with lovely people, lovely fondue, and a fun game of Apples to Apples, which I'd never heard of before.
On Tuesday a couple of us went to a local fireworks display. Twenty to thirty minutes or so of colourful explosions filling the dark November sky really does help to blow dust from the brain - that and friendship :o)
Tomorrow afternoon I'm joining some friends for a workshop in glass work. I'm not quite sure what it's going to involve, but I'm really looking forward to it. The anticipation of fun with others, learning something new, something creative, making something, it's all good, and I love that I can enjoy the anticipation.
There's been some health stuff going on over the past couple of weeks. I don't really want to discuss it at the moment because I don't have firm answers yet. I've had various blood tests, and have another - hopefully the last for a while - on Monday, after which I'm hoping my GP will give me some of those answers. When he does I'll tell you about it, but to be honest, I've been finding it all rather overwhelming lately and haven't wanted to think about it too much while I still don't have a truly confirmed diagnosis, even though the doctor is 90% certain of his preliminary diagnosis.
Part of the process of gathering myself has been evaluating where I'm at in a slightly more general way than just the immediate present. For quite some time I've had ideas of possibilities for myself and my life, but they all ground to a halt when I got trapped in the great pit of depression. In reality, the possibilities never really disappeared, but I was so far down the pit that I couldn't see the possibilities over the top of the hole. I'm climbing out of that pit now, and every so often I get a little glimpse of things that are waiting at the top. I've caught sight of one of those possibilities, and after failing to believe it for a while, I'm now thinking that maybe it could happen - maybe I'll get out of the pit, climb over the edge, and have those possibilities become realities. I'm digging a foothold in to the edge of this hole to give me more of a grasp to the edge. I'm trying to climb up and eventually out, and one of the things I've done that I'm hoping will get me out is arrange a meeting. I have a meeting next week with one of the professors in the English department at Newcastle University to informally discuss the possibilities of doing a PhD in creative writing. There are a lot of things around it to discuss, with funding being a major issue, and my health not being insignificant either, but it's something I want to do. I do. I really want to do it. You know, even ten years ago I didn't think I was intelligent enough even to do an undergraduate degree, but I got a First class honours in my BA. I actually started my post graduate studies during my last year of my undergraduate degree so got my Post Graduate Certificate in creative writing within a month of undergrad degree ceremony. A year later I got my MA. I want to go further. I want to do a PhD, and not just for the sake of it, or to prove anything to myself or anyone else. I want to do it because I love learning, I know what my proposal would be, I know what I want to get out of it, and there might be possibilities for me once I've done it. The earliest I could possibly start would be next September, but I know too what I would do between now and then - the book that I've been working on for a while. The meeting next Wednesday is one huge mass of possibilities, and the outcome of it could have a huge impact on the rest of my life, even though it's informal.
This, all of this, the possibility of a PhD, the love of education, what I get from writing, what I hope I give through writing, my music, my singing, my health, my creativity, my friends, my friendships, fireworks, games, fondue, and words, these are the things that help make up me. These are my possibilities. These are all important in rediscovering myself. Gathering them all together again, back in to the pot of me, takes time because they've been spilled out and scattered in dark corners of the pit, but I'm finding them again, and I'm more hopeful that before too long I'll be standing at the top of that deep hole and shouting, 'Hello folks, I'm me again.'
Tuesday, 25 June 2013
The pit and the monster
I think I've said before how, some time ago, I came to the understanding that depression is a monster that tells you lies. I've used this analogy a lot in my psychology sessions, and it's come to represent depression itself as a beast. I've described the experience of depression probably as many others have done - like being in a deep pit. Whilst it's quite an easy and obvious metaphor, it's also quite useful, because emerging from depression isn't usually (unlike my previous miraculous experience) a change that happens in an instant. Rather, there is a slow recovery, a gradual relief that can be difficult to see happening whilst you're in the experience. Using the analogy of the pit kind of gives a scale to the depression ... it means you can sort of describe how far down or up the pit you are; whether or not there are any signs of life in the soil or above the hole; whether or not you can see light at the top of the pit; how muddy the pit is and whether or not it's sucking you down further; and whether or not there's anything around that you can use to get out of the pit. I also imagine that the vicious beast - monster - of depression lives at the bottom of the pit, and the closer I am to the bottom, the louder and more numerous are the lies it is telling me about myself.
I was talking with my psychologist again during the last session about where in the pit I see myself as being at the moment. A couple of weeks ago, when I wrote Away with it, I/we thought that I was maybe half way up - things were still very difficult, but there was a bit of light at the top of the pit, and perhaps there was a worm (a sign of life) wiggling a little way out of a hole in the side of the pit. Talking in the last session, I said that I felt that I'd sunk a bit. I'm not on the bottom, like I was when at my worst point, but there was no sign of any worms for company, no signs of external life.
I often talk with my psychologist about the things that make me sink in to the pit, how I ended up there, etc, but my homework this week is to think about those things that have perhaps helped me to get off the bottom of the pit; the things that have helped me to ignore/challenge/not listen to the lies the monster tell me; the things that helped me to get as far up the pit as I managed to get before slipping back. It was suggested that perhaps I might write my thoughts about these things on my blog, and before the end of the session I'd decided that yes, I'd write about it here because, after all, I've shared with my blog readers much of my depression experience. This might take me a while because I haven't actually thought about it a great deal since my psychology session on Friday as my mum's been staying with me over the weekend. What follows will very much be me thinking out loud, so if it doesn't make a great deal of sense, that's why.
