The mourning period...

As far as my depression goes, I'm not sure I'll ever understand it. My assumption is that my brain doesn't make enough of the good stuff to keep me sane enough to cope with the easy things in life. Sometimes.
I sobbed last night, partly because this pain is really getting to me now. Three months is a rather long time to feel quite unwell, every day. Admittedly, it's not the worst thing to have by far, but it is enough to stop me being me. And I quite like me, now. I spent a long time wishing I was different or someone else or nothing at all, as in dead.

I've never been confident but in the last few years, I've "made progress", in that my confidence has grown a little. (It's actually increased a lot; compared to what it was; it's risen hugely.) The annoying, pathetic feelings like anxiety and panic feelings and constant nausea that are ever-present with this crap, frighten me somewhat, because I know when I feel that way, when I start to think too much about the food I'm eating, counting to get ready to swallow the damned food, because I'm so anxious my throat closes up and I think I'm going to choke (the same happens wth tablets). That means I'm not in control of me anymore. I desperately don't want to sink to the lows to which I have sunk before, to feel worthlessly terrible again and have a mental (literally) fight with thinking I'll be sick. Then I'd have to reason with my silly self that, even if I was going to be ill, I can't stop it but if I am I'll be so scared and and and... Better out than in.
In those thankfully not-too-common-these-days moments, it's like all those negative and horribly dark and utterly pessimistic thoughts gather in one lonely corner of my brain and conspire to bring me right down again, with a cruel "Ha ha!", *eerie echo is optional* throwing me into that seemingly endless tunnel of terror that makes me believe I'll never be well.

Actually, I think I'll always have that dark element about me. Whether it's caused by my brain or my ovaries or a spell by an invisible witch (I'm really tired today), I might never know. I do know, though, that sometimes, it's so hard to see a bright side to all this darkness and, sometimes, it's the hardest thing I have to do to not wat to give up again, nearly so completely, like I've done so many times before. How can I believe that these feelings will pass? Thinking about what I will/might do one day just makes me feel worse, now. I think of all the "normal" activities everyone I know does or has done or is doing, and I can't help but feel jealous. In a nice way. I've never had a job. I don't drive. (That last bit is not entirely true: I can drive, but I'm still learning and it's been over three months since my last lesson. Thanks Mirena.) I haven't been to university. I still haven't moved out of the family home. "Normal" activities, like going out for drinks to the pub with friends, going to gigs, to the cinema, getting on a bus on my own (I've done that all of twice and even that was a (bit) scary) - all these things are attributed to depression and periods. (These may or may not be linked. I think they are: immense grief at seven, puberty at 8; periods at 12, mental breakdown months after and then again at 14/15.)

Fucking periods. I hate them. People have told me, told me that they're not as bad as that, they're only periods, should be used to them by now. Or that I'm exaggerating, or that it's an attention-seeking ploy... It just isn't. I've had doctors and nurses say it's normal, that they'll settle down, it's psychological and that I should see a psychologist/psychiatrist, that everything in there is fine, that I'm too young for problems like that... of course, all of that, in my mind, is bullshit. Not that Bullshit.


It's just... when you have a period, you don't really expect to be at its mercy, do you? You don't really want it to dictate what you can and can't do. Or for it to start whenever it bloody (sorry) well likes and then own you as its bitch for the next 3-4 days when all you can do is rely, at 27-years-old, on your Mum to look after you. She "has" to stay with you, keep the supply of tablets very close by and put them in your mouth because you're to ill to do it yourself, she "has" to be your veritable carer, to help you get to the (thankfully downstairs) toilet and, sometimes, stay with you while you get to the business of, erm... well, your business, (the pain of which is equally terrible and frightening) because the pain is so immense and horrendous that you might be sick and/or pass out at any second. Each period is terrifying, and each time it happens, I'd do ANYTHING to stop it. I dread each one. And that's not even counting the "mini" periods about 2-5 days after the biggy has stopped, after 10 days. Then I have another two weeks of mess. and two or maybe up to 4 weeks after that, it starts all over again.


Hormone tablets don't suit me, at all. Mirena doesn't suit me. The next thing to try, once this is out, is a double whammy of drugs: tranexamic acid and keral. One is an anti-inflammatory and the other has blood-lessening qualities.


And that's not even thinking about the fear I feel at the prospect of my Mum going into hospital for cancer removal. The fucker. Leave my wonderful family alone, you bastard.
Time for more co-dydramol. Ahh yeah...

Malaise or mayonnaise...?

