Telling the truth

Posted on August 16, 2016 by livinginalimitedword

I don’t remember when it happened, it wasn’t like there was this sudden revelation or I even made a true decision about it, I just know that it happened. Some might say that I gave up, others that I saw the truth, I’m only sure of one thing, it’s not the first and I can’t prove the second. I’ve been ill for over 30 years now, most of it unaware of what was wrong with me, just with this knowledge that there was something wrong, something seriously wrong, but no one else agreed with me. I was left to just get on with life, to make the best of the way my body was and to do what I could, to make my life the best I could. Personally, I don’t think that I made too bad a job of it. When things were bad, I even found the money to go to the homeopathy hospital, but after 5 visits, nothing had changed and the money I had saved up, was running thin. I had a simple choice, get on with living or starve. Eventually, when I did get my diagnosis, I had the most amazing collection of reactions to it. I knew that I had just been handed a death sentence, but on one level, I was overjoyed because I had been right all along. What I didn’t expect was that there was no cure, no operation, nothing that any doctor could do for me, other than palliative care. I had for all those years believed that the day they could tell me what was wrong with me, would be the day they would start to cure me. When they couldn’t, I searched everywhere that I could for an answer, for even the slightest clue that there might be an answer one day, all I had to do was hang on.

I’ve been hanging on now for 15 years and not a single advance that has been heralded as the miracle cure will ever be of the slightest use to me. In fact, I no longer even read the write ups with any hope, I only read, so that when all those wonderful caring people out there, send it to me for the hundredth time, I can comment on why it won’t help me. As I said, I don’t know when it happened, or if there was a decision involved in any way, but I no longer even look for a cure or even anything that might improve how I am. More than that, I no longer even have any hope that the medical world will be able to help me, any more than they do today. I expect that I’m not alone in reaching this point, I suspect that there are many out there silently living exactly where I am. We feel we have to be silent, as we believe that our loved ones and those who don’t know us wouldn’t understand, that they might see how we feel as us giving up, but it isn’t. I haven’t given up on anything, other than false hope.

Hope is a wonderful thing as it gets us through some of the worst times in our lives, but it’s only useful when there is something to base it on and something we can believe in. I don’t remember when I stopped looking for what wasn’t there, all I know is that it was before I became housebound. Somewhere inside me, deep inside me, I woke up to a truth that had been staring me in the face from day one, reality. The reality of being given a diagnosis of both a rare and incurable condition, that the fact is, the likely hood of anyone coming up with a cure is slim, very, very slim. In the case of MS, nearly all the research and therefore all the breakthroughs are in RRMS, the one that the majority of people have. The rest of us, well we are the forgotten, the ones who if it works for RRMS, they will try it on, just in case it might help, but normally, it doesn’t. Right back when I was diagnosed, they said there was no point putting me on any of the MS drugs, as not one of them would help me. It took a long time for that reality to reach my brain and when it did, I felt I couldn’t talk about it.

How do you tell those who love you, that your no longer going to even bother reading any of those sites who claim they might be able to help. That you don’t even want to hear about drugs they have just discovered that have helped some others in tests. In fact, you quite simply want to scream, when you hear it on the TV because you know without hearing anymore, that the truth they aren’t saying, is it won’t help me. Once any condition has been in your body for 30 years, once it has taken you to the point where you are housebound, in a wheelchair and have lost control of most of your insides, there isn’t time. Any drug has to go through years of testing and development before, it would even reach the likes of me, and I don’t have all those years to wait. That’s the reality that too many of us live with in silence, because if we were to say it, whoever heard it, wouldn’t hear our truth, they would hear “They’ve given up”. Well, I haven’t, just read my blog and you will know I haven’t. Giving up is something totally different. This is about living without false hope, about living with the truth and being at peace with it.

It took my many years, right up until the last couple, for me to feel that I could talk freely with Adam about all of this, without him taking it wrongly. I used the news of some “breakthrough” that was announced on the News as my root into the conversation and because he could see both my anger and my feelings clearly, he also saw that I was still fighting but with real life, not some dream that might never come near me. I get angry every time some announcement is heralded as the possible cure for any condition, it makes me angry because, without a doubt, it will build false hope in so many. To me, that is cruelty, especially, if it were to be heard by a child of someone who is dying, they wouldn’t understand it at all.