So, Things that have helped me so far in surviving/recovering from depression:
1. My psychologist and the sessions with her
S has been a constant for me during all of the distress. I have felt able to talk to her about anything and everything, sharing my darkest and most frightening thoughts, the true extent of my desperation. I've cried a thousand tears in front of her, broken down in uncontrollable sobs, and known that I've been safe to do so. I've trusted S with the most vulnerable and broken pieces of myself and known that none of it would be turned around and used against me (this is in contrast to someone else in an on-going situation, so has been a very pertinent point, and a significant trust). Unlike the multiple faces of the Crisis Assessment and Treatment Team (CATT), and the unreliable presence of the CPN, S has been there throughout without sessions being cancelled or postponed, and she is one person with whom I haven't continually had to relate the origins of my distress. Yes, S has been, and remains, vital in this process of defeating the beast and finding a way out of the pit.
2. Friends
I was terribly afraid of telling my friends that I was in the bottom of the pit and being devoured by the monster (and that's not how I put it to them when I did tell them). I was afraid because of all that I'd put them through during my previous severe (and very long) depression. I thought that maybe they'd be too afraid to stick around, not so much afraid of depression, but afraid of what depression has done to me before and how difficult that was for them to watch. So I tried to keep it from them this time. I tried to separate myself from them to pre-empt the pain I would feel if they couldn't cope with the depression again and opted to separate themselves from me. It turned out that all of that was one of the lies that the monster was telling me and got me to believe, because when I did ultimately 'come clean' to them about how desperate I was, they held me in their friendship. My close friends came to me, sat with me, and took gentle care of the pieces of me that they came across. They still do. They text, email, tweet, talk to me on FB, and come round to my flat. They encourage me to do things with them, to go places, and when I'm not physically well enough to do that, they come round. One of them has started tidying up my huge back yard for me so that it's a nice area for me to sit in or just to trundle through as my wheelchair access is at the back of the house. They encourage me to go out with them, meet them in the park for a trundle. They suggest that maybe they come over to bake cupcakes, just because it's a nice thing to do. They take me to shops I didn't know about to buy games for my Wii. One of them has sometimes phoned me in the middle of the night when she knows that I'm likely to be at me lowest, and she has talked with me for five hours, six hours, all through the night, during which time we've cried, we've laughed, we've done the whole spectrum of emotions and covered every subject imaginable and some you might not think about. They 'keep me safe' in all my insecurities about seeing mutual acquaintances in group situations that terrify me simply because I haven't seen others for so long and I dread the question, 'How are you?' One or two of those friends occasionally read my blog, and if those friends happen to read this I would like to say a sincere and heart-felt thank you. You are so very precious, and I hardly dare believe that I deserve such wonderful friends. Thank you.
3. Music
I've written a little about playing the piano again, and spending hours immersed in playing the violin again. I haven't been physically well enough to do any of that for several weeks now, but those were things I was doing when I was a little further up the pit than I currently am. But they haven't been the only musical things I've been doing. The choir I helped get up and running last year - Flotsam - is very important to me. Since being ill with the pyelonephritis again I've been too poorly to go to choir and I've found that really difficult. Choir gives me time with people (very important when I spend so much time on my own, unable to work, unable to get out much because of chronic ill-health) without having to interact too much with many if I'm feeling fragile. Choir gives me a place to belong, somewhere I can be a part of something good, a place where I'm the same as everyone else because we are all singing. Okay, so I can't be the same when they all stand to sing, but I'm kind of used to that, and it doesn't change the fact that I'm still singing just as they are. Flotsam's choir master is a dear friend who has known me (and I've known, obviously) since I was thirteen. He has seen me through some of the toughest times of my life, and even if I don't tell him any details, I always feel able to tell him if I'm not doing too well, and that has made Flotsam a very safe place to be. Of course, music itself can have an emotional effect, as I'm sure most of you have experienced for yourself, and the music we sing in Flotsam tends to be either uplifting or soothing. Music is also a part of me, something that has always been in my life, and has sometimes been my only way of expressing anything at all. It allows me to connect with the world - something in the world - that nothing else quite reaches, and it has been a creative outlet for me at a time when I've felt extremely stunted in my ability to creatively express myself in writing. It's not the same, but it helps.
4. Mum
During most of my previous deep depression I was largely unable to talk to my mum about any of my feelings. For various reasons I was angry with Mum, and I closed myself off from her. It was kind of necessary at the time, but there's been an enormous amount of healing that has gone on between us and we now have a wonderful relationship. Mum's support throughout this horrible time of depression has been invaluable and constant. She's phoned me often, but not intrusively so, and during the calls I've been able to tell her a lot of how I've been ... yes, at times I've held back from telling her everything, but in the end - maybe a few weeks down the line - I've been able to share most of those things too. Mum's been down to visit a few times, which has been very supportive, great company, and has provided much-needed TLC. Of course, there was also my trip up north to stay with her and J that unfortunately culminated in a hospital admission with pyelonephritis. Before I took ill, I was having a lovely, relaxed, gentle time with Mum and J, which felt nurturing and lightly refreshing. It was bad luck that I got so poorly and didn't really get over it while I was away so that it came back almost full-on shortly after getting home. The goodness gained by staying with Mum was largely erased, unfortunately, except that it helped me with number 5...