I went for the malaise; mayonnaise would've made me feel even more sickly than I already did. Do. I suspect my wanton, careless act of eating nearly a whole packet of cookies (small, I should mention, and not in one go) didn't help. Nice cookies, though.

In the last week, my co-dydramol dosage has gone up but a whole 50%. I'm now taking, regularly (about the only thing that is, lately), 3 doses of the 10/500mg co-dydramol each day. This is due to the fact that I'm experiencing more pain per day. Why? (I suspect you're not asking but I'll tell you anyway) I'm getting up earlier. So there's more time in the day, including the mornings, for me to hurt. It really is a relief when the tablets start to work, when that AGHHH starts to numb and flubabbbdjflll.... hmm? Yeah..... ahhh... *optional dribble*... and so it goes a bit like that, most days... so, as I had always thought, or at least, for some considerable time: early mornings are bad for you. For me. While Mirena is here.

It's not just the wretched uterine/ovarian/whatever-it-is-in-there-that-HURTS pains, front and back that occur - I have inflatable toys! Huzzah!! It used to take at least 3 days for them to really hurt, but now it's all in a day, from first sign of, "oh, that's a bit sore..." to, "DON'T YOU DARE COME NEAR ME!! And keep your elbows to yourself..."
I've allocated myself a night-time bra. Not one of my best, most wonderful, most comfortable M&S examples. An older M&S example. Still comfortable. But I'm too big for all my usual tiny cuplets. And, considering my Mum's current predicament, I've never felt less bothered about being so small. I'm tallish, and slim, which is so-so (trying to gain weight is harder than you may think, if you've never had to do it. Sometimes, it's a TOTAL. BITCH.). But now, I think, if there is anything untoward in there, I can hopefully detect it easier than if they were mounds akin to the dome of St. Paul's cathedral. But less green and weathered. And not on display to thousands of people everyday.

Yesterday was a "feel premenstrual, look premenstrual" day. For me, that is not the greatest of appearances to be sporting. I use the term "sporting" very loosely. Miss Troggy Features. Or Doggy. Or both.

I'm expecting to be knocked out again in hospital soon, this time to allow Mirena to leave my uterus. Womb. They're not the best words, are they? Maybe it's because of the ingrained-in-the-brain school teachings that they're the sex-organs and tools for being naughty... or maybe they're just rubbish words.
I shan't be sad about Mirena leaving. I have felt a lot more tired and lethargic since it's been in, and I don't attribute that to all the codeine. This is a different, heavy... ughhh-feeling. It's not Mirena's fault it didn't work. I don't blame it. It works in wonderful ways for other women, I know it does. It's a shame it doesn't seem to suit me. I blame my innards. They're completely, fucking useless at working properly. Pains where and when there shouldn't be, literally disabling me for days. Pathetic, no? Yes. Very.

When I have a "Lucy-normal" period, I am a useless lump of person, puffing and nearly passing out, feeling like my stomach will start pumping and there is no limit to the horrific inner agony that just. doesn't. stop.
I'm very, very pleased that I haven't (yet) been sick with a period but I think I'd rather like to pass out. I've only ever done it once; I had a bladder infection, and, even though the pain the day before was terrible, the actual passing-out parade was serene. I thought I was being silly and having a panic attack but there was actually something wrong with me! Ha. I woke up next to the fridge, head floating (brother was holding my head off the floor, love 'im) and saying, somewhat actress-like, "I'm OK *hand to forehead. Really.*, I'm OK". I obviously wasn't, having sweated my hair weight and collapsing onto my dear Mum. Apart from that, it was a great thing for me.

So. That's something to look forward to once Mirena goes.

Drop to the floor and give me twenty...

...my dropping to the floor is less about exercise, more (completely) about breathing through the kick I just got in my back and lower right abdomen. LRA. That's easier. I'm lazy. "Meh" to it. I'm apparently mildly anaemic which may or may not explain his immense tiredness I have felt every day since Thursday 8th January of this year, 2009. That's only when I invited Mirena to stay, so the effects may have been present before then. I can't remember.


(Random: David Tennant is on television. The Deputy is on Watch. Ohh golly. Geeky. But ohh golly. Very good to look at. And to listen to.)


It's been a long time since I felt reasonable. Even in the seemingly long-gone days of periods, I had a few days between both kinds of bleeding when I felt "all right", able to have a driving lesson, walk up the road to the charity shop (it's a really good charity shop). Or to Lidl. I really rate Lidl. Their customer count has just gone up by 4, I'm certain of it... And again, this isn't a moaning "oh poor me" post, it's a "bugger me, hormones are shit" post. I don't do victim. Like I don't do revenge. I don't see the point. Too much effort and time is invested in such tomfoolery. Bah. No humbug. Look after yer teef, etc.... didn't Pam Ayers say that?

