Fatigue Wars Episode IV – A New Hope

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

A Sad Goodbye

I had a blog post planned for this weekend. It was going to be lovely: in it I was going to tell you about the sense of peace and real happiness that came over me this last week; a real feeling of rightness that I haven’t felt before. Not contentment, that is something I am not so good at, but happiness: yes.

Firstly, I was going to tell you about submitting my first assignment for my creative writing course… on time! OK, I stayed up till midnight the day before but I work well under pressure and always have: nothing like a looming deadline to get those words flowing. Competing my first short story, from seed thought through the research and exploration process through to finished piece, was one of the most exhilarating experiences I’ve had in a long time. I was quite breathless by the end, the story building and twisting till finally those few last words came tumbling out. And the best thing? I love it. I love what I wrote. Those of you that read this blog know that doesn’t happen very often. I don’t even really care about the mark to be honest. I just want to write some more.

Then I was going to tell you about the Great Toy Guide, about how well it is doing, with mentions in two national papers in the last week and on the Asda website. About all the great features we are working on, about the sense of purpose it’s given me and how much I’m enjoying it, despite the fact that dealing with PRs sometimes makes my head feel like it might implode.

And then, finally, I was going to tell you about Kai. My beautiful boy who is now walking like a pro and at every given opportunity. And not only walking but squatting, twisting, bending down, falling over and getting back up again; working into a little shuffling run and swerving round corners in a way that makes smile every time.  About our week of playing in the winter sunshine, and treats of hot chocolate and cream scones, shared just between the two of us and we grin and chat in a language no one else would understand. I might even have mentioned the fact that the night before last he finally, blissfully and inexplicably, decided to sleep from 7pm to 7am with only one brief wake up at midnight.

I was going to tell you about all those things. In excited, enthusiastic tones.

But then, on Friday, as most of you know due to the overwhelming number of lovely, sympathetic messages I received on Twitter, I finally had to say goodbye to my precious old cat Beth. So this is not the happy post I had planned.

I am really trying not to be too sad. Beth was 18 years old; she had had a long and comfortable life, much loved and much cherished. She didn’t suffer, having just one morning of very quickly going down hill as her kidney’s failed, but then being put to sleep as I held and stroked her, falling away so quietly and peacefully with no pain and no distress.

But she has been my little shadow for 18 years. She has watched me turn from 10 year old girl, to stroppy, rebellious teenage; she was there as Ant and I first began our relationship, moving with us as we moved into our first house, watching me through years of illness and recovery, through pregnancy and the introduction of a brand new little person into our household.

I shall miss her. Tremendously.

So I leave you with memories of Beth.

Of me, in my wisdom, falling in love with the runt of the litter of kittens we went to view for my 10th birthday and insisting she was the one for me.  Her as a teeny tiny scrap of kitten who had to be drop fed milk; surviving cat flu, swallowing a whole needle and thread and having it removed from her stomach, and mysteriously disappearing for nearly a fortnight before arriving back home, timidly peeping from behind the back door: I can still see her little scared face as we tempted her back.

So vividly I remember watching her bravely stalk a mouse across our front garden, only for the mouse to turn, raise up on it’s hind legs and chatter at her ferociously as she  almost fell over herself in her rush to get away. I kid you not.

My girl, who was never once vicious or nasty, submitting to cuddles like a newborn baby with a deep purr like a cement mixer. Who went slowly do-lally in her old age, forgetting where she was and when she had last eaten and turning into the epitome of a cranky old lady who just wanted to sleep and have her meals served on time.

And watching her with Kai. Kai, who loved to sit and stroke her with the most gentle, loving touch you could imagine, and twist her ears like a transistor radio in a way that was a little less gentle yet still met with only purrs and indulgent, half-closed eyes. Kai, who chose this week of all weeks to learn how to say her name and now points to every cat with excited cryies of ‘BU BU’ or ‘ETH’.

Yesterday we laid her to rest in my mum’s beautiful garden, under an Azalea bush named ‘blue tit’. My scrawny girl, who couldn’t have caught anything if her life depended on it, has finally got her bird.

Night, night sweet girl. We will never forget you.

xxx