5. Making some decisions
Out of necessity, I'm going to be quite vague here. Firstly, there has been an on-going situation that has caused me a lot of distress. I'm not currently at liberty to expand on this for various reasons, but time with Mum, talking with Mum, and several in-depth conversations with my psychologist about the situation have led to me reaching a decision. I've yet to act on the decision made, but I'm working on it, and even coming to the conclusion that I have has helped.
There is another decision that I'm going to be equally vague about, but concerns something I've thought about a little in the past. I mentioned it to Mum when I was with her in Edinburgh, and since then have thought about a great deal. It's probably something for the long-view rather than to implement immediately, but I am beginning more detailed thinking about it, and have decided that I will most likely follow it through at some point. I think it's a good decision to have made, but will take considerable work. Anyway, enough of being vague.
6. Getting out
I've been too unwell with the recurrent pyelonephritis since coming home from Edinburgh to go out much at all. My days have been pain-filled and isolated as I've lain in bed or on the sofa trying to rest, trying to get/keep my temperature down, watching the clock for when the next antibiotic is due or pain killer can be taken, cuddling the cat whenever he's wanted and sometimes when he hasn't been too keen on it, watching daytime telly, and whiling away time on FaceBook. Before that I was trying really hard to make sure that I got out at least once a day. It might just have been to the shop, the park, a trundle around the local streets, or it might have been to town for some window shopping, or a wander along the quayside. I was avoiding driving anywhere because my concentration was so poor that I didn't trust myself to be safe, which meant that I couldn't take myself off to the coast - a place I usually manage to find some solace.
7. FaceBook
Okay, so this might sound strange to some, but I've found the contact with others through FaceBook valuable. At my very worst, when I wasn't able to tell my friends how I was, I didn't go there - I found it very, very difficult to interact with anyone in case I let it slip how I was - but when I did tell folk what was happening, FaceBook helped a lot. While I was isolated in my depression and by my difficulties in mixing effectively with others, I could roam around FB in the ethereal presence of others online. I have wasted many, many hours playing Bejeweled Blitz (sic) and Scrabble, clicking on links to You Tube videos posted by others, reading every status update of everyone on my friends list, and looking at millions of pictures of cats. To those of you who have never experienced depression and have busy, active lives may see all that time on FB as a total waste, but actually it's kept me connected to the world and reminded me of all people I know who are out there. It's given me something to do, and 'somewhere' to be.
I'm finding it very difficult now to think of other things that have helped. I'm sure there are more things, but I've been trying to write this list for three hours now and I'm brain-dead. Perhaps more will come to mind in the coming days, but I have more 'homework' to do ... and it's difficult, so it may be a while until I get back to you.
I was talking with my psychologist again during the last session about where in the pit I see myself as being at the moment. A couple of weeks ago, when I wrote Away with it, I/we thought that I was maybe half way up - things were still very difficult, but there was a bit of light at the top of the pit, and perhaps there was a worm (a sign of life) wiggling a little way out of a hole in the side of the pit. Talking in the last session, I said that I felt that I'd sunk a bit. I'm not on the bottom, like I was when at my worst point, but there was no sign of any worms for company, no signs of external life.
I often talk with my psychologist about the things that make me sink in to the pit, how I ended up there, etc, but my homework this week is to think about those things that have perhaps helped me to get off the bottom of the pit; the things that have helped me to ignore/challenge/not listen to the lies the monster tell me; the things that helped me to get as far up the pit as I managed to get before slipping back. It was suggested that perhaps I might write my thoughts about these things on my blog, and before the end of the session I'd decided that yes, I'd write about it here because, after all, I've shared with my blog readers much of my depression experience. This might take me a while because I haven't actually thought about it a great deal since my psychology session on Friday as my mum's been staying with me over the weekend. What follows will very much be me thinking out loud, so if it doesn't make a great deal of sense, that's why.
So, Things that have helped me so far in surviving/recovering from depression:
1. My psychologist and the sessions with her
S has been a constant for me during all of the distress. I have felt able to talk to her about anything and everything, sharing my darkest and most frightening thoughts, the true extent of my desperation. I've cried a thousand tears in front of her, broken down in uncontrollable sobs, and known that I've been safe to do so. I've trusted S with the most vulnerable and broken pieces of myself and known that none of it would be turned around and used against me (this is in contrast to someone else in an on-going situation, so has been a very pertinent point, and a significant trust). Unlike the multiple faces of the Crisis Assessment and Treatment Team (CATT), and the unreliable presence of the CPN, S has been there throughout without sessions being cancelled or postponed, and she is one person with whom I haven't continually had to relate the origins of my distress. Yes, S has been, and remains, vital in this process of defeating the beast and finding a way out of the pit.