But yes, slumping to the floor and leaning against cupboards or a wall (or dishwasher, depending where I am in the house) while heavy breathing and grunting my way through the pseudo kick-in-the-back-and/or-gut-area isn't the most attractive of apearances. But I know D will love it. Mmm English Rose it certainly isn't.
This strange up-down movement most often occurs after I rise from sitting. Up, down... still down. Attempt to get up... no, still there... sort of reminds me of a song that was sung at my (old) infants' school. "Bobbing up and down like this..." The only real difference is that I'm not sailing the ocean. I'd probably be seasick. I'm nauseous enough with Mirena, I don't want any seafaring lark to assist in that area.

Nausea doesn't stay all the time; it has some decency to leave me alone for a while. However, with all this codeine and for all its really rather good pain-relieving properties, it also blocks the bowels. This is not good. This, too, causes nausea. I haven't quite mastered the important skill of judging the amount of prunes to eat to counteract the effects of each dose of the 10/500mg co-dydramol. (Ponstan seems to be fine, in that respect. Only annoying thing with both types of medication is that you have to eat with them. The time I least feel like eating, when I feel most sick is when I have to shove down some biscuits or notShreddies. Meh.) I do actually really like prunes. A lot. I have to consciously stop myself from eating more. They do help "relieve", no doubt.
But they have their own undesirable efffects: wind and bloating. Not good. Especially when it's 2:30am and you're still waiting for the last lot of co-dydramol to kick in. A lot of kicking going on...

Good job I'm a girl who likes her cushions - I have many more than I need, obviously. Plus, a body pillow and a spare "normal" pillow, to support me and give me something to lean on when in bed. I always seem to end up in the recovery position, the only vaguely comfortable way to lay, to try to lessen the pressure of bits of gut on my womb. Or whatever. "Spread yer legs, love".

The draft of this post was written on paper, while sitting on my warm/hot bed. I have an electric blanket (my bedroom gets shockingly cold, bed more so in these harsh countryside-ish Winters) which my wonderful (and very sadly late) Nan bought me. It's never been more apreciated than now, I don't think. It's so good, it's like an all over hot water bottle. And I LOVE my hot water bottle...

Taurus? Sagittarius? No, it's Cancer!

Well, how inconvenient. So, my world, and more importantly, that of my Mum and Dad, has been even more potentially torn apart by the discovery that she has breast cancer. None of us saw that one coming. Not like any one person is so mighty and high in this world of sometimes random selection, that they shouldn't be unwell, but she has had so many health problems. Not just lately but for years.
I'm certainly not viewing it as "why choose her?" - it's simply rotten bad luck. Really shitty luck. We can't fault the speed of the treatment. Not even 5 weeks since the initial mammogram. Less than a week after that was the first letter of "Hmm... they want me to go back..."
I know it is easy to be pessimistic about these situations, saying "just my luck" etc., but with this family of mine, as wonderful as we are (and we are), this is just so fucking typical...



While it was a not very conclusive day for me on Monday, with my scan (Mirena in the right place, apparently; right ovary has one cyst; left ovary has many and is about 5cms across, which is about the same size as my uterus and is, therefore, not right... still doesn't explain, to me, why I have such terrible pains in my lower right abdomen... or anywhere, actually), it was nightmarish and unreal for my Ma and Pa.
And in a not-selfish-but-practical train of thought, it changes prospects for me. Too many women on my Ma's side have had cancer. Men, too, thinking about it. At least 3 women in my family have had breast cancer. Makes me a bit less bothered about having a small bust. If there should be a lump in there, it might make it more easy to find...
But DCIS - ductal carcinoma in situ - is the fiend which has appeared for my beautiful, selfless, wonderful Ma. Not detectable by a means other than a mammogram. And even then, it's not guaranteed that that is ALL they will find once they operate. Which makes me panic even more...


This is so (risk of US intonation here but...) not about me. I'm angry and scared, confused and frustrated. But none of it is about me. It's not about MY Mum. It's about my MUM. I would do anything in the world to make sure she was OK, to make her smile, and this breaks my heart to know that I can do nothing at all to change what is happening, and will happen, to her.



