Posts Tagged "exhaustion"

Make friends, make friends, never ever break friends

Posted by Josie on Dec 15, 2009 in Uncategorized | 45 comments

I am curled in a ball on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, my face turned away from you, my eyes tight shut against the glare of the artificial light of our early morning.

Vague sounds of the television and your quiet play and chatter filter through but don’t penetrate past the armour I have so carefully applied this morning. You are just noise to me. I wish you weren’t here.

I wish I wasn’t here.

I feel bruised. My body pinched, pulled, rearranged. A night of being your bed, comforter, punching bag, drinks dispenser, toy, as you worked through your rage and despair and frustration and all of the other things that seem to plague your nights. I wonder at what point last night did I finally shut down? At what point did I stop hearing the crying and just switch off to the writhing, grasping, angry little body in my arms.  At what point did you stop being my baby and become something I had to endure? It was before exhaustion took you, finally, that much I know. Long before. Your stamina long eclipsing mine. My head hitting the pillow numb and empty.

I feel nothing now. My body moving on auto-pilot as I was woken from a sleep only just begun. I am cold, my skin prickling, as if the emotional drainage of the night has taken all my body heat with it. I shake, I shiver, wrapped in my cocoon and in darkness.

And yet even now, in my dark place, the mother synapses fire again. Ears on alert for sounds of distress and need. I hate that the instinct is so strong, that even when I want to disengage it holds me. Even now blissful nothingness is beyond my grasp, however much I wish for it, as anger burns hot in my chest. Dull but there, keeping me from icing up completely. I suppose I should be grateful for it. Grateful for feeling something. Because what kind of mother feels nothing?

Wrapped in shadow I am concious of time passing. All too soon the sounds of contented occupation begin to morph to sighs and little murmurs of annoyance. It is inevitable.

And then.

Movement. A shuffle. Warm fingers feeling there way beneath my covers to find my face, probing but gentle, searching for a connection and a response.

“Mama”

I am defrosting. The guilt is creeping back now. A familiar friend. Guilt that I seem unable to perform such a basic a function as enduring your need for me. Guilt at my weakness, at my selfishness, at my inadequate limits. Guilt that I am not enough, never enough for you. Guilt that I could ever wish you far away.

Turning, I pull you up and under, your body settling into my shape. I cannot yet look at you but your eager grin hovers an inch from my face in the half-light, your breath heavy and sweet. You wriggle your way through my defences, seeking out my bruises and my hurts with gentle hands, your fingers pushing their way through my hair to stroke and sooth and pat: movements learnt from being their recipient so many times.

You lie still for only a moment, but it is long enough for me to feel a rush of love so strong and deep it takes my breath, releasing in one low, shaking sob, that makes my body move and throw off the cover to let in the bright light of the dawn, here at last.

And I hold you close to me, breathing in your smell and your warmth and your life as the long night drips off me, and you begin to chatter with your nonsense words, telling me of your plans, about the red car that just drove past and that the dog from next door is awake and barking hello, and how you’d really like some breakfast please.

I take your hands in mine and plant a kiss on each small palm and look up at you to smile. Breakfast. Yes.

Fatigue Wars Episode IV – A New Hope

Posted by Josie on Nov 13, 2009 in Me | 24 comments

First of all, can I just say… how lovely are all you lot??! The answer is VERY lovely. Very lovely indeed. Thank you so much for all the comments on my last blog post and the many emails and twitterings you have sent my way.

I’m back from the doctors minus two great big vial’s full of blood with that wonderful Tony Hancock sketch running through my head. And since all nine of my pints have been seriously compromised this morning by at least a foot’s worth I am having a sit and a bacon sandwich to make up for it.

I’m feeling much more positive. The doctor rightly pointed out that, given my history, if my Fibromyalgia was relapsing she would expect my pain levels to have increased along with the fatigue and for me to have crawled into her office begging for drugs. And this is a good point as, actually, my pain levels are ok. I did a lot of walking around yesterday and although nearly fell over a couple of times and had to prop my eyelids open so as not to fall asleep in my over-priced under-heated microwave burger at the Blue Planet Aquarium, I did make to the evening without much pain. More importantly I didn’t wake up with ANY which if it had been the Fibro would have been very far from the case, given it’s tendency to make a 20 minute leisurely stroll one day feel like you’ve been run over by an 18 wheeler truck the next.