2. Friends
I was terribly afraid of telling my friends that I was in the bottom of the pit and being devoured by the monster (and that's not how I put it to them when I did tell them). I was afraid because of all that I'd put them through during my previous severe (and very long) depression. I thought that maybe they'd be too afraid to stick around, not so much afraid of depression, but afraid of what depression has done to me before and how difficult that was for them to watch. So I tried to keep it from them this time. I tried to separate myself from them to pre-empt the pain I would feel if they couldn't cope with the depression again and opted to separate themselves from me. It turned out that all of that was one of the lies that the monster was telling me and got me to believe, because when I did ultimately 'come clean' to them about how desperate I was, they held me in their friendship. My close friends came to me, sat with me, and took gentle care of the pieces of me that they came across. They still do. They text, email, tweet, talk to me on FB, and come round to my flat. They encourage me to do things with them, to go places, and when I'm not physically well enough to do that, they come round. One of them has started tidying up my huge back yard for me so that it's a nice area for me to sit in or just to trundle through as my wheelchair access is at the back of the house. They encourage me to go out with them, meet them in the park for a trundle. They suggest that maybe they come over to bake cupcakes, just because it's a nice thing to do. They take me to shops I didn't know about to buy games for my Wii. One of them has sometimes phoned me in the middle of the night when she knows that I'm likely to be at me lowest, and she has talked with me for five hours, six hours, all through the night, during which time we've cried, we've laughed, we've done the whole spectrum of emotions and covered every subject imaginable and some you might not think about. They 'keep me safe' in all my insecurities about seeing mutual acquaintances in group situations that terrify me simply because I haven't seen others for so long and I dread the question, 'How are you?' One or two of those friends occasionally read my blog, and if those friends happen to read this I would like to say a sincere and heart-felt thank you. You are so very precious, and I hardly dare believe that I deserve such wonderful friends. Thank you.
3. Music
I've written a little about playing the piano again, and spending hours immersed in playing the violin again. I haven't been physically well enough to do any of that for several weeks now, but those were things I was doing when I was a little further up the pit than I currently am. But they haven't been the only musical things I've been doing. The choir I helped get up and running last year - Flotsam - is very important to me. Since being ill with the pyelonephritis again I've been too poorly to go to choir and I've found that really difficult. Choir gives me time with people (very important when I spend so much time on my own, unable to work, unable to get out much because of chronic ill-health) without having to interact too much with many if I'm feeling fragile. Choir gives me a place to belong, somewhere I can be a part of something good, a place where I'm the same as everyone else because we are all singing. Okay, so I can't be the same when they all stand to sing, but I'm kind of used to that, and it doesn't change the fact that I'm still singing just as they are. Flotsam's choir master is a dear friend who has known me (and I've known, obviously) since I was thirteen. He has seen me through some of the toughest times of my life, and even if I don't tell him any details, I always feel able to tell him if I'm not doing too well, and that has made Flotsam a very safe place to be. Of course, music itself can have an emotional effect, as I'm sure most of you have experienced for yourself, and the music we sing in Flotsam tends to be either uplifting or soothing. Music is also a part of me, something that has always been in my life, and has sometimes been my only way of expressing anything at all. It allows me to connect with the world - something in the world - that nothing else quite reaches, and it has been a creative outlet for me at a time when I've felt extremely stunted in my ability to creatively express myself in writing. It's not the same, but it helps.
4. Mum
During most of my previous deep depression I was largely unable to talk to my mum about any of my feelings. For various reasons I was angry with Mum, and I closed myself off from her. It was kind of necessary at the time, but there's been an enormous amount of healing that has gone on between us and we now have a wonderful relationship. Mum's support throughout this horrible time of depression has been invaluable and constant. She's phoned me often, but not intrusively so, and during the calls I've been able to tell her a lot of how I've been ... yes, at times I've held back from telling her everything, but in the end - maybe a few weeks down the line - I've been able to share most of those things too. Mum's been down to visit a few times, which has been very supportive, great company, and has provided much-needed TLC. Of course, there was also my trip up north to stay with her and J that unfortunately culminated in a hospital admission with pyelonephritis. Before I took ill, I was having a lovely, relaxed, gentle time with Mum and J, which felt nurturing and lightly refreshing. It was bad luck that I got so poorly and didn't really get over it while I was away so that it came back almost full-on shortly after getting home. The goodness gained by staying with Mum was largely erased, unfortunately, except that it helped me with number 5...
5. Making some decisions
Out of necessity, I'm going to be quite vague here. Firstly, there has been an on-going situation that has caused me a lot of distress. I'm not currently at liberty to expand on this for various reasons, but time with Mum, talking with Mum, and several in-depth conversations with my psychologist about the situation have led to me reaching a decision. I've yet to act on the decision made, but I'm working on it, and even coming to the conclusion that I have has helped.
There is another decision that I'm going to be equally vague about, but concerns something I've thought about a little in the past. I mentioned it to Mum when I was with her in Edinburgh, and since then have thought about a great deal. It's probably something for the long-view rather than to implement immediately, but I am beginning more detailed thinking about it, and have decided that I will most likely follow it through at some point. I think it's a good decision to have made, but will take considerable work. Anyway, enough of being vague.
