No day is ever the same when living with chronic illness. The routine may be vaguely the same but each day revolves around adapting to what symptoms are presenting that day and the severity of them in the moment. What may be rather bad in the morning may be insignificant in comparison to another symptom by midday
A good example of this is today. Sundays are always our family rest days. We go to church, sometimes have family to us but generally speaking we are at home together. Now I was already shattered after a bad night sleep with nerve pain in lower right leg and lower back pain. However upon getting up my neck spasm started pulling my head down towards my shoulder. It’s a particularly nasty spasm that’s hard to break. I have a percriped Aspen collar for when my neck does which I alternate with wearing a TENS unit and a heat pack.
I’ve not had to wear this collar in a while. The overly nervous me did my best to disguise it with a scarf as we sent out for church. It deffinently took some getting used to wearing it out and about and learning to ignore the second glances once again. But it’s worth to help ease off the painful spasms somewhat.
My Botox appointment is extremely late this time round having being schedule for almost six months instead of three. Whilst I’m hoping for a cancilation to come up, I am in the mean time going to ask my general practitioner to allow me to my Trihexyphenidyl untill I’ve had my injections
Staring up at a pair of eyes, a mouth moving above me, making a sound that honestly I don’t quite understand and I don’t like the noise. The light is too bright. I just want to close my eyes and sleep. I like sleep. I’m tired. It’s too loud.
I open my eyes again. The words from above demand it. Ah the eyes have a name. I recognise my partner. Why won’t he let me sleep. The floor is hurting me.
I need sleep.
More noise. I don’t like it. I want to shut my ears. Turn the lights off. Cocoon my body in comfort and warmth. My body doesn’t feel like mine. It’s clumsy and not easy to move. It hurts.
When I come round there’s no telling how long it will take before I’m back in the room so to speak. The amnesia affect can last an unnerving amount of time. It often takes multiple conversations before I’ll retain information. So my fiancé will have to repeadedly inform me that I’ve had a seizure. I’ll get upset and he will calmly explain what’s happened. 1) has he had to phone an ambulance 2) what medicines he’s administered 3) how/where I am 4) any obvious dislocations that need addressing 5) ask me (if I’m with it) how I’m feeling and what I need.
I had a bad one the other day. I fell during it and hit my body darn good. Four days on and in still in pain. I came to bed early tonight as I couldn’t bear my leg pain anymore and need to lie down. My neck feels like I’ve been hit by an iron bar.
I’m grateful that they are more controlled in comparison to when they first started. But boy do they hit me something rotten when they happen. Heat bags are my best friend at the moment!
It’s hard to know to where to start. I’m so tired from the painsomnia and I know that is partially responsible for my level of frustration, emotional upheaval and general anger towards this current situation. Focusing on one hour at a time seems to help.
Being very much limited in my capacity to move much is hitting me hard. Having finally found a medication that helped my Dystonia, then developing this prolapse and adapting to its limits feels like a slap in the face. I cannot empty my bladder fully due to it, which is resulting in bouts of incontinence with no warning, I haven’t been able to go the loo properly since Thursday last week and that’s causing its own pain. I move around with my thighs clamped together terrified of making it worse. There are 36weeks to go before the first consultant appointment.
Acknowledging that this hit my mental health is important. I was already in a bad patch due to ongoing hair loss causing anxiety. This new complication on top knocked me down, hard. I know I’m a fighter and will adjust with time. However it’s important to recognise that what I’m feeling is valid.
Before I sign off I want to touch on one thing; look beyond the filter. In the first photo above the filters has smoothed out most signs of exhaustion, my eyes almost look sparkling and awake. It’s a nice image with little hint of what’s going on. This is an image I would post on my personal profile or my author page; it doesn’t reflect my current issues. The second photo is filter free, the bags under my eye are clear to see and the dark rings obvious. The puffiness in my face from my meds hasn’t been smoothed out. This I would post on my Dystonia and Me page. It is a truthful image.
I never posted either photo (until now). It got me thinking about the need to act ok when I’m not. It’s quite a damaging reality. We see it everyday. Just some food for thought. Personally I’m going to stop using filters, see the reaction to truthful imperfections and struggles. Live my truth. (unless me and my daughter are using it to be bunny’s)
I woke up the other week with a pain that felt slightly familiar but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I lay in bed gently testing my muscles and noting what was spasming or dislocated. After all it’s not unusual for me to wake up with a dislocation here and a spasm there. Satisfied that no major joints were out of place I got up. Then it hit me.
The pain in my vaginal area brought tears to my eyes. I immediately clamped my thighs together. I can only describe it as feeling like my uterus was plummeting out of me. A quick check with a mirror confirmed what my nerves were telling me. Prolapse. Again. This time far worse.
Ive been back and forth to the drs multiple times since that morning. Honestly the difference between seeing a male Dr and female Dr is gobsmacking. When I saw the female practioner I got asked how I’m managing, offered pain relief, and my concerns listened to. When I spoke to the male Dr he dismissed my pain levels telling me that he couldn’t understand it as a prolapse shouldn’t hurt – never mind the fact I also had an Infection in my uterus at the same time. He gaslighted me completely.