Trust me, if my doctor phoned me today to tell me that there was a new drug he wanted me to try, I would, but I’m not holding my breath. I’d rather enjoy the life I have, for as along as my body will let me. Free of worry, free of searching and free of all false hope.

Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 16/08/2014 – Video’s, tricks and talk

Well, that is it done! Yesterday went rather as I expected, it took far longer than they said it would, that was one thing I was prepared for, I had it worked out in my head as taking about two hours and Sophie was here for two and a half. What didn’t go to plan was that her video camera died after 20 minutes, the other hour and half was recorded along with lots of note taking. Although it was all for this new…..

Emotional overflow

Posted on August 6, 2016 by livinginalimitedword

I found myself sitting here falling into floods of tears, for what feels like no reason. I was fine until the district nurse called, it was the one that I really like, although I can’t tell you her name, so nothing new there then. She was the one who came to see me first, to talk through the whole process of them coming here to give me eneama’s and to help me with the problems I had then recently started to have with my bladder. I have seen her a couple of time since then, but following that gap and after the news I had from the continence nurse the other day, I decided to update her. When I started to tell her about the possibility of having a permanent catheter, the tears suddenly started to flow. I didn’t expect them, as there hasn’t been a single one until then, but with the door opened, they have just kept reappearing without permission.

All of this intervention and changes that are underway with my carers, plus the feeling that I am losing more and more of my abilities to live normally, just suddenly became too much. I know that right now, nothing is definite and in many ways that in itself, is making it all the harder. Right now, I would love someone to just say this, this and this are happening and it will all be done by such and such a date. As I said to the nurse, I hate the fact that it is up to me, to make the decision as to if or if not I have a stoma. All this fiddling around with eneama’s which work sometimes and not others is starting to get to me. If it were as simple as them pushing the liquid in and I sat on the loo and everything just left my body, then great, but it’s not. Again today it failed, nothing other than a couple of tiny blobs that must have been sitting low in my guts. The bulk, the bit that has been sat there for two days, causing me discomfort and even pain, didn’t shift at all. Of course, we didn’t know that was what was going to happen when we were talking. She had asked me if I had an appointment to return to the hospital, which I don’t, I told her that as far as I knew, it was now up to me. If we didn’t get a result with the eneama, good enough to leave me comfortable, and if I decide that I can’t handle things any longer, then I will request a return appointment, to give the go ahead with the stoma. She said that she was going to check the letter from the doctor, as she said that she felt that there should be some kind of follow-up.

Having gone through all the disasters of the eneama’s failing, and the fact that I am still finding myself no further forward in getting rid of the pressure and the pain, I agreed that it was time to try a change. Although it was something I don’t really want, from the point of view of having space in my life for other things, like being me, we’re stepping it up to three times a week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday, if that fails, we’ll go for every second day, which is what the consultant wanted, but not my GP, the district nurses, of myself, who all felt that was just too much. We have to try everything as a stoma, is the final step, one that I don’t want to take, if, something else could mean I could avoid it. As I said the other day, I believe that my bowels are behind my bladder not wanting to empty, so it could be a fix for both. No, I don’t want a permanent catheter either, if it can be avoided.

When she left, I was still lying in my bed, with tears rolling down my face. It was me who told her to go, I felt able to get off the bed and to go by myself to the loo. Keeping her there, felt like another pressure that I didn’t need, as I knew she had many other people to see. She double and triple checked and assured me that if I needed her to stay, she would, but with her gone, the tears then flowed freely, without the restriction that I was putting onto myself, of not wanting to cry in front of her, for what felt like no reason. I lay there for about another ten minutes before heading to the loo. I already knew that nothing was going to happen, I had had the eneama inside me for twenty minutes and I felt nothing. I pulled myself together while I sat there on the loo and told myself to stop being so stupid. It kind of worked, if two or three times an hour escaping liquid running down my face, could be called working.