6. Getting out
I've been too unwell with the recurrent pyelonephritis since coming home from Edinburgh to go out much at all. My days have been pain-filled and isolated as I've lain in bed or on the sofa trying to rest, trying to get/keep my temperature down, watching the clock for when the next antibiotic is due or pain killer can be taken, cuddling the cat whenever he's wanted and sometimes when he hasn't been too keen on it, watching daytime telly, and whiling away time on FaceBook. Before that I was trying really hard to make sure that I got out at least once a day. It might just have been to the shop, the park, a trundle around the local streets, or it might have been to town for some window shopping, or a wander along the quayside. I was avoiding driving anywhere because my concentration was so poor that I didn't trust myself to be safe, which meant that I couldn't take myself off to the coast - a place I usually manage to find some solace.
7. FaceBook
Okay, so this might sound strange to some, but I've found the contact with others through FaceBook valuable. At my very worst, when I wasn't able to tell my friends how I was, I didn't go there - I found it very, very difficult to interact with anyone in case I let it slip how I was - but when I did tell folk what was happening, FaceBook helped a lot. While I was isolated in my depression and by my difficulties in mixing effectively with others, I could roam around FB in the ethereal presence of others online. I have wasted many, many hours playing Bejeweled Blitz (sic) and Scrabble, clicking on links to You Tube videos posted by others, reading every status update of everyone on my friends list, and looking at millions of pictures of cats. To those of you who have never experienced depression and have busy, active lives may see all that time on FB as a total waste, but actually it's kept me connected to the world and reminded me of all people I know who are out there. It's given me something to do, and 'somewhere' to be.
I'm finding it very difficult now to think of other things that have helped. I'm sure there are more things, but I've been trying to write this list for three hours now and I'm brain-dead. Perhaps more will come to mind in the coming days, but I have more 'homework' to do ... and it's difficult, so it may be a while until I get back to you.
Thursday, 22 November 2012
What happened next?
I'm guessing that's the question you're asking after my last post, and my rather hasty exit. Sorry about that. I was taken rather by surprise if I'm honest. Perhaps I should have been expecting to be going in to hospital, but I really wasn't. I thought that I ought to take my GP's advice and phone my consultant for a plan of action, though I hadn't really thought through that the advice would be 'Go to hospital. Go directly to hospital. Do not pass go, and do not collect £200' ... not that I've ever collected £200 on my way to hospital ... although it is the kind of thing I would consider doing in an hypoxic brain muddle, isn't it?
Anyway, what happened is that I came to the ward in a more relaxed way to most previous admissions, ie, not in a life-threatening state, which was good, but also rather strange and I felt like something of a fraud. However, when the Registrar came to see me she looked rather horrified when I said that my daytime peak flow (PEF) was averaging at around 150. In fact, the look on her face made me think that perhaps I shouldn't admit that my night time peak flow was more like 90, so I kept that quiet, which really should have been enough to make me realise that I was far from fraudulent... Then she listened to my lungs. Again, afterwards she looked at me somewhat aghast and said, 'They sound very, very tight.' The did feel tight, but as it had been creeping up on me for so long I'd been getting used to it so I didn't feel as tight as perhaps I would have done if my lungs had suddenly clamped down like that. It's a known phenomenon of brittle asthmatics, and a rather dangerous one too, that sadly increases our risk of mortality. Thankfully, this time I didn't die and I didn't slip in to crisis.
The main plan of attack (no pun intended) was an infusion of aminophylline to try to get things a bit steadier. Aminophylline is my wonder drug, but it doesn't kick in straight away, which is often a worrying thing when I'm in crisis as time is something of which I don't necessarily have the luxury. This time it wasn't so much of an issue, except that I was generally exhausted and was desperate for a good night's sleep. The first night here wasn't to be a good night and I had the same difficulties as I'd been having at home, although perhaps not to quite the same extent. The second and third nights were slightly improved on the first, though still not great, but the fourth was easier, after which the aminophylline infusion rate was reduced.
I always get nervous at the time of aminophylline weaning because there have been so many times in the past when I've gone right back to square one after aminophylline reduction. Of course, at these times I'm only just beginning to regain a smidgen of strength after the exhausting fight for life I've had, so then thought of having to begin that fight all over again is both utterly draining and terrifying. I was still a little anxious about it this time, but not as much since things hadn't been so awful at the outset.
The infusion came down completely this morning and I've been okay. Because of the scenario above, there's no way I could go home on the same day as coming off the infusion, but seeing as I've been okay today back on the oral preparation of the drug I should be able to go home tomorrow. Excellent news!
It's been an odd admission for me, partly because I wasn't in such a crisis when I came in. This is good, but it's very unusual. Because I wasn't in a life-threatening state on admission I didn't have to be in a room right next to the nurses' station where they could keep an eye on me, so I've spent the past week in the last cubicle in the bit of corridor around the corner at the end of the ward. I've never liked being round here. It's lonely. It's right of the way and you never actually see anybody unless they come specifically to see you. Nobody passes the room on their way to anywhere else, and most of the time you barely know who's working on the ward except for the nurses immediately looking after you. It's not that I want to be in the middle of everything - I don't - it's that I do get very lonely having to spend a week almost entirely on my own, and because I have this long-standing MRSA positive status I'm not allowed out of the room.
