Yesterday an episode of me chasing the ball in the garden ended with me falling down the stairs, having first landed on the sharp edge of said stairs with my gluteal/lower back region.

Sometimes it is difficult to talk when you are blinded by exploding fireballs of pain, but I managed quite admirably to release a torrent of swearwords so prolific that the baby's vocabulary is sure to advance in leaps and bounds.

Despite the awesome cushioning capacity of my ass, the force of the blow was enough to move my pelvis slightly out of position and send my muscles into spasm, but thankfully my trusted beloved osteopath (whose children's college education is undoubtedly being financed by my inability to remain perpendicular when confronted with obstacles) managed to correct the damage and undoubtedly saved me from having to be ferried to my exam tomorrow in a wheelbarrow.

There are bruises of such size and lurid colouring covering my ass that propriety is the only thing that stands between me and their appearance on the internet.

Today, I can only offer you small bits and pieces of woe since I am ill, which is both wretched and dull.

1. Morose Frog Baby wants you to know that he also knows suffering:




2. George the Cat padded into the house from the garden, carrying a largish dead bird by its head all 'Look at what I have brought for you Human Woman! It will look lovely on your bedspread.'

I screamed, and he panicked and fled with it from whence he came.
I'm sorry George! I appreciate the thought, even though I find it disguisting.

3.
Poll #1377980 'Health Reasons'
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 29

If upon spying the midriff you bared in the sunshine, your husband suggests with loving conern that you may want to lose weight for 'health reasons' the correct response is

To add to my list of things which suck about feeding from the bosoms: mastitis. I developed a raging fever on Thursday night and a bosom that was both rock hard and so painful that even Z breathing near it would cause me to wince and restrain the urge to hit him.

And so I cried because I was too weak with fever to hold the baby and could hardly feed him, and Z cried because he realised just how stressful it is to be the person looking after a baby all day and night and then I cried when I went to the GP with my rockhard bosom and my fever of 39C and my inconsolable baby and the receptionist was all "You are 8 minutes late and you will have to rebook" and I think I said things along the lines of "I have a newborn baby and a bosom of doom and I can barely walk and do you have a soul" which I guess was effective because we did get seen and antibioticised and they kicked in and now I feel human again.

Having to break up bosomal blockages the size of quails eggs through the medium of massage was about as much as the mastitis itself, but hey! everyone is all better now and the child has developed two new tricks:

1) Enjoying having an immense poo literally seconds after I've finished changing him or seconds before I put on his nappy

2) On a good day going up to 5 blessed hours between feedings.

My new trick is to remain remarkably chilled out about the baby's screamings when it's Z's turn to entertain him.

On a non-afflicted note, today Z bounced the baby and suggested I might like to make lunch through the subtle medium of song:

Please make us food if you could
For food is good
And if you make food
It will be not rude
And we can cut some wood*

* (Because taking out the christmas tree and doing the dishes doesn't rhyme)

Mornings are generally not my finest hour, but today's was especially woesome. The cats were communicating their hunger and excitement by winding themselves around my legs as I twirled through the kitchen getting everybody's breakfast and doing their damndest to place themselves beneath my feet. And when I made some kind of sudden twisty movement to prevent myself from crushing First Cat my back shot up a spasm of such agony that I screamed my pain and stress and frustration in a rather primal and dramatic manner. (Although psychologically it had many benefits, in life it seemed to have traumatised the household).

Both cats fled the house in terror without pausing to have any breakfast, and my up-to-that point frisky and frolicsome and gaily kicking fetus went completely still and didn't budge for the next four hours.

And once I managed to move again, I found myself sufficiently doped on adrenaline to shuffle off to work using tiny Geisha-like steps and punctuate the morning with intermittent groans and soft weeping.

FOrtunately I had a physio appointment for this afternoon, and having arrived thither in my full disabled glory going "Fix me, please fix me" I delighted my physiotherapist by managing to present with back pain, coccyx pain AND groin pain and she delighted me with telling me that for the foreseeable future I need to walk, stand, sit and transition between these with the body posture of a mummy (legs glued to one another).

Half an hour to go before I shuffle home to the comforts of sofa and frozen pizza and those kind souls (animal and human) who will keep me company in my hours of Wretched Misery.