It is a week today that she goes in to hospital to have the offending article(s) removed and it is taking too long to get here. Life is odd, sometimes. As Des'ree said, "Life... oh life... ohh liiii-iife... oh life".


...saw our heron today. Not "our" heron but he/she, uselessly named Horatio by me, nearly fell off the roof on which he commonly resides, at the bottom of or garden. Strong winds and big wings don't always go well together. I was filming him on the camera and laughed (out loud) as he nearly tumbled. Cruel, eh...?

Betrayal, headaches and a cold cup of tea...

...not really betrayal, more "ignore me for no good reason". This particular hurt occurred some months ago but it still hurts. I thought he was a friend. A really good one, to boot. Not literally. Although, now... In the last week, I've had two dreams with Greek in. I may refer to him as ARSEHOLE, as he is both. I sometimes feel tempted to type an email or send a social network site message and ask, "have you grown up yet, and away from the clutches of your clingy jealous female friends?" but I suspect I shan't do this. He probably wouldn't reply, anyway.


I feel so sad about it, especially lately. He's still the one I think will most appreciate my inane texts about someone's very odd haircut on the telly or mentioning that I just saw our resident squirrel, Bertie... and then, Greek would reply fairly promptly with something like "Bertie is a good name for a squirrel. don't see many red squirrels these days. it's wrong pop!" Always lowercase. Except the first letter of the first sentence. Because the phone does that automatically, I presume. He ignored me the first time, because, I think, a particular female friend was jealous of his attentions to me. My Nan had recently died and he was my complete saviour. He stayed up until 7:30am just talking crap with me. Not always that late, he usually stayed up late anyway, when he should've been asleep ready for the studies of university or college...

I believe, in an absolute way, that I wouldn't have been so strong throughout it all without him there for me.

But Greek was persuaded by a seemingly very unpleasant teenager to stop talking to this 20-something. From what I was able to glean from her really rather nasty comments regarding me, she wanted him for herself. I could go on to say how she wore far too much make-up and ended up looking like a not-very-good and rather unattractive drag queen. Which, actually, is true. But if I said that, it'd indicate that I'm bitter. And I'm not. No, I'm really not. I pity her for being so cruel.


...a few months after we last exchanged words of any kind, I sent a message, still upset but less so, saying I was sorry he didn't talk to me, I wouldn't bother him again, that I'd deleted all his info, etc.... via myspace... and he replied. He apologised heartily, it seemed, saying he had been "a moron". With which I obviously did not argue. However I would've used a word...s like bastard child. But that's just me. He's young. Hence child. Nothing to do with his parents' marital status at the time of his birth... so it was all lovely and fun again, and then last year, around September/October he did it again. Just didn't reply to my messages. I didn't send an obscene amount of missives, nor did anything I sent contain anything offensive.


And the (sort of) worst part of this second hurt, is that he didn't have the gumption to tell me he didn't want to talk to me anymore - this is worse because before, he removed me from his list of everything online. At least that way I could see it. But the second hurt had nothing of that. I was still there yet he shunned me. Why? Why did he do that? What did I do? What happened? What changed for him to disown me again, so heartlessly, so coldly?


All this feels much worse, I'm assuming here, because of my Mirena. I say "my". It's an it. It's a small, white plastic (with added hormone! Ooh...) t-shaped thing that prods me from inside out, sending sharp stabbingish (I don't know that this is what stabbing feels like, I'm just guessing...) pains to my ovaries, mainly the right side, up into places I haven't seen nor do I know exist and right back down again. It probably sends the mail I never got from eBay up there, as well... wonder if I'll ever get that Christmas card my Nan sent about 5 years ago... everyone else got theirs. Postal Service. Great music...


I think I managed to catch my tea at the right stage of hotness. I usually let it go cold. Not on purpose. I just... don't realise how the time goes a bit too fast. I'm not always "ready" to drink the tea NOW. It's in the blue cheap cow mug. If it does go cold, at least I can reheat it in the microwave... Greek never liked that. "pop! thats disgusting. microwaved tea is so wrong. never tastes the same". Never tastes different to me... need to heat up this tea now...


So, do I make contact? Or do I not? I don't have his number, I deleted that, but I know where he lives and his email address. And he's on facebook. And myspace. Why let myself in for more hurt? He does support Arsenal, though, and they are abysmally awful, as teams go. That should be reason enough to say NO, STAY AWAY!!