The trouble with getting lonely is that it makes me think, and I usually end up getting in to a negative frame of mind and thinking about all the difficult things that are going on. Sometimes that's just the immediate situation and the recent asthma crisis, but when there are other things outside of that going on then they often pile in too. Then I get in to a bit of a state - miserable, tearful, depressed even. Unfortunately this is what happened on Sunday as there have been rather a lot of other things going on in recent times. Some of things I'm not really at liberty to talk about here, but one that I will mention is that I've generally been a bit low, which you may well have picked up on in my post 'Identity'. I've actually started seeing a clinical psychologist in the last few weeks. This will only be for a short period as these days the NHS only offer between six to ten sessions as, sadly, there's an increasing demand for the service, but I've found the three I've had so far helpful, if difficult. Actually, when I went to see my GP last week, the original purpose for the appointment was to ask if I could temporarily increase my antidepressant. It's not that I'm really depressed, it's just that I felt like I was beginning to walk a tight-rope and I wanted to stop before I fell. It was only as a passing, exhausted, thought that I asked about the asthma, which led me to be admitted. So yes, things have been tricky recently and the isolation in here caused a bit of a meltdown on Sunday. I was completely miserable, and then totally lost all composure when the nurse came in to tell me that from Monday I wouldn't be able to use the toilet (I would have to use the commode instead) because of my MRSA positive status and the toilet is communal. Most of the other cubicles round here are only used through the week, either for sleep studies or for transplant assessment, so it had been okay to use the communal toilet during the weekend, but when Monday came it would be different. It was the last straw for me on Sunday and I broke down. I'm so lucky to have the care of such wonderful staff here though, and to have known them for so many years, because their response wasn't one of bewilderment, but one of gentle concern, an opportunity to talk for a bit about all the things going on for me, and a big hug. As it turned out, the lovely nurse who had given me the news on Sunday felt so guilty for making me upset that on Monday she said that they'd swung it so that I could use the toilet and the other, more mobile (and transient) patients could use other toilets.
To someone on the outside it must seem like such a trivial thing - the use of a toilet - but believe me, commodes are demoralising, even when you're in a room of your own. It is a big deal to be able to use a normal loo. It is a big deal not to have to lie in bed and wait for someone to bring you a chair with a bedpan in the bottom, which may not arrive in time if you're suddenly desperate. Sometimes the logistics of using a commode aren't easy if you have a sudden release from constipation (I'll let your imagination do the work), or what, if has happened to me before, there's a hole in the bottom of the bedpan that's in the commode? No, it really is a horrible thing to have to use a commode and it really makes a big difference if you can use a proper toilet.
So Sunday was emotionally horrible, but Monday improved with a visit from my mum. She came down from Edinburgh for two hours to see me and she didn't tell me she was coming until she was sitting on the train. How lovely is that? It was fab to see her, and wonderful to have a Mum-hug. I had another visitor that day too, my friend O. She had been coming down to Newcastle anyway (again, from Edinburgh) because we had been meant to go to a concert together in the evening. O still went to the concert, I'm pleased to say, but she also came to the hospital to visit me. By the time she left to make her way straight to the concert venue I was feeling very much chirpier despite missing the gig.
I've moment of being low since then, but due to something very specific that I'll write about in another post very soon, but I've otherwise managed to remain fairly positive since Monday. I'm confident that tomorrow will be a positive day too since the thing that I'll write about in my next post has been dealt with (in as much as it can at this stage) and I'll be heading home. This might be crazy, but regardless of how tired I am when I get home tomorrow, in the evening I'll be heading to Flotsam for a quick burst of normality at the end of a stressful seven days.
Anyway, what happened is that I came to the ward in a more relaxed way to most previous admissions, ie, not in a life-threatening state, which was good, but also rather strange and I felt like something of a fraud. However, when the Registrar came to see me she looked rather horrified when I said that my daytime peak flow (PEF) was averaging at around 150. In fact, the look on her face made me think that perhaps I shouldn't admit that my night time peak flow was more like 90, so I kept that quiet, which really should have been enough to make me realise that I was far from fraudulent... Then she listened to my lungs. Again, afterwards she looked at me somewhat aghast and said, 'They sound very, very tight.' The did feel tight, but as it had been creeping up on me for so long I'd been getting used to it so I didn't feel as tight as perhaps I would have done if my lungs had suddenly clamped down like that. It's a known phenomenon of brittle asthmatics, and a rather dangerous one too, that sadly increases our risk of mortality. Thankfully, this time I didn't die and I didn't slip in to crisis.
The main plan of attack (no pun intended) was an infusion of aminophylline to try to get things a bit steadier. Aminophylline is my wonder drug, but it doesn't kick in straight away, which is often a worrying thing when I'm in crisis as time is something of which I don't necessarily have the luxury. This time it wasn't so much of an issue, except that I was generally exhausted and was desperate for a good night's sleep. The first night here wasn't to be a good night and I had the same difficulties as I'd been having at home, although perhaps not to quite the same extent. The second and third nights were slightly improved on the first, though still not great, but the fourth was easier, after which the aminophylline infusion rate was reduced.