Incidentally, does anyone know where I can purchase a donut-shaped cushion?

Happy Birthday to <lj user="mzdt"> may you live long and prosper (I started typing this entry yesterday, when this first line was pertinent; but he should still live long and prosper). 

On a different note here's an argument for atheism: 

Walking back from church on Sunday I fell down (no idea how - one minute I was vertical, the next I was doing splits on the pavement, (sucking air in the shocked way of people who have no idea what hit them or in what manner the heels of their boots betrayed them) looking up at sky and Z's enquiring face through the red hazy fog of PAIN which happened to be shooting up my leg. (Curse you spiritual leanings! Without you I'd have just stayed in bed and sustained no worse mishap than being lovingly chewed by cats!) 

I allowed myself to be picked up and supported home, while my legs and upper lip wobbled. From there on it was a gradual spiral into ever more emoness (highlight - crying as I did the dishes, tears falling off my face to mix with the suds like something out of a Laura Esquivel novel) and hobbling around the house like a pirate with a wooden leg. (Benefits - being able to go 'arrr, arrrr, matey' to the cats; not going into work on Tuesday and proving that you can indeed spend a whole day lying about the house in your negligee and it will only improve the day) 

And it all went on in this sorrowful and decadent manner until Z decided to upstage my pity party by having a misunderstanding with a fence and coming home with a bruise roughly the size of the Indian subcontinent blossoming upon his manly thigh.

So verily, verily we are a bruised and dented household, including the cats. Big Cat came home looking like a miner, from rolling in the mud and fighting the other cats, while Kitten keeps banging her head into every available door in her mad rush to get Outside, so perhaps her seeming goldfish-like memory is explained by all this repeated head trauma.Anyway though, on a not unrelated note here is a list of my New Year's Resolutions:

I give my honourable communist word (the pledge they used to make us do in school) that this year I shall:

1. Wear makeup 

2.Develop some sort of skincare regimen 

3. Style my hair 

4. Experiement with what happens when a lady and a man like each other in that special way without the benefit of contraception (although not until later in the year until it seems reasonably clear that neither party has the benefit of malaria)
.
5. Learn how to walk properly.

Internet, take heed!
If you are at all hypochondriac in your inclination (as I am), then under no circumstances should you look up your symptoms on the web that connects us all.

Courtesy of a fast-growing mole I have now convinced myself that I have skin cancer and that considering the state of my local practice by the time I get to see a doctor it will be too late and I will need chemotherapy and lose all my hair and have to wear a wig at my wedding.

Because it's all just one clear progression in my head.
Although I am always amused by the fact that in this doom-and-gloom visualising the prospect of death is never nearly as worrying as the blows to my vanity.

*sigh*
I despair at myself sometimes.

Although on the positive side the cat is cuter and fluffier than ever, which is nice.

Argh, I have been muchly silent and absent my dears seeing how I've been landed with one woe after another the past two weeks.

Things are super stressful at the moment at work [of which more later] and I think I'm quite literally starting to crack. I've got a stomach?pancreas?gallblader? [one of them things] inflammation which has largely prevented me from eating [but hey! i've lost ten pounds in as many days!] and to top it off I've got crippling arthritis in not just one but both hands which has meant no lifting or typing for me.

However, I'm crawling back now [oh how I've missed you all in my days of computerlessness and misery].

And to makr my dramatic entrance into LJ, I succumbed and did the "[own name] needs" typed into Google meme, and here are the top ten results.

1) Prices Reduced - Nina needs a home.

2) Please vote - Nina needs a holiday

3) Saddled with a recently expelled, faithless local-cop husband, a teenaged terror of a stepson, and the yappiest, most unhousebreakable Chihuahua in captivity, Nina needs a respite -- and the backyard makeover she's undertaking for her sister Maria and Nate, Maria's fiancé, may do the trick.


4) In order for us to do that successfully, of course, NINA needs resources, it needs the volunteer time of its board members.

5) Nina needs a low stress environment so her immune system can remain strong.

6) Nina needs Palmer's help but there is no time to explain the full situation.

7) When Nina’s efforts at the sanatorium fail to console her, Doctor Darrell realises that Nina needs “someone she cares about to mother and boss and keep her occupied”

8) Nina needs help to roll from her belly to her back, so they put a circle that goes part way around 'rolls belly to back'

9) Nina needs an older female counselor, but none is available.