So we’re testing for low iron and thyroid function and liver function and WI Christmas Tombola and Beatle Drive function all the other usual functions they need to test for in these cases. Results will be back on Tuesday so I’ll keep you posted.

And I am stopping panicking. Chances are this is fixable, just a blip on the radar of my unstoppable plan to write a best seller by the time I’m 30, or, at least, be the first person to achieve world domination through the power of Twitter.

In other news, I made a big decision this week. It is probably not beyond the realms of possibility that my low energy levels are not being helped by the fact that a certain little 16 month old has still been breastfeeding up to 7 or 8 times a day, day and night. Lets face it, he does NOT need this much milk any more, whatever his opinions are on the matter. He eats well and is a big grown up boy now who could probably make pigeon chasing into a successful athletic career, can do all the actions to ’round and round the garden’ AND ‘wind the bobbin up’, and could show you the difference between a train, a tractor, a digger and a car without even blinking. His separation anxiety is significantly better; time away from me now being more treat than trauma. His independence and self-confidence is growing more and more by the day.

It is time. I am ready. Weaning Kai off the good stuff has begun.

I’m not expecting him to stop feeding completely but I am expecting him to substantially cut down the amount he feeds to just 2-3 times in 24 hours And guess what… he’s done it. Nearly every day this week he’s gone from early morning to bedtime with lots of snacks, good meals, distraction and lots of cuddles, and NO distress. Which proves to me that he’s ready too, in a way I hadn’t expected. Kai now has a good breastfeed before bed, one in the night, and then one in the early hours (after which he’ll sometimes go back to sleep). My plan is that eventually we’ll drop the night-time one (when I’m feeling VERY brave and not so tired!) leaving two feeds a day, which is plenty for a boy his age and will still be giving him all the lovely nutrients and immunity boosting benefits that longer-term breastfeeding still offers.

That gives me ALL DAY for my body to do something other than make milk and get to work doing more important things like digesting large quantities of cake and stopping me from falling asleep at random and inappropriate moments.

And the best thing? I look forward to sitting and feeding Kai now. Rather than it be a draining chore that I resent (which is what it had become) with my mind wandering to what I would rather be doing, I sit and I am present and I enjoy the feel of him close to me and breathe in his baby smell and relish every second, re-connecting after a long day of adventures and growing up in which he seems to need me less and less.

I am so proud of him. And so proud of me too. This is a big step for us but the right one.

So there we go. Now, I’m off for a sleep. My bed right now is more alluring than blogging, than twitter, than eating biscuits, and that’s saying something – I must be really tired. I am tired, I’m exhausted in fact. But hopefully only temporarily. And thanks to all of your wonderful supportive words and positive encouragement I am NOT going to let it get me down, whatever this is.

Onwards and upwards. Or sideways and downwards as is more the case for me right now.

Whatever. BA-DOING!! (that was me bouncing back)

x

Fear

Posted by Josie on Nov 11, 2009 in Me | 32 comments

I am blogging this morning in a desperate attempt to stay awake.

Kai is busy doing things that Kai bear’s do: hiding things in various places to be retrieved later, pushing things round in his beloved new fire engine. He has a small plastic duck in his mouth and my cardigan wrapped around his neck. So normal day for him.

I, however, am not feeling quite so breezy. I keep falling asleep, my limbs feel like lead, I am dizzy and wobbly on my feet. And I am scared, very, very scared.

I don’t think this is low iron, or lack of sleep, or over-exertion. I think this is my FUCKING Fibromyalgia (and yes people with sensitive ears I WILL swear), and the thought of that taking a hold again makes my stomach lurch and my skin go cold in a way I can’t possibly make you understand. The doctor won’t see me till Friday but I know that’s what she’ll say. The pain levels are ok, but this overwhelming fatigue is how it starts. I have been here many, many times. Hopefully this will be a bad couple of weeks, maybe a month and then it will lift. But last time it was years. I thought I had beaten it, I really had.

I cannot go back to being ill again. I can’t. I am grabbing you by the virtual lapels right now and shaking you because you have to listen here. I cannot be that person again.