Or maybe... he's the same immature and quite vague student he always was... what do I do? I hadn't really even thought about him until these dreams. They weren't even interesting: he was just there. It's this unresloved sense, this unfinished business feeling I can't abide. Just let go! But how, when he didn't even care that both my Mum and I were going into hospital. He used to care, he used to ask if "things" were OK. Why did he stop caring? Was it his ex? Did she persuade him to ignore me? Did he decide himself? Why? Why did he? OH GOD, why do I do this? I need to know. Let go... Let it go......... I don't know.


Hotted up tea is on the menu, now. After supermarket own brand wheat biscuits. Mm. they really are good. I can't tell the difference. If you have advice, please do send it. About Greek, not the tea. Although, feel free to do that, too...

Just when things are (sort of) "all right"...

...something happens and it completely punches you in the face. Proverbially...
Potentially bad news, not confirmed, not yet told result of tests, etc.... not for me, that would be preferable. I think. But to someone who is at the centre of my world. One of the most important people in my life, for EVER and after, might be unwell and I can't stop it. It may be nothing to be concerned about. But what if it is? ...shaking my head as I type. Ugh. Love's a bitch. And so is life, sometimes.

I get my scan done on Monday, to see if Mirena is in the right place. I still think it is not in the right place. Oddly, though, since my burst of TWO pain-free hours and doing some (possibly too) vigorous Dysoning, (not counting the horrid pain after, for a few hours) I've done... things. Not those sort of things, filthpot (or is that just me? Probably.), things like clear away my yarns and fabrics, sort of tidy my things in rooms a bit, load the dishwasher and sort the kitchen, clean the cats' trays... Like I have more energy. Which I have not had for MONTHS... might only be weeks... hang on... *looks at calendar* 10 weeks ago today. Thursday. Although, it's still Wednesday night... but still, that's a long time to not feel good. Not like I felt incredible before, this is like a bit of that OKishness, which is a lot, compared to what I have been feeling...

I don't even know who'd want to read these words of mine. I don't own the words, I just use them but... I made that headband I typed about before. Took ages. Didn't look as good as the one she did, nor nearly turn out the same... I probably did some stuff wrong, but I got a good k1 p1 rib stitch out of it . And sewed on some cheap buttons I got from eBay. Yarn also from the 'Bay. S'nice actually, it fits well. Just a bit bothered that, if I have my hair down with headband on, I may end up looking like the stereotypical librarian virgin. I wear glasses. Not much make-up, if any. Allergic to most. Allergic to make-up. That's a bitch, right? Righ'...

Time for my eyes to shut and allow me to go to sleep. Doing things makes this one tired. Yawning. Hm...

Going for a ranting record!! Oh dear...

THREE cups of tea. Maybe 4. Think it was three, though... Weird times, currently. Ma drank all the tea I mad for her so they must've been OK...

I still have not figured out why Lidl's own "Shreddies" have a dungaree-clad meerkat with gappy teeth on the front of the packet. The teeth get-up is my thing, get yet own, 'kat... you know when you see faces or things in clouds or paint splatters or... y'know, stuff? Among the drips of horrid brown stain in our downstairs toilet/shower room (the shower doesn't work: it's full of recycling stuff, in the pink sacks. And cat litter, in the extremely heavy - to me: I'm practically a twig - bags only a man with the strength of an ox could carry. And make it look like it's full of marshmallows and fluff, aka my brother... anyway...) floor, are some which I think look like a meerkat. I might actually take a photo and draw round it, to give it more definition, just to make me smile. I am. I am going to do that...

Some minor events happen to other people and they are really rather worrying to the people who experience it or them. And then they happen to you or someone very close to you and you get scared. It's not good when that happens. Not good at all.

Fry was on Ross. Not literally. Although, behind doors, who knows... ha! Ahh..... he mentioned twitter, I'd heard of it. Then Marsha mentioned it, and aha! Remembered to join. Joined. Love it! Also, I rather like when people think it's boring because "there's not much to do there" or "I was bored, what's the point?" - it's a good... sort of... updatey...... nosey..... "what're you doing?"... thing..... obviously...... agh, I love it, anyway. Alan Davies is very funny. Fry is wonderful. Shan't ask for him to follow me, I think he already has over 300,000 following him. That's (stating the obvious but) SO MANY!!