10) Nina needs a husband?fast!

Oh, what a wretched lot, we Ninas are!

Today has started out as a pretty dreadful day.

In the morning a very dear friend rang in distress because her mother is very very ill which propelled me from semi-asleep to full alertness like a shot of adrenaline.

Then I went back to my GP, who was even less helpful and I'm starting to feel more and more despair.
Apparently X-rays take *3 to 4 weeks* to come back, and when I explained that I was told 7-10 days 17 days ago he said he'd put the secretary on it and I should ring tomorrow afternoon.

He explained that *there's not much they can do* - well gee great, but it doesn't solve the fact that I can't do anything either.

I was doing my best to explain that a) I've been in pain, to various degrees and intensities for a month now b) i have no idea what to do c) my job involves a lot of walking and lifting up children and I haven't a clue whether these things are beneficial or detrimental d) I can do less and less, and doing any activity in the evening requires a rest after work e) I'm feeling increasingly depressed.

I don't think any of it sunk in. He just kind of nodded and hummed and wrote me a prescription for antihistamines.

I certainly didn't feel listened to, or valued and he didn't really answer my questions. I just felt like I was told I was being a pain and should just buzz off and die somewhere, but quietly please *because we've done all the tests and really it's your tough luck that you're still in pain and we've seen you quite frequently over the last few weeks*.

I'm still angry and upset, and I've given up being stoical so I just cried at the busstop while waiting for the 187 [queue helpful comment from old man: *cheer up, I'm sure it will come soon love*] and then kept sobbing for the next 30 minutes all the way into work.

However, so as not to end on such an unhappy note - after blithely dismissing things I was saying the GP smiled brightly at me saying
"But don't forget - if you need us, we'll be right here for you"
which I rate 10 out of 10 for comedy value.

First, bits of news;

Past Events
Yesterday I ended up in Marks&Spencer shopping for pretty tights, and came away with two pairs of fishnets. Even though they were respectively marked at £4, they scanned in as costing £1 and 1p respectively, which caused the teller to look very confused and to take away the 1p tights.

Teller [apologetically]: I'm sorry, you can't buy these. They are free.
N: Oh. Can I have them then?
T: No.

Which seemed a bit mean but I wasn't about to argue with people who had sold me the other pair for £1 so I skipped off and away.

Did half a day's work [having spent the first half at the GPs] and then in the evening met up with an assortment of lovely and pleasant folk in a nice swish pub on Abbey Rd. On leaving Z and I were united in feelings of sorriness for me and my painful hip, so he gave me a lift back on his motorbike. I had on a skirt and fishnets and sandals and a pink shoulderbag which is not quite the best biker-chick look but it wasn't very far and we weren't on main roads.

Back at home we attempted to watch The 25th Hour, which Z stoically saw all the way through and I slept through about half. I knew it was a mistake to pull out the sofa bed - nowadays as soon as I get even slightly comfortable I am guaranteed to be out like a light. I am starting to think that the only way I will be able to watch a movie from start to finish is from a bed of nails.

Travel
Tomorrow, I'm going to Germany for a few days to visit Jasna. I'm flying in to Leipzig and I have my passport and I'm all EUROd up which is all hugely exciting. I have unearthed a German phrasebook which ought to come in useful and I'm going to forget the fact that I intensely dislike German and instead I'm going to concentrate on lovely flea markets and spending time with my friend.

*********************************************************

Today I spent most of the day at Royal Free Hospital where I had my hip X-rayed. Like most people, I dislike hospitals - its sickly colours, its smells of disinfectant and sadness.

But it was made fairly bearable through having a good book to read Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides, part of last week's charity shop loot. It was so soo so good. I was absorbed almost from the first paragraph and it saw me through all the waiting rooms and all the examinations.

While waiting for the x-rays we all had to change into hospital gowns. I sat on the chair with my trousers and jacket and backpack neatly folded on my knees wrapped in a garment that it was impossible to tie without flashing the lower half of my anatomy.