I always get nervous at the time of aminophylline weaning because there have been so many times in the past when I've gone right back to square one after aminophylline reduction. Of course, at these times I'm only just beginning to regain a smidgen of strength after the exhausting fight for life I've had, so then thought of having to begin that fight all over again is both utterly draining and terrifying. I was still a little anxious about it this time, but not as much since things hadn't been so awful at the outset.
The infusion came down completely this morning and I've been okay. Because of the scenario above, there's no way I could go home on the same day as coming off the infusion, but seeing as I've been okay today back on the oral preparation of the drug I should be able to go home tomorrow. Excellent news!
It's been an odd admission for me, partly because I wasn't in such a crisis when I came in. This is good, but it's very unusual. Because I wasn't in a life-threatening state on admission I didn't have to be in a room right next to the nurses' station where they could keep an eye on me, so I've spent the past week in the last cubicle in the bit of corridor around the corner at the end of the ward. I've never liked being round here. It's lonely. It's right of the way and you never actually see anybody unless they come specifically to see you. Nobody passes the room on their way to anywhere else, and most of the time you barely know who's working on the ward except for the nurses immediately looking after you. It's not that I want to be in the middle of everything - I don't - it's that I do get very lonely having to spend a week almost entirely on my own, and because I have this long-standing MRSA positive status I'm not allowed out of the room.
The trouble with getting lonely is that it makes me think, and I usually end up getting in to a negative frame of mind and thinking about all the difficult things that are going on. Sometimes that's just the immediate situation and the recent asthma crisis, but when there are other things outside of that going on then they often pile in too. Then I get in to a bit of a state - miserable, tearful, depressed even. Unfortunately this is what happened on Sunday as there have been rather a lot of other things going on in recent times. Some of things I'm not really at liberty to talk about here, but one that I will mention is that I've generally been a bit low, which you may well have picked up on in my post 'Identity'. I've actually started seeing a clinical psychologist in the last few weeks. This will only be for a short period as these days the NHS only offer between six to ten sessions as, sadly, there's an increasing demand for the service, but I've found the three I've had so far helpful, if difficult. Actually, when I went to see my GP last week, the original purpose for the appointment was to ask if I could temporarily increase my antidepressant. It's not that I'm really depressed, it's just that I felt like I was beginning to walk a tight-rope and I wanted to stop before I fell. It was only as a passing, exhausted, thought that I asked about the asthma, which led me to be admitted. So yes, things have been tricky recently and the isolation in here caused a bit of a meltdown on Sunday. I was completely miserable, and then totally lost all composure when the nurse came in to tell me that from Monday I wouldn't be able to use the toilet (I would have to use the commode instead) because of my MRSA positive status and the toilet is communal. Most of the other cubicles round here are only used through the week, either for sleep studies or for transplant assessment, so it had been okay to use the communal toilet during the weekend, but when Monday came it would be different. It was the last straw for me on Sunday and I broke down. I'm so lucky to have the care of such wonderful staff here though, and to have known them for so many years, because their response wasn't one of bewilderment, but one of gentle concern, an opportunity to talk for a bit about all the things going on for me, and a big hug. As it turned out, the lovely nurse who had given me the news on Sunday felt so guilty for making me upset that on Monday she said that they'd swung it so that I could use the toilet and the other, more mobile (and transient) patients could use other toilets.
To someone on the outside it must seem like such a trivial thing - the use of a toilet - but believe me, commodes are demoralising, even when you're in a room of your own. It is a big deal to be able to use a normal loo. It is a big deal not to have to lie in bed and wait for someone to bring you a chair with a bedpan in the bottom, which may not arrive in time if you're suddenly desperate. Sometimes the logistics of using a commode aren't easy if you have a sudden release from constipation (I'll let your imagination do the work), or what, if has happened to me before, there's a hole in the bottom of the bedpan that's in the commode? No, it really is a horrible thing to have to use a commode and it really makes a big difference if you can use a proper toilet.
So Sunday was emotionally horrible, but Monday improved with a visit from my mum. She came down from Edinburgh for two hours to see me and she didn't tell me she was coming until she was sitting on the train. How lovely is that? It was fab to see her, and wonderful to have a Mum-hug. I had another visitor that day too, my friend O. She had been coming down to Newcastle anyway (again, from Edinburgh) because we had been meant to go to a concert together in the evening. O still went to the concert, I'm pleased to say, but she also came to the hospital to visit me. By the time she left to make her way straight to the concert venue I was feeling very much chirpier despite missing the gig.
I've moment of being low since then, but due to something very specific that I'll write about in another post very soon, but I've otherwise managed to remain fairly positive since Monday. I'm confident that tomorrow will be a positive day too since the thing that I'll write about in my next post has been dealt with (in as much as it can at this stage) and I'll be heading home. This might be crazy, but regardless of how tired I am when I get home tomorrow, in the evening I'll be heading to Flotsam for a quick burst of normality at the end of a stressful seven days.
Thursday, 15 November 2012
All sorts
There's a lot going on at the moment, some of it good, some of it very good, some of it not so good at all.
