I took my tales of woe, my melodrama and my muddled head along to the GP.
I cried, and scared the student.
GP listened and nodded and asked. He let me burble and drip and snuffle. He handed me the whole box of tissues.
And then he told me I was normal. Oh, the relief! He highlighted all the positives. My ability to be engaged and enthused and interested (severely lacking at that point, but I’d mentioned being Tigger at the Summer School) told him all he needed to know about my underlying mood. Despite the messy make up, and anxiety at feeling so rubbish, I’m as healthy as ever.
The blip is just that. A dip. A reaction. Frustrating. it will happen.
It may happen more often if my energy doesn’t keep up with my ambition.
Watch out world for more grumbling.
Probably from all the folk in the GP waiting room- by the time I left, it was standing room only in there.
* for the overseas reader, ‘grand’, in Ireland, is generally used as ‘fine’, ‘ok’, ‘acceptable’, ‘nothing worth getting too excited about’ etc
I used to quite like maths. There’s a logic to it. A process. It made sense.
Until it stopped making sense. When words and language inspired and motivated in a way that algebra and calculus couldn’t.
One of my ME symptoms is that numbers are just numbers now. I struggle with what they represent. I have been baffled by Primary school maths for some time now, but given enough time and an empty page, I can muddle through. Spurs Fan only has to glance at things for them to make sense; I’m starting from first principles all the time.
Girl1 has a decent grasp of maths. She’d never claim to like it, but she can work it out without too much difficulty.
The class are baffled.
The exam is today.
We have years of this ahead of us.
We’re doomed, I tell you, doomed.
Yesterday was one of those days. I had things to do, places to be, and I was anxious as all get out.
These were not fancy, exciting things. I get more stressed by personal admin than I do by Grand Events.
- wash hair
- walk Jake
- go to bank
- return library book
- meet friend
- walk Girl2 to ballet
- buy printer ink
Ah, I can tell you’re all quaking in your boots. A list designed to defeat…
It was a day I yearned for the energy and clear head I once had. When I worked full time and didn’t consider washing my hair a task. When banks and library books and ink were done around the margins, without planning, without medication.
as if I’d wear heels like that to work!
I did everything (hurrah!), but collapsed into bed at 8pm, sore, overstimulated and unfit to move. I was actually delighted to get everything done- especially as my friend and colleague has a brain that works at a million miles a second. My plodding pace and repeated ‘what do you mean?’s meant that our quick coffee lasted for over 2 hours, and I ended up with a long list of things to read and consider and progress. That’s about 3 or 4 weeks good work for me, and she has it all done by this morning.
Most of the time I don’t think about what was, I get on with managing what is. But sometimes, oh, sometimes, I’d like to able to do more than one thing per day without needing more of the anti mad tablets.
For those of us with limited energy, careful pacing is an important self management technique. Properly used it should help us cope with ebbs and flows in energy, by planning what we can reasonably be expected to do, and then resting. Building up, in teeny steps. Plateau. Build.
I’ve bought the books. I’ve read the leaflets. There are useful websites, and maybe even an app. I’ve spent time learning, with occupational therapists and at home.
Pacing is not about going flat out for a few days because something is ‘necessary’ or ‘interesting’, and then spending the rest of the week (if lucky) in bed.
Why can I not remember that?
Ah, well that’ll be the brain fog, forgetting that I need to pace.
On the other hand, that’ll be the curiosity, the mind sparking, the not wanting to miss a moment of what’s going on.
Me and ME- unpredicatable, unreliable and a joy to live with. Isn’t Spurs Fan a lucky chap?
image from pinterest