I don’t know why I suddenly feel as though I am under pressure by all of this. It’s not like anything has really changed. Maybe, it is a psychological change that is needed. Maybe, I need to start seeing my eneamas as routine, not as something that is there as some sort of demand to perform. I’m not stupid, I do realise that it is the fact that I have the final say when it comes down to the stoma, that is getting to me. I so wish someone else would stand up and tell me what to do. I just don’t feel that my mind is in the condition to make such a huge decisions, as it feels like it should be a purely medical decision, but I also see that it can’t be. The continence nurse saying there wasn’t a safe amount of time to have a bladder that didn’t want to empty, hasn’t helped either. There must be a point when it changes from safe to dangerous. I don’t want to call for an ambulance for my bladder to suddenly empty by itself when I reach the hospital, just as it suddenly let go other night. I don’t want to even have to go to the hospital at all.

The district nurse phoned me in the afternoon, as she said she would. What I had said was totally correct, the decision about the stoma is all up to me. I admitted to her that I am at this second in pain from my guts, she rightly said to me that it’s a long time to Monday, so one of them is going to be here tomorrow, to try again. Maybe tomorrow, it will be totally different. Maybe tomorrow it will work, and maybe tomorrow I won’t have to worry about all of this ever again, which tomorrow that is, I don’t have a clue.

Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 06/08/2014 – I’m still here

Everything has to be rushed this morning as Teressa and John will be here around 11am, they are coming for lunch today as there is some show that neither Adam or I have ever heard of, but apparently has been running in Glasgow for around 20 years, that they want to go and see. It is always the way……

Making sense of my life

Posted on July 11, 2016 by livinginalimitedword

Early Friday morning I had a smile put on my face by a delivery. It wasn’t what was delivered that made me smile, it was the delivery man. No, he wasn’t showing off a six pack, or astoundingly attractive, in fact, he was over skinny, with rather ordinary looks. What made me smile was something he did. I hadn’t expected the first delivery incontinence pads quite so soon, as I had only been on to their website the day before. It had explained that the delivery would arrive in plain packaging and made a promise that the whole process would be discreet. All of which I had forgotten, so when I was handed a huge heavy box wrapped in gray polyethene, I naturally said, “Do you know where this came from?” The driver leaned forwards and whispered, “It’s your pads.” He said it so quietly, that I had to ask him to repeat it, which he did, still quietly, and taking discretion to the limits. You couldn’t fault them in their promise.

I actually needed a smile from somewhere, as I have to admit that I really wasn’t looking forwards to the day at all. In the morning I was expecting the district nurse and I knew that I needed the enema that day. From earlier experience, I knew that the whole process was going to exhaust me. The energy required was daunting to say the less, but I was determined to get through it. On Thursday night we had cleaned out my wardrobe and Adam took 7 bags of clothes and shoes down to the bin. The bulk was made up of dresses all ranging from size 6 USA to size 10 UK, sizes that wouldn’t go anywhere near me. The only thing I held onto, was my wedding dress, which of course won’t fit me either but as it has spent 17 years stuffed into a plastic bag, from which I had intended to have it cleaned and ironed, but never did. There are always those things that hold sentimental value to great to throw out, some got ditched, but not that one.

Adam had presliced about a third of a can of cod roe for me the night before and was coming home at lunchtime to lay the roe, onto some melba toast with some cream cheese for me. While here, he would also do all the running around, bringing my meds and so on through to the lounge. We spoke the night before about how we were going to make things work, going forwards. Without a doubt, I need him home on the days the nurses are here. So we are working on a menu that he will prepare in advance and when home for lunch, just pop them in the microwave for both of us. I am also on the look for a mini fridge. It has to be just the right size and preferably black so it can be morphed into the room. Once in place, I will keep my bottle of drink in it so I don’t have to keep going to the kitchen. I hope I will also be able to keep some food in it so that some meals and snacks will be on hand. I just have to find the right fridge.

No matter how organised life is, or how much you try to make things flow, sometimes, the true impact isn’t about any of those things, it’s about feelings, most often the sort that words somehow fail to explain. If there has been one thing recently that I have had more than anything else, are feelings, the sort that runs away with you and leaves you stranded, with nothing to say. Trust me, even I can run out of words. The worst thing is, it leaves both Adam and I struggling to make contact, I am so tied up, that saying anything beyond a grunt or something that comes out sounding like a criticism, seems to be impossible. I hate myself when I am like this because of Adam. If I could hide away from everyone and be as alone on the outside as I am on the inside, then life would be a thousand times easier, on both of us.