The bare skin of my legs made me feel sad and exposed. I was acutely aware of the bruises on my legs, six, seven of them, like dirty thumbprints. Acutely aware too of the gaze of the man across the room, and of my pink sneakers on the linoleum floor [incongrous somehow in the gloom of the hospital, they made me feel melancholy and vulnerable and younger than I was]. Stripped of trousers I felt fragile and open as though my bare skin and choice of footwear revealed something intimate and important about me.

And then it was time to go into the X-ray room and sit up on the bed while the radiologist searched for things, and then be interrogated on whether or not I was pregnant, when was my last menstrual period, when did I last have sex. Her voice was husky and with a West Indies accent, I found it hard to make out the words, the instructions.

There was more waiting. I'm used to that in hospitals. I was sitting up on the table, waiting for the radiologist to come back and do things with the machine and staring at my legs, at the way the hospital gown I'd wrapped around myself was parted to mid-thigh. I was feeling loose, partially disconnected from myself and floating up and away from the room and my body into a more pleasant realm, pretending that I was on a beach instead that the garment was not a gown but a summer dress, that the yellow eye of the X-ray was summer sun. I transfigured the linoleum into sand, knocked down walls.

And then it was time to lie back and I was still floating, still semi-detached from myself as though my body was not quite my own, but a character in a movie I was watching, an extra from Six Feet Under.

But as the machine hovered over my abdomen, and made a series of noises and clicks I was turning dizzying cartwheels, hurtling down from the ceiling and into myself, diving into my body as though it were a sea. Rushing with the tumult of bloodcells, through the rollercoasters of arteries and veins, towards my own skeleton. Towards the smooth, stark, graceful bowl of my pelvis and the arcs of my hips - cold and silent and serene, unfazed by the chaos of the body around them.

Gah. My hip is being an arthritic bitch and now my left knee is siding with it. I can't tell if walking makes things better or worse. Yesterday I walked home from work [it was lovely weather, and i'd eaten cheesecake for lunch] and I was fine walking but as soon as I got home and sat down I was in lots of stiffness and pain.

I feel like an old lady and its frustrating me. Yesterday my boss felt sorry for me and attempted to shoo me home at midday, despite my explanations that I'll be in pain wherever I am, so I might as well finish the paperwork.

So in order to distract myself from the bits of my body that are breaking down at 25, I've been concentrating on the bits of my body that are very well behaved and I have an excellent relationship with and like very much.

Therefore on that note here's a picture of my navel modelling my new bellyring, which turns an electric blue under the UV light.

Bellyring Butterflies in the tummy

Of late, my arthritis has been driving me up the wall.
After a week of it not abating, I am tired of the constant ache, and I think I'm developing a tolerance to Panadol Extra.

Most times I'm okay with it, but sometimes frustration is harder to shake off, frustration with myself and my illness, with the pain in my hip, my hands. I think some of that frustration comes out in my relationship with Z because I worry that it bothers him to be with me on the days when I feel like some aged cripple, but so far those fears have been unfounded.
Of course my own impatience with myself is harder to shake off.
I am so... restless... wanting to jump out of my skin. Or at the very least drink myself into a stupor. because I'm 24 damnit. I am too young for this bullshit.

And today, I lost my phone on the bus! This would be my lovely little silver phone with the hypnotic-blue screen.
And everyone's numbers in it!

And to top it all off, I am too far from the place where rhodri is offering free drinks!

I feel near-nigh inconsolable. If I weren't mesmerised by tjej's userpic I would be weeping copious tears right now.

Somdays rhodri's icon sums it all.

Today I am ill, because I have a fever and a headache and I feel shit, and I've been forbidden from showing up at work where apparently they have quite enough of germs spread by small children, thanks all the same.

So instead, I've stayed home and nursed myself with teas and lemsips and daytime television [oh the spectacularly bad films on channel 5 i've so desperately missed since being a responsible working citizen], and to not feel like I haven't done anything productive with my day I went and joined the Liberal Democrats.

I am determined to vote this election because I'm disillusioned in Labour and as my disillusionment and frustration grows I believe it's time to take a stand.

I oppose Conservatives on both moral and social grounds, because whatever their posters may say I think their policies are a bunch of racist, inhumane, uncompassionate, reactionary, hard-headed wank.
On the same note I have been disillusioned with the Labour governemnt over what they've done in Iraq and failed to do in education [axe university fees for example], so the Lib Democrats do seem "The Real Alternative".