One of the very good things is that I got the final results for my MA and I got a Merit. Hurray! If I'm honest, I was actually slightly disappointed with this at first, but that's only because I set the expectations for myself very high, and actually, when I'd had time to reflect on it, I'm still proud of myself. It's been a tough year, and to get through the course has been difficult enough at times, so to get a high Merit is good going. When I had a look at my marked dissertation/portfolio there were a few points where I felt I could come back to the markers with comments, but of course that's not possible. All in all, a good thing. A very good thing. I'm looking forward to graduating on 6th December.
Another good thing is that I've been involved in setting up a choir. I'm not running it, but I've been helping find the venue, set up the bank account, help with advertising, setting up and checking the email account, taking subs, etc. Many years ago I was in a youth choir, Swing Bridge Singers - I've spoken about them before. I loved it, and it was probably the one good thing in my teenage years. The conductor/musical director (Scottee) is one of my most favourite people, as he is for many of the 600 or so people who have now passed through Swing Bridge Singers. After a lot of years of being asked by ex-SBSers and SBS parents, Scottee agreed to do an adult version of Swing Bridge Singers. We are called Flotsam and had our first rehearsal last week. There was no way of knowing how many people would turn up, and whether or not we would have a choir, but in the event thirty two folk came along! Not a bad turn out for week one. The second rehearsal is this evening, and we're hoping for a few more folk to come, especially men as we only had four last week. The four we had were very good, but they were rather outnumbered. I'm loving it though. I came out last week feeling a bit more alive and reconnected with the world :o)
Now one of the not so good things is that my lungs are playing up. During the day I'm not too bad. My peak flow isn't very good, at an average of around 150, but at night time things are going totally pear-shaped. I cough. I wheeze. I'm breathless. I use my nebuliser again and again, and eventually it settles, but not until around 5.30am, and I'm getting exhausted. I went to my GP today, knowing that there's not really anything she can do, although she did say to increase my furosemide (diuretic) in case my lungs are filling with fluid at night. Then she suggested I get in touch with my consultant. I have done that, and eventually got past his gate-keeper secretary, who started off saying that I should see my own GP, but then listened when I said that actually I was phoning on the advice of my GP. My consultant has been busy all day, but his Registrar phoned me. When I explained what was happening, and explained what medication I'm on he said he wasn't sure what to do either, but would speak to 'The Boss' and get back to me. He has just done so, as I've been typing this. The upshot is that they want me to go into hospital :o( They want me to have some IV aminophylline and to try to stabilise things. They want me to go in tonight :o( This means I'm going to miss tonight's Flotsam :o( They haven't actually got a bed for me at the moment, but the Registrar said they're going to make one - perhaps literally - and he'll phone me when they've got one :o( I said to him that, if they can't get a bed tonight, I could go in tomorrow instead. I was trying not to sound too hopeful, but I really wanted to go to Flotsam. The Reg said that they really want me in tonight in case tonight is the night that everything goes belly-up :o( I completely understand, and my rational head agrees with him, but I don't like it.
There's a load of other stuff going on too. Stuff I can't talk about here. That's the very not good stuff.
Anyway, I'm going to have to go because the Registrar has just phoned me back to say they've got a bed :o(
Booo
One of the very good things is that I got the final results for my MA and I got a Merit. Hurray! If I'm honest, I was actually slightly disappointed with this at first, but that's only because I set the expectations for myself very high, and actually, when I'd had time to reflect on it, I'm still proud of myself. It's been a tough year, and to get through the course has been difficult enough at times, so to get a high Merit is good going. When I had a look at my marked dissertation/portfolio there were a few points where I felt I could come back to the markers with comments, but of course that's not possible. All in all, a good thing. A very good thing. I'm looking forward to graduating on 6th December.
Another good thing is that I've been involved in setting up a choir. I'm not running it, but I've been helping find the venue, set up the bank account, help with advertising, setting up and checking the email account, taking subs, etc. Many years ago I was in a youth choir, Swing Bridge Singers - I've spoken about them before. I loved it, and it was probably the one good thing in my teenage years. The conductor/musical director (Scottee) is one of my most favourite people, as he is for many of the 600 or so people who have now passed through Swing Bridge Singers. After a lot of years of being asked by ex-SBSers and SBS parents, Scottee agreed to do an adult version of Swing Bridge Singers. We are called Flotsam and had our first rehearsal last week. There was no way of knowing how many people would turn up, and whether or not we would have a choir, but in the event thirty two folk came along! Not a bad turn out for week one. The second rehearsal is this evening, and we're hoping for a few more folk to come, especially men as we only had four last week. The four we had were very good, but they were rather outnumbered. I'm loving it though. I came out last week feeling a bit more alive and reconnected with the world :o)
Now one of the not so good things is that my lungs are playing up. During the day I'm not too bad. My peak flow isn't very good, at an average of around 150, but at night time things are going totally pear-shaped. I cough. I wheeze. I'm breathless. I use my nebuliser again and again, and eventually it settles, but not until around 5.30am, and I'm getting exhausted. I went to my GP today, knowing that there's not really anything she can do, although she did say to increase my furosemide (diuretic) in case my lungs are filling with fluid at night. Then she suggested I get in touch with my consultant. I have done that, and eventually got past his g
There's a load of other stuff going on too. Stuff I can't talk about here. That's the very not good stuff.
Anyway, I'm going to have to go because the Registrar has just phoned me back to say they've got a bed :o(
Booo
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