There are so many stages of chronic illness and with every one, there are issues that you never expected to find. From my last few posts, it is clear that I am caught in one of those that is just tearing me apart. Dignity and independence are the two things that without a doubt, are the most important when it comes to self-worth. They are knocked and bashed around with a freedom that you just don’t understand until you enter this world of ill health. We spend our lives thinking that there is nothing that we can’t do, just to find ourselves suddenly physically unable to do anything. With each stage, you lose even more although, you already believe that you have lost everything, and the impact that has is colossal. Everyone around you is keyed up, ready and watching for those first signs of depression, waiting for that day that you crumple. When you don’t, they see you as unbreakable, the person who deals with everything with ease, let me tell you now, there is no ease about it. Just because you don’t become clinically depressed, doesn’t mean that we don’t hurt. My self-worth has been challenged continually, but this time, it is on a scale that I thought like everything else, would arrive bit by bit, rather than all at one time.

Six months ago, I thought of myself as already useless, happy, but useless, now, I can’t find a use for me at all. Yes, the happiness element is still there, as long as I can keep my mind off the fact that my body has found new ways of taking my self-worth and dignity, hanging it out in front of me and laughing. I know before someone tries to remind me, that I have a worth to so many others out there going through this shit, and yes, I know Adam says he can’t live without me, but I’m talking about my day to day life, the one I lead, away from this screen. When you reach the point where wheels have replaced your legs, where other people have to make your body work and even more others, have to clean it for you and dress it for you, well what use are you? All I have left that I do for myself is to feed and water me. The impact of all this, is so huge, that as I said, there are no words for it. They appear in sudden waves that hit you off your center and leave you lost. I wish I could explain how all this is picking away at me and how despite all of it, I am still holding onto happiness.

The more I try to find a way of telling all of you, because I know that it’s important, the more confused that it all becomes. At the core of it all, I believe is my love for Adam. As it doesn’t matter how hard my health tries to destroy me, there is always that love standing there like a guardian, warding off its attempts to finish me off. I can’t explain it better than that. There are no words, just this shield that stops me from falling into that depression all of us fear, but it doesn’t stop it whipping me hour, after hour. I have become a creature who can’t exist, without others to care for me. I am the needy, the being that is tended and administered to, I take and I take so much and give back little. Is it surprising my head has a hole in it, where everything, from every minute of my life, bounces about, and I have no idea what I really feel. I just hope that within this, you can find the truth of how I feel, because I’m even finding that hard.

Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 11/07/2014 – Time to change again

I wish I could understand why it is that I so often wake during the early hours, to find that I have once again I have somehow managed to twist on the bed into a position where my head is still set on the pillows in its normal position, vouched for the fact that my hair is still spread across the pillows as I place it each night, but with both of my feet out of the side of the bed and actually flat on the floor. Waking like that is incredibly painful, partly because I don’t have the strength to pull my…..

It’s still there

Posted on June 23, 2016 by livinginalimitedword

It seems that with every day that passes, things are changing in my life. It’s not just the physical changes, the things that are clear to anyone reading my blog, but it’s also the psychological and emotional effects of all that is happening. I am having to adjust at breakneck speed, as each thing that happens, just hasn’t allowed me to assess and work my way through it, before the next issue, screams it’s way into my life. It has got to the point where I don’t even feel that I am even reacting to anything for at least 24 hours. I appear to just accept on the surface but then, bang out of nowhere, the next day I crumple inside and truth of it hits me. If there wasn’t enough going on, I have invited another to join all the mess that is now me.