From the site: ( Ten Reasons Why to Vote Liberal Democrat )

The weekend has been dedicated to Feeling Shit and nursing my Symptoms Of Imminent Illness before they tipped over into Big Bad Flu/Throat Infection*, and as such has passed in a haze.

Today, the day has been full of sunlight and melting snow. I have spent it largely in the blessed manner of an infant (albeit one that doesn't howl, and is toilet trained) by eating and sleeping, and falling asleep soon after a meal. In a way, this Illness business is almost restful, reminscent of the fantasies I had of spending a stint in hospital dozing in morphine-induced bliss (this was of course before meepettemu shattered the illusion, as my dream did not include cantenkerous old people as roomattes, nor did morphine make you vomit).

Still, despite my underlying belief that Illness on Vacation is a collosal waste of my time off, it has felt good to just collapse and do nothing. Catch up on all the rest my body craves. And to be sure, aside from the fact that Sleep Is Good, the day has been full of splendid discoveries.

1) Bras

A few days in my Whirlwind Tour of Belgrade, I took the visiting Brits to a flea market**, where tjej bought legwarmers and shineys, and I got felt up by a nice lady who sold me two bras, and sweetly told me that if i wasn't pleased with the fit I could always come back and get felt up some more exchange them.

Today I tried them on and they fit like a Bra Dream ( A Delight enhanced by the fact they cost only £3 - up yours Marks & Spencer!). Not only are they pretty and lacey, but they give perfect lift AND hold ( a fact which i have tested extensively by bouncing), and now my only burning question is should I go back and get the ones in hot pink and lime green.

2) Hair

Being ill has also meant not washing my hair for days, so imagine my gratification to discover that despite this I woke up with the best of Good Hair Days, where my cranberry locks were tumbling, and sexy and tousled in a manner that it normally takes some dedicated gay men and a lot of overpriced styling products to accomplish.

AND on top of all this joy I have discovered that the earrings tjej bought me match my sweater. Could I be any happier? Well, I could if I was healthy say, and could breathe without wheezing, and earning a decent salary in England, but that would be just nitpicking.

And to round off all this joy plans for tonight include cough, sleep, eat, and watch Alexander because it contains Angelina Jolie AND the promise of being spectacularly bad. I am looking forward to it immensely.

*although I am not in the habit of blaming people for my misfortunes, if miss_newham likes I can give it a shot

** Flea market is a slight misnomer, because the stuff in there is all new although probably got there by being smuggled and falling off the back of vans and whatnot. Still, you can find there an amazing and crazy assortment of stuff.

I am coming around to the worldview that masturbation is probably the only thing that can be easily accomplished with one hand.

Everything else just takes ages, and leaves me on the point of weaping with frustration. Attempts to unload washing machine and hang up washing can be traced through the trail of dropped items through the house, shoelaces are a conundrum possibly only solveable through the use of teeth, cutting anything is a lost cause and zips are negotiable only with some ingenuity and great effort.

I suppose the hardest aspect of this is that I really, really, really loathe having to ask for help. I also hate to ask people to drop their jobs to help me with some inane aspect of mine (such as setting up a room) but I'm having no other choice but to beg and plead and if that fails lure victims into moving tables with smiles and batting of eyelashes.

I have more or less given up attempts to manage by myself and various helpful friendly souls and my family have been dropping by with sustenance and to help me wash my hair.
I was meant to be going in to work today but that got postponed due to my realisation that there seems to be no part of my back which doesn't hurt and staying to rest and indulge in a heady mix of books and self-pity is likely to have me much better very soon.

One might think that my love of the osteopath is uncovering some latent S&M tendency, but it so happens that despite inflicting physical pain on me I trust the man. It is scary to give someone such power over your body, since if he isn't careful he can damage my spine and leave me crippled. Except that I know he is very very careful, and I still appreciate that thanks to his patient ministrations when I was 15 I was not only able to walk normally again, but shirk PE for an entire year.

Of course I'm mostly pointing out my physical travails so that mzdt and the Newham Contingent feel stimulated to invite themselves over with wine soon. ;)

Osteopath has done his bit, my back has been clicked, and my busted wrist poked and prodded and moved in every direction in such a way as hurt like fuck and made me see a truly impressive collection of stars.