I’ve been researching like a madwoman since I started this journey in desperation to make sure I am referred to the right department as quickly as possible. 38 weeks is the current wait time to our hospitals urogynyolgical clinic. 38 weeks. I can’t wrap my head around that figure. Meanwhile I’m sitting here with my prolapse literally outside of my body causing a significant amount of pain.
Ive been pretty upset, a lot of tears have been shed. My mental health has not been great and I’ve not really got my head round this yet. I know that the prolapse will be due to my EDS. I can accept that. What I’m finding hard is the fact I can barely do more than a few minutes movement before needing a long rest due to pain.
Im not sure how long this journey will be but I’ll keep it documented. I’m sure this reads as a ramble but it helps me to get it all written down.
After over a year of my follow up gyny appointment being rearranged and cancelled repeadedly by the hospital due to Covid, I finally saw the consultant. I arrived with high hopes, a notebook full of the requested data they’d asked me to log, and a very grumpy daughter who would have preferred we’d stayed on the bus.
After reassuring staff that I’d contracted Covid at the start of the month and hadn’t escaped isolation, they took my temp which was border line high. Feeling thankful that a quick round of begging and reassuring them that I felt fine, I was allowed to stay. Two hours later, I was seen with grumpy toddler who was vocalising her unhappiness in tow.
Normally when I have a female gyny the appointment goes slightly better. I explained that my periods were getting worse 48 days long on average but 73 was getting more frequent. That they left me physically sick and due to the change in hormones increased my eds symptoms. She brushed it to one side.
“You will have to learn to live with it”. I’m pretty my face was a picture. My emotions were not in check as I was desperate for this appointment to go well, having last time discussed albation with me. Meds are no option for me due to my EDS, I understand that, hell we had even tried that. I queried the more radical surgical and was told not untill I’m forty, at the moment I am 28.
I can’t get my head around it really. I’m lucky to get more than two weeks between each cycle. It leaves me in pain, sick and exhausted. But yeah sure “learn to live with it”.
Toward the end of last week our youngest woke with a fever. She didn’t have a cough, a runny nose or anything that particular screamed that it could be Covid-19, nor were we aware of anyone that we had seen recently who had developed it. So we were not particularly worried. However we arranged for her to have a PCR test as govt guidelines list a temperature as one of the signs to watch for. We didn’t expect a positive result, thinking instead it was far more likely to be a normal cold. After all the kids seem to have colds constantly. Less than 24 hours later at 1am in the morning my phone buzzed to let us know we needed to isolate. She had covid.
We tried our best to keep the anxiety at bay. Both myself and my partner are fully vaccinated, having received our vaccines at the start of the year. Yet after shielding for so long, and reading up on the virus over the past 18 months on the many different issues it can cause, it was hard not to worry. Both my son and I were shielders. Stefan, tested positive two days later. Whilst he has been undeniably feeling rotten and suffered more than Evie, he has luckily coped far better than we expected and is now seeming more like his cheeky self again.
We thought that we may have escaped catching it. Almost a week went by and then Damon tested positive. I was already isolating away from the rest of my household to try and avoid catching it as I had developed sinusitis which my body was already struggling to cope with. At my partners suggestions I was feeling worse rather than improving on my antibiotics I took a lateral flow test. The test result line appeared in less than twenty seconds. So off we went for a PCR again, which soon confirmed what we all ready knew.
This extremely short blog has taken me nine hours to write – ridicules I know. The fatigue I am experiencing is unreal I keep falling asleep while writing it despite being sat up with laptop on me. My body is not happy with a mirad of symptoms between dislocations, nerve pain, fatigue, spasms, no smell and taste, itchiness all over, breathlessness and spams on the left side of face which feels is as if it is determined to detach itself from my skull and be on its’ merry way.
My apologies for not getting round to live on facebook today. I needed to sleep. Hopefully tomorrow if I am feeling up for it I will do but it will depend on how I’m feeling.
Moments ago I quickly signed off a Facebook live as my partner walked through the front door, home from his evening gym session. Normally during my lives I’m very good at opening up and sharing my concerns but tonight I struggled. They are superficial to say the least.
Yet as Damon sat down I burst into tears. This seems to have become an evening routine. I’m physically struggling at the moment so I’m cutting corners where I can to save energy and reduce pain. This is starting to really bother me. Things like washing my hair is something I do as little as possible as it’s painful, energy drainage, and often leads to a flare in pots, eds and dystonic symptoms. Yet I don’t want to look unclean. The solution I have in mind I’m not to sure of. I don’t know whether to go for a drastic buzz cut and wig wearing while it grows back; the difference being I would follow the no poo method which would result in less physical stress on my body, or just to try to wig wear on days when I’m struggling.
I’m still exploring my options. I’m not reaching for the razor on the back of feeling emotional no matter how tempting it may seem. The plan currently is to reach out to hairdresser’s first for advice on the above idea but also on the issue of hair loss which I currently have in certain patches which gets me down. I’d love to hear from anyone whose done similar.