It struck me over the weekend, just how ridiculous this thing I have about Adam seeing me naked, really is. Yes, I can and have, given many reasons over the years I have been writing, but none of them make it right. From the fact that I can’t stand the sight of my own body, right through to the biggest fact, he hasn’t seen me naked for at least the past 12 years, possibly longer. Like many marriages faced with all the issues that conditions like MS causes, sex became something that simply stopped and has never started again. At the start, it was because of our joint fear of the pain that it caused and was compounded when my libido totally vanished. Naked wasn’t required, something that as my weight rose once I because housebound, I was grateful for. When it became clear that I wasn’t coping with things like having a shower, I chose to have a carer, rather than Adam seeing my decrepit body. After only three showers, the fact that I don’t have a problem being naked with a complete stranger, it started to wonder around in my head, just how wrong the whole situation was.

I have put myself through total hell recently about the whole thing and just when I was coming to terms with it, those tumbling thoughts, started to ask, “Then why not Adam?”. I was totally shocked the other evening when a similar collection of words, tumbled out of my mouth. I knew Adam had accepted the situation, but I also knew that it hurt him, and hurting him, isn’t something I like doing. I had started the conversation, and I also knew that I really meant what I said. I want to get past this, to be able to feel comfortable naked in front of him. There are so many reasons for wanting things to change, but what had brought it home to me, was the other night when I wet the bed. It had shown me that there are a lot of situations ahead of us, where I might be forced into that situation, and I honestly fear reacting badly, or not being able to cope with it. I don’t need anyone to tell me that it’s stupid, I fully understand that, but when it comes down to emotional reactions, you don’t need me to explain how unpredictable they are. Add in the damage that has been done to my brain already, and as time passes will be done again, well, we really have to somehow get past it now, while I can still be rational about it all.

How we go about it is the biggest question that neither of us fully answered. Adam suggested that I continue with things as is, but the next time that dye my hair, that then, he should wash the dye out for me in the shower. I dyed my hair last week, so we are looking at maybe 6 or 8 weeks time. I think his idea is that gives me time to think and time to get used to the idea. I agreed, but I fear that it is still a case of nothing to everything in one quick act, and it could make things even worse, and hurting Adam even more. I have so much running around in my head just now, and I just feel as though what I have done, is to give myself yet another one.

I spent the afternoon yesterday, sorting out some of it anyway. I have found with ease some pads for the bed, that apparently, will hold up to 3 liters of liquid without leakage, plus they are washable. So I have bought two to start with, I hope that I won’t need more than that, but they are on the way. I also bought some underpants or knickers depending on where you live. I haven’t worn any for most of my adult life and when I did, it was just a g-string. Until a few weeks ago, the leakage that I had, was very limited and of the nature of few drips, rather than enough to wet my clothes. I have been using pads whenever I have been going through bad phases of it, without proper knickers which yes, is possible but often uncomfortable. In the last two weeks, I haven’t been without them, but I couldn’t go on like this forever, so I decided it was time to join the rest of the world and wear them. It is all beginning to add up financially and all because I’m not well. I’m hopeful that what I have bought, will see me through until I see the continence team.

When I spoke to my doctor the other day, I discussed what had been said to me when I was at the hospital. He hasn’t received the letter as yet, but he put my Morphine slow release tablets up from 70mg to 90mg twice per day. I am only on my second day of them, but they are really making a difference, the discomfort that I have lived with for the past three years, has been reduced to a more background level, rather than driving me nuts continually. It has also reduced the pain levels throughout. The feared fog or grogginess just isn’t there. If anything, I would say that I am that bit brighter, which if you think about it, makes perfect sense. So at least today, I can end my post on a positive note, something I fear has been missing in the last couple of weeks, as I have often said, the good is there when you look for it.

Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 23/06/2014 – Not an answer, but it helps

My body feels like a wound up spring that want to explode but can’t. It took me nearly 3 hours to sort out the overnight tweets, nothing odd there but I was finding it harder and harder as every minute passed to use three keys on my keyboard, Ctrl C to copy the name, Ctrl V to post them onto my spreadsheet. Each time I did it I felt as though all I wanted to do was scream loudly, not out…..