West Ham played West Brom tonight. We drew. We might be (are) rubbish sometimes (most of the time... possibly...) but they're my Hammers, they're my team. I love West Ham. I don't, generally, "hate" things or people but some teams' supporters can be so pretentious, so snide, so bullying in their bragging about results.
I understand football is a typically mannish game and rowdiness and "blokeness" is to be expected but manners should be included, I think. I don't mean doffing one's hat to one's opposition - rather, gentle teasing. Not, as some supporters do: RIP the piss out of the "inferior" team with coarse swears and profess themselves and their team to be better than anyone else. And actually, they will have, by doing that, proved that they are, in no uncertain terms, an ARSE. Such ego, such arrogance. Such delusion.
Yeah, my team's a bit crap, very bad at times, but they're MY team and I love them. My team isn't about money or cars or trophies (mainly because we never make it past the second round...) or a diamond stud in each ear (unless you're a girl, otherwise, you just look silly)... it's about playing the game together, to win, to (hopefully) play well. I know they don't always get that across, sometimes they're idiots. They're footballers, they're meant to be a bit silly... I'm not suggesting that all West Ham players have been brilliant or decent or the like... but I think MOST of the time, they have LESS ego than other teams and their players... AND it's because I'm from East London families, who worked SO hard to get what they had, which wasn't much, so I appreciate the small things in life like a 1-0 win against a Dr. Martens' league team. Yeah... Yeah, that's right. Read it and weep... that is all rather ranty, isn't it? I'm tired. Been a weird day. Mildly surreal. A little teary. Emotional. Strange, very different day...

Well... I should shut up, sort out my zoo, city and the "SGW" for the night. And then get some rest. And sleep. Catch up on the UK and local news on my freeview box. And telly. Can't really see it, otherwise... Only gets BBC channels well. Mostly on BBC News. If the weather decides to be windy, the signal breaks. Likewise when it's too Sunny. And too rainy. And very slightly drizzly...
Rough day, save for the emotional-part, was because Mirena moved again. It was a bit less than horrifically painful. Limping, hobbling, grasping on to the nearest available sturdy surface or thing is not elegant in the least. And it takes bloody ages to get comfortable, to try to release the weird pressure by laying this way, try that way, bring that leg up here... no, turn, lean, other leg... move it again...... no. What IS going on in there?! Hitting nerves or somethin'...

...OK, NOW I'm going... might take up with me my fancy new circular needles to make my headband thing... and the yarn that's currently cast on to the needles would be useful, I think... circular needles are weird. They're like a very, very short skipping rope. But not...

The Dyson hadn't felt my hands upon it for weeks. Many weeks. I'm amazed I remember how to use it. Front room, hall, stairs, kitchen... bit of back room carpet. Then a quick look on the computer and oh my god, what's that... oh, the pain has returned. TWO HOURS I waited for it to subside while I tried to get comfortable on the sofa. After taking my tablets. Like something is prodding my womb from the inside, out. What the hell?

Of course, having so much codeine has its downside...s. The relief can be utterly euphoric, i.e. it doesn't fecking hurt much or at all anymore but then, next day, unless you've consumed a kilogramme of prunes, you're in for more hell.

I think I was a bit excited about having no pain this morning. Doing that vigorous vacuuming was great, helped Ma, which is always very important. But I think Mirena went for a bit of a wander. Not too far, though. I'm back to my hobble-like-a-wobbly-old-lady walking and propping my head up with cushions. I've stolen all the cushions on the sofa, they're all miiiiiiiine.

I shall knit *ow* a headbandy thing, I got it from http://presentsknits.blogspot.com/2008/02/maner-free-pattern.html - my printer liked this one. Not the other one, a button hat. I adore knitting now, and crocheting, but when this ARSE of a printer *very small fly trying to si,...dl.......... diatract me... on my left index finger... typing ith riht hand only... back to two hands... ooh, typos...* decides to choose what it will and will not print, it makes sitting in there >> (front room) trying to follow patterns a bit tricky. In style of Fry & Laurie's city types - daaaaaaaaaammmmnnnn!!!

Might also attempt a cowl. YES. A COWL...... Fitz has just walked in, making a noise he calls a meaow - it really isn't - and he (I assume it was he) kindly brought in one of my unopened noses. The shocked face one. Not the glasses one, nor the big grin one... I think those noses are among the best Red Noses they've made. They don't pinch. I do have an oversized honk so, maybe that's why I feel that way...

My hot water bottle cover is immensely satisfying, perfect heat from the bottle! Wonderful! Hoorahhh for meee.
Aaaand, over 90 minutes since the powerboost of painkillers (Ponstan and co-dydramol), still having pains. My point is not to complain and to say "oh poor me, isn't it terrible what pains I suffer, please do feel sorry for me" - you can if you want, I shan't object, too much... my point is this - how is this deemed not urgent? OK, so I'm not writhing in agony on the floor ALL day, nor am I flooding and soaking through sanitary pads but this is immense pain at times, I'm knocked out by painkilling tablets which don't even work to totally rid me of feeling pain... and this is OK to wait up to 4 weeks? I say not. I would, though, wouldn't I? Slightly biased, perhaps...