We recently had to return the power wheelchair we had on hire. It had been with us for the best part of a year and had quickly become a very integral part of daily life. It reduced my pain, dislocation frequency and enabled me to get out and about everyday. It was freeing. We’d hoped by the time it had to be returned that I’d have been seen by the local wheelchair service for an assessment as currently I dislocate my fingers while trying to push my manuel chair. However it’s a long waiting list and an appointment date is still a while a way.
In the meantime I’m reassessing how much activity I can do and what I do each day. My head deffinently believes I’m more capable than what my body thinks I am able to do. A lot of this week has been spent resting and trying to find a happy medium. However I’m also currently on week three of my period and I know that when I have extended bleeds I generally feel rubbish and my joints and muscles seem to be worse in general.
I’ve started introducing sleep hygiene into my night routine to help improve the quality of my sleep and to see if it improves how rested I feel. I’m trying to have no screens for an hour or two before bed. Instead I’m reading and crocheting. This has also given my mental health a little boost as well which is positive.
I’ve had a gyny appointment come through for the end of September, so not long to go now. Hopefully this one won’t get cancelled.
We recently were fortunate enough to spend a chunk of time down south visiting my mum. It was a lovely break away from routine, and the kids were over the moon to get to have a ‘extra long sleepover’ with their Granny. If it weren’t for the newly added hand sanitizers that appeared on every corner one could almost forget about the pandemic for a moment.
On our way home we chose to pull in at a service station to let the kids stretch their legs after hitting the que of another incident. The kids dad took them off to the toilets whilst I popped into the shop. I only needed a couple of items, and instantly looked for a basket as one hand is strapped up at the moment due to scaphoid fracture. There were none.
It may sound dramatic to say that I started to feel anxious at this point but it’s true. I can’t hold things in my fractured hand and my other is occupied with my trusty walking stick. In the end I resorted to cradling the items in the crook of my elbow. I dropped them repeatedly. The staff noticed from behind the counter and did nothing other than stare. Other customers, who were incredibly kind, helped me gather up my shopping as I shuffled about, hunted for a basket and confirmed that due to Covid they’d been taken away.
Eventually, feeling really rather embarrassed at my inability to hold a couple of items, I approached the staff at the tills. When I queried the lack of baskets, I was met with a shrug and a murmured grumble about Covid. I asked about how they expected their disabled customers to cope, after all they had watched me struggle and drop my items several times. In reply he simply offered to scan my shopping and bag it for me, let me pay, then he would watch it so I was free to carry on shopping. It was crystal clear that they had not faced with this situation so far.
Numerous charities and research groups have been saying this through out the pandemic; the disabled community are being left behind. Article after article has stated how disabled people have reported feeling overlooked, forgotten, isolated, ignored. Just today there was a piece on how two York Councillors were not allowed to vote on accessible parking in their area as by being disabled they had a prejudice – madness!
Freedom day has come and gone, yet now things have reopened I’ve found that actually I’m running into more restrictions that affect my disability than prepandemic – for example in the same service station they wouldn’t open up the disabled toilets as they didn’t have a designated staff member free to monitor them. They had a member of staff a few feet away though in the ladies directing women into cubicles.
While it may sound like I’m riled up about not very much it’s not something im going to let slide. I don’t by any means think that the staff in the shop should have magically have transfigured a chocolate bar into a basket but they could have offered a bag for me to go around with or to have walked alongside me and helped. Either way I would have been and out in less than half the time if if id just had a little bit of aid. Which is something I’ll put in my letter when I write to them later this week.
Botox for me is life changing. Without it I would be hospitalised on an NG tube, unable to talk, swallow, eat, or drink. I’ve ended up in that exact situation previously. It’s unpleasant to say the least. I’m fortunate enough to receive Botox from my neurologist every twelve weeks and then a top up at the six week mark in the cycle from my maxofacial team to keep my jaw going.
I am extremely fortunate to experience very little in the way of side effects. Generally speaking I get ‘botox flu’ for a few days after and a flare in my complex regional pain Syndrome symptoms in my arm. This time though my mouth has been weakened slightly by the Botox. It’s not physically painful in anyway at all, it simply means the corners of my mouth are dropping.
At first I didn’t notice it to much, then I was hyper aware. I found myself wanting to be in pictures as little as possible as I knew I’d fixate on the turned down corners of my mouth despite the focused effort to smile. I was finding myself deleting photos of myself and the kids, myself on days out etc, over something as ridiculous as an altered smile.
It’s not as obvious in both photos above, but the fact I’ve kept these picture is a big step forward. I started to think about the example I was setting my children. It was not a healthy one. I do not want them to grow up thinking that we should scrutinize photos for imperfections. Photos have always been for us a treasure trove of memories, to help remind us of the many memories we have made together. Both my kids love getting our photo albums out to look at and this something I hope long continues.
My altered smile, is not permanent, however it is a reminder that I am one of the lucky ones who receives treatment and responds to it. That is something to celebrate not to fixate on. Whether it stays droopy or returns to normal I’ll keep snapping photos of our days out making memories. After all it wasn’t long ago I thought Dystonia meant the life I have now would be impossible. Forever thankful for Botox injections and medication.