It just keeps coming

Posted on June 21, 2016 by livinginalimitedword

“I wet the bed.” “Last night, I, wet the bed.” I’ve been saying it over and over in my head all morning, as I honestly don’t believe what happened, but it did. I had woken just after 4 am as I was freezing. When I pulled back my sleep mask the reason was clear, I had totally thrown the duvet onto the floor. Something else I don’t believe, but there it was, just holding onto one corner by my right foot. The solution was simple, sit up and pull it back over myself. Once I laid back down, I started running the idea of going back to sleep, now that I was warm. Sleep glorious sleep. Then I remembered that I have been having a mild issue with leakage, nothing much, a few drops or at the worst, an eggcup full passed as I tried to reach the bathroom. I didn’t feel like going at all, but I decided that it was better to be safe, rather than sorry, so once more I sat up, this time, I swung my legs over the edge, and I put my hand on a wet patch a the side of the mattress. I knew that I must have been overheating, because of the position of the duvet, but this was too wet, and not where I expected it to be. It was then that I realised my lower back was wet, and I swung my arm behind me, the bed was soaking. Not damp, it was soaking wet. Clearly, “I had wet the bed”.

I’ve always known it was a future possibility, so much so, we had been stockpiling spare sheets, each time I bought a new set for the bed. Somehow, though, I never thought it would have been like this. If I hadn’t thrown the duvet off me, I would have just kept sleeping, totally unaware of it all. But here I was, awake and wet, with a wet bed. I headed for the loo, to be sure that my bladder was empty, and to wash myself down with the wipes I carry in the bag hung on my wheelchair. It was only 4:16, I couldn’t wake Adam, not this early, but what could I do? I don’t have the strength to change all the bedding, but I had to do something, I just wasn’t sure what?

After chain smoking three cigarettes, I headed back to the bedroom. There was an old towel that I found the other day, in the bottom of the wardrobe, when I was sorting out my draws. When I found it, I didn’t have a clue, where it had come from or why I had it at all. I was so confused that I brought it out and placed it on the kitchen counter, to see if Adam knew the answer. At first, he too questions, then remembered. When we redid the bathroom, about 6 years ago now, I had spent quite a lot on a really good set of towels. We hadn’t had them a month, when Adam washed two of them, along with some black socks. They were ruined. He spent days trying to find them online, without telling me anything about it. Eventually, he found them and bought two replacements and snuck them into the cupboard. Then told me. He knew that I had not only invested a lot of money in the bathroom but also a lot of time and creativity. He also knew that I wouldn’t be amused by his carelessness. He was right, but I would have just done, exactly what he did, replaced them, the difference being, I knew where I bought them. The towel in my wardrobe was one of those, one I put there, for exactly the possibility that I might wet the bed.

There was some kind of strange thing going on here, that last week, I found the very towel that I needed to be able to sleep, and that was just what I did. There was one thought though in my head as I drifted off, I had to somehow wake around 7am, not the 8:30 that the alarm was set for. Another thing that I can’t do, I can reset the alarm. It was all down to luck. 7am on the nail, I woke. I got dressed knowing that my next task was waking Adam and facing him, while I told him what had happened overnight. I found myself feeling just as I guess my son Christopher must have done when he came to tell me that he had done the same overnight. No scared, because no one was told off, just upset that it had happened. As I said, we knew that this day would come, I have had issues with my bladder from almost the start, but that didn’t make it any easier. The sheet, towel and the two mattress toppers went through the washing machine and tumble dryer. I had it all done before Adam came home. He had set the first load running, and then placed the rest, where I could manage it from my chair.

My body is falling apart at a speed I never expect it to. Since January, I have hardly gone past a couple of weeks, without something else causing me problems. Yesterday, I posed the possibility that there is a new lesion on my spine, today, I really think, that is the issue. From my neck down, I am falling apart at full speed, and yes, I have been sat here with tears running down my face, as I have been writing this. There were none earlier, something I don’t understand. I know that Adam was ready for them, as he kept coming across to me and holding me. He even phoned half way through the morning, but the tears didn’t appear until I started to write. I can’t wait to see what it will do to me next.

Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 21/06/2014 – There is no control

I had to go to my bed early last night, I just couldn’t stay awake any longer and I felt like I would die on the spot, well die might be an exaggeration, pass out would be much closer. Most of the day I had been struggling, it was difficult to feel anything about anything, but I guess it was to be expected following the morning I had. I was right, sitting writing did make it all worse as within an hour or so, I began to just feel like I have been all week, but the exhaustion was somehow deeper, as though…..