Agh... or, as Shelley says - gah... anagram. Nice wordplay. Go words - play! *Shakes head at self*

Sit-down time, now... Lark Rise with Ma. New hot water bottle... aaand knitting. Yep. That lovely headband thing. Cool. Have some of my hair up in pinned curls to make it less frizzy, I look like a combination of both Nans. This is very good. Beautiful, they were. Lovely.

"Urgent" means you can wait up to four weeks...

...that seems along time, to me. You can't see the pauses I'm "doing" as I type but there are many. Scan appointment is before 10am in about 10 days' time. I fully expect them to say it's fine. Equally, that it's in a wrong place. I've had Ponstan and 2 x co-dydramol and still the sodding pain battles through the barrier.

I'm nearly asleep, not a bad thing, really... apart from me not being able to do even 1/10 of what I should be doing here: tidying my yarns away, vacuuming, sorting the kitchen, clean the cats' trays... ironing: my staple contribution to the household. Haven't done any for WEEKS. Guilt. Laziness? No, not dossing, just incredibly tired.

Reader, I am going to sit in the front room, have the telly on something on which I needn't concentrate, blanket, hot water bottle... and such..... also, if you eat cheese and like prawns, I implore you to try Primula with prawns. They used to make it with shrimps... no more. Prawns are insanely delicious, I find. Although, if you have them in your freezer and defrost them in a microwave on too high a heat, they do end up rather chewy... *puzzled/disgruntled face*

Water, sit down, etc.... more useless "news", later...

Not up north watching doves, but have nearly finished cover...

...nowt so good as an album cover, just a hot water bottle cover. Knitted, obviously. D and G are at the doves gig in Warrington and I'm NOT. One day, though. ONE. DAY.......

No letter. No lolly. But had the same lovely phlebotomist, so that was nice.

RANDOM: I bought myself some clear lens glasses from (not from, though, is it? It's via, I bought them from a seller. "Pedants' Revolt", etc.) eBay. I have almost stupidly sensitive eyes, worse when the pollen gets going, but I got these glasses to give my eyes some protection when I go outside - they water and stream, then my nose runs and goes red and people really do ask if I've got a cold. That is rarely the case, although presently, I have a sore throat... hoping it's an extension of the gummy-mouth syndrome one gets after taking codeine... everyone gets that, don't they.......?

So, while surfing (yes, I did type surfing... agh...) for places that sell clear lensed glasses, I saw a site where someone asked what other people thought of people wearing clear lenses... Someone said they thought it was offensive, like making fun of a handicap... Wha?? I wear glasses for reading, writing, watching telly, computer work, that kind of "close work" (I'm not like Mike TV... the Willy Wonka chap, not the Beats For Beginners maestro... he's really tall... anyway, yeah, I don't sit THAT close to the television, is what I meant...).

I really like my glasses. That they cost me £84.50, all in - less a repair of £12.50 - is nothing to do with my thoughts on them; I like them, I really do. Offensive, though? [sic] Like using a wheelchair if you can use your legs. WHAT. EVER. Yeah? Irony abounds, oh you can almost smell it.

Another RANDOM (I got that from Rose, thanks bud), but sort of not: sharp pains in lower right abdomen. I've been told they're not ovary pains, but then I suggested it might be ovary-related to another/current consultant and he didn't say they wouldn't cause pains, so I conclude that they, or, rather it, is causing this stabbiness. Bit like a stitch but not. Like a tugging tightness. Which... hmmyeah, IS like a stitch...

I still wonder if that extraordinary (Minnie, Lark Rise, ah how delightful she is) episode, whereby I was admitted to hospital in 2003, was due to a burst cyst. No high temperature, no infection, blood test was clear, blood pressure fine - now it is low, hence dizziness... and they said they didn't actually know what "it" was. If it was an appendix problem, i.e. a grumbling appendix, I'd have expected it to carry on hurting, intermittently, but there hasn't been anything like that... ohhh, I don't know... answers, though, you know?

...and now my arm really aches. I ate all my Smarties. Water and... a mint, I think. A Softmint. I swallowed one of those whole, by accident, when I was not more than 101/2-years-old. I know this because it happened at "the other house" and we moved here when I was 101/2-years-old. You SO needed to know that. Irony, with the "SO", see? Aye.