For six years I was a pale, floppy can’t-do shadow, managing to walk to the end of the road and back  on a good day. I won’t tell you about the bad days. My life revolved around wheelchairs, and overwhelming pain that makes labour look like a walk in the park, pacing, and positive thinking and TAKING IT FUCKING EASY.

I don’t want to take it easy. I want to be alive and not a ghost person. I want to DO and get to be the person that I AM – full of energy and enthusiasm, and not some miserable, pathetic not-Josie.

And the real bitch is that everything was going so well. I was feeling happy and settled, I was FINALLY getting going with life and doing things that felt right and that were taking off. I wasn’t depressed or anxious or all the other things that no doubt my doctor and everyone else will assume is respsonsible for the relapse. I was doing great, I really, really was.

It.is.not.fair.

I don’t care if I sound petulant and whiney. I know it could be a lot worse. This illness won’t kill me but my god it kills my life. It kills my plans, my ambition, my potential.  And it has done this over and over again my whole life.

I will not let it do it to me again.

I will not put my life on hold again.

You hear me?

Yo Mama

Posted by Josie on Sep 30, 2009 in Uncategorized | 25 comments

Well you can’t knock Kai for his ability to keep me on my toes.

The night before last he broke all records sleeping the longest stretch of his ENTIRE LIFE!!! A whole six and half hours all in a row. And after he’d woken up, guzzled down his usual few gallons of milk and gone back to sleep he only woke up a further ONCE!!!!!!!

I’m not sure you’ve grasped the significance of this.

He woke up TWICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And yes, the exclamation marks totally justified. And YES I’m going to shout a lot in this post and DON’T CARE.

Because not only did he only wake up twice, he didn’t want to get up till 7am… AND… spent the whole night in his cot in his OWN ROOM.

Perhaps you’re wondering (like I did) whether someone secretly swapped out my genetically flawed Hyper-No-Sleep 5000  baby with a regular, normal, standard issue one.

But no, it was really Kai.

Do you know how I know?

Because of LAST night. Last night, after jubilantly celebrating all day that ‘This was IT baby!’ and that we’d really turned a corner, phoning all my friends and relatives and stopping random people in the street to grab them by their lapels and look with crazy frenzy into their frightened eyes and squeal “SIX AND A HALF HOURS!!”

Last night when I sauntered off to bed safe in the knowledge that I most likely had at least three hours before being woken up, and probably another three or four hour stretch after that.

Last night when Kai was awake all fricking night.

So no. Doesn’t look like that was IT baby. Looks like that was just a horrible cruel fluke.Quite possibly because Kai nearly knocked himself out on the skirting board that day and I had two rather large glasses of wine. Yep, nothing like a mild concussion and alcohol laced breast milk to guarantee some sleep.

And of course because I’d been treated to night of half-decent sleep the night before, a night of virtually no sleep hit me extra hard. And I was so tired this morning that… well… I’ll tell you how tired I was. EXACTLY how tired.

Because I’m starting a new thing. It’s called ‘This Mama so tired’.

It’s kinda like ‘Yo Mama so fat’ except better. And less horribly offensive. (And yes I know it’s not grammatically correct but it’s hip, innit?)

So here’s mine – then you have to give me yours:

This Mama so tired that… she realised that she’d thrown her dirty underwear in the toilet rather than in the laundry basket

This Mama so tired that… when writing a birthday card for one of Kai’s buddy’s she wrote

To Kai,    Happy Birthday    Love Kai x

This Mama so tired that… she can’t SEE!

I’m not kidding! I seriously thought I might be going blind. I booked an appointment at the opticians and prepared myself for the worst but turns out my eye sight in test is fine (phew!). Well, no worse than it’s ever been – I still have a slightly lazy eye. Apparently I’m just so exhausted that even the muscles in my eyes are tired! Thus giving me rather screwy vision, especially in bright light. The lovely leather elbow-patch cladded Optician prescribed me a decent pair of sunglasses and some sleep. He even may have used the word ‘dear’ and patted my arm.

THAT’S how tired I am.

So how tired are you Mama?

P.S. I’m know I’m being horrible and excluding Dads here but Yo Pappa doesn’t really sound right does it? Men folk – if you can pull it off or think of a Dad equivalent then by all means do so…

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