Apparently I have done my body in quite impressively, and I was made to understand I was (once more) very lucky as I could have easily busted my head open, or suffered all manner of other indignities. Because despite all the wrist-twisting osteopathy is actually quite gentle, he did not want to overstrain my body, and I'm far from fixed but I will be in a few weeks time provided I keep going back on a weekly basis.

All well and good. I've soaked myself in a hot bath, I've doped myself to the gills on painkilling substances and I'm under orders to wrap myself warmly and rest, and this is fully what I intend to do.

On that note, thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to drop by and keep me company and consume wine, and in other ways cheered me in my pathetic incapacitated and convalescent state. I truly appreciate it, and saucebook gets extra points for making my skin smell nice and back feel better with one of his fabulous massages. The man is a magician I tell you.

Today I bunked off work early on account of being very ill, on account of getting poisoned by my mother.

Mostly I was just saying that for dramatic effect since she didn't mean to. My mother made me lunch for work (couscous with peppers and sardines) and I think it was the sardines that did me in, thus continuing my misadventures with seemingly harmless foodstuffs.

I have a ridiculously sensitive digestive system anyway and stuff that normal people process without qualm will poison me. Started to feel very ill, very quickly with the consequences of baptising the toilet at work, looking all dramatic and feverish and eliciting huge amounts of guilt and self-recrimination in my parent.

Got home, curled up into a little ball of misery and decided to disinfect my insides with vodka and managed to cauterise the whole of my oesophagus as well as my stomach and put myself to sleep which was the best possible course of action and one which I shall retreat to since I've been awake for a whole hour now and it hasn't been particularly rewarding.

Anyone who wants to indulge my pathos by feeling sorry for me is welcome to.

Eurgh. Bugger it. I think I'm developing eczema. Or maybe something weird rash. My hands and the back of my neck are full of raised marks that look like tiny mosquito stings and the bastards itch. I'm trying to prevent myself scratching them so as not to make them bleed.

I have not had any kind of skin condition before and I have no idea why they are here, other than stress.

Although on the upside I had a very pleasant dream which cheered me up immensely.

In my dream, I woke up in my bed to find that and old love was next to me.
This is pleasant as it's vivid and real, as I can reach out to touch him and I can feel his fingers on my face touching me.
In my dream we smile at one another and I say:
Long time no see and he says:
I'll tell you a secret and I say
What's that and he whispers
You have a beautiful body and The skirt you have been looking for is behind the black sweater in the right hand corner of your shelf
And I say
Thanks, and I don't suppose you've seen my shoes as well and I remember only that he laughed but not if he actually told me where the shoes were which is a shame because they would have been great to wear today.

My boss is lovely beyond copare, but for those of you who are less fortunate in your employers here's a true story to help cheer you up.

A certain professor was taking his two research assistants to a congress in New York at which they were meant to present the findings of their studies. However, he being something of a miser booked them the cheapest accomodation possible, which as it turns out was not a hotel at all, but a homeless shelter.

True, he did not realise it was a homeless shelter at the time he made the booking but when he did realise he did not take his students somewhere else. Oh no. Instead he berated them for thier whimsical weaknesses and pointed out that a) after a while they will stop noticing that the place stinks and b) cockroaches are quite harmless. And so they spent three days there, barricading thier room doors, sleeping in shifts and nervously holding on to their cylyndrical conference poster cases to be used as weapons.

Now, don't you feel better? :)

Other news: Stomach still being mean to me, mzdt's rice recipe coming in most useful.

Of the Unlikely to be Ever Sent Kind

( Read more... )

Muggins is ill.
Muggins has tonsilitis
Of course, in true BUS style this is a self-made diagnosis but I recognise the symptoms (I ought, I was ill for a year with the buggers when I was seven)and I had a look at my throat and it did not look funky.
When your tonsils are huge and flecked with white, this is not a good sign, generally speaking.

I am attempting to self-cure by consuming lots of garlic and gargling with salt water (for thier disinfectant properties and killing-infection-in-throat abilities) in between contemplating showing up at the GP's doorstep and begging for an emergency appointment so they can prescribe me antibiotics because I'm meant to be working tomorrow.

Muggins kindly requests someone to come shoot them now.