I got series one of Not Going Out on DVD in the post, today. Adore the present second series, SO funny. Mancunians do tend to be rather listen-to-able anyway, I find. And I always have to do that "oh he looks nice, as well" thing and ruin the proper reason for watching. Which is - it's very funny. That happens a lot, though... "ooh he's nice AND he makes very good music". It cheapens it for me, yet I still do it. A lot. Women, eh?

...talking of, went into the supermarket, turn left (Doctor!) into the car park, left again for the first lot of spaces, a car, driven by a woman, was heading straight for us (Ma and me) the WRONG WAY. Clearly, a Nissan Bluebird is a hefty piece of car and she couldn't drive it properly. She decided to swing into the space that Ma was going to have, plenty more available but she took up TWO spaces! Then, of course, she had to reverse a bit and go back in, and then again...

OH EM JEE, if you can't read the frankly massive white arrows on the ground and co-ordinate yourself in a CAR PARK, how the hell do you expect to drive properly on an actual road? The answer, I suspect, is - you don't. You're probably rubbish. I'm trying so hard to learn and learn well and listen to what I'm taught, to be considerate and then fools like her drive like an inebriated loon. In a car park. I wanted to get out and brick her but Ma persuaded me not to haha... Ranty rant rant...

AND facebook has changed again. Why? What was the point? I can't see an option to change it back to the last "new" version. If you know if you can, do tell...

Contains talk of "lady things", Art and rubbishish television programmes...

Ooh, my first blogthing. I should be asleep now. But I'm not, I'm still awake, at 01:26 on Thursday morning.


I just typed and deleted two mildly long versions of what I was going to say but I'm not going to post that, now... because I've deleted it and can't remember what I put...



Main points about me, should you be interested, dear reader:

• I am 27-years-old.
• I've had mental health "issues" since I was 7, and period kerfuffle since 12
• Because of the above, I left school with no qualifications
• I went to two colleges, first for GCSEs and, later, Art & Design
• I don't work because of health stuff and I abhor not earning my own money
• I'm not complaining about my health or my situation but sometimes, it's hard to keep the mood bouncy. I don't pity myself. I never ask "why me?". I don't say "it's not fair". Life is supposed to be a challenge and I don't ever see myself as a victim
• I don't really know what I'm going to type in this blog and can't believe anyone might be reading it........ I really fancy some ham... why did I just get a strong craving for crumbed ham, fresh from the deli...?

I had Mirena IUS (it's not a coil... it's just not) fitted in early January this year... the reason was/is to lighten or stop my unspeakably painful, irregular, heavy, long periods. After 15 years, one might think they might have settled, as I'd been told many times over the years. But they haven't. After being told I should see a psychologist or psychiatrist as the pain might be psychological - :O - and then being told I was too young for ovary problems (at 26? What??) - again :O especially as I was then diagnosed with polycystic ovaries. Errr...... - a hormone imbalance, they say, is what is causing my womb troubles... I'm not totally convinced, I must say. If I am wrong, I shall admit so but... hmm...

I have tried four hormone tablets and they just don't suit me: I get desperately emotional, so upset, so very angry... this is clearly not good (in my opinion) for someone who wanted to end their life when, at the very deepest deep depths of depression, she was only 13-years-old.

Mirena releases a tiny amount of hormone but into the womb, where it's needed, rather than into the bloodstream where it gets in ma heed and messes with my mind, man...

I'm currently waiting for a letter from A hospital so I can have another pelvic scan to see if the Mirena is in the right place. I'm guessing, somewhat uneducatedly (is that a word? I don't think it is...), that it isn't, on account of the pain I've had every day since it was fitted.

Apparently, I've read, having a retroverted uterus makes it difficult for the doctor to get the Mirena in the right place and can cause some discomfort or pain. No shit, Sherlock. Sarcasm? Yeah. Funny? To me, yes.

It's late, I'm hungry... Lidl's own "Shreddies", I think. With fat milk, oh yes. Orange juice, Citalopram, Ponstan... bring on the drugs! Not *quite "bring on the wall!" but nearly as good... I'm referring to Harry Hill, not the Winton programme, you understand...

Shall try to finish knitting my hot water bottle cover today... Hm, yeah, today... 8mm needles, fat yarn, should be good... lovely and soft. By Wendy. Looks like boucle. Yawn, tired, hungry, sleep, bed... bed, then sleep... that's probably more practical.....