Wednesday, 27 June 2012
The last thing I expected to happen with this post was for it to become the most read post on my entire blog. Ever. Of all time. Ever. It was all because I asked people on twitter to help me after it became clearer than the Crystal Maze that SOMEONE had taken my money by deception, when claiming to want to help me raise money for my Mission to Tell Cancer to Sod Off. Also known as #SodOffCancer on twitter...
I can not overstate how amazing people were on twitter that day, how kind their words were, how enraged they felt on my behalf for the gall and cruelty and heartlessness of what this person did. Each retweet was so gratefully seen by me, and I thank each person so very much, with very special specialness to @MargoJMilne, @fiatpanda, and @EssexPoliceUK for their super-speedy help and guidance over what I should do. The "should do" has become a "have done", and there's no more I can actively do, with regards to the reporting to and telling police what I know.
I wondered if I could retrieve any of the MSN Messenger conversations that person and I had had. I hoped so much I could find the info there. My hopes were enough, it seems, for here they are, on my laptop. The entire - THE ENTIRE - log of conversations. Here are some gems of his numerous claims:
"Tomorrow at the 'Casualty' set in Bristol and weekend - no idea yet" - after I asked him on 24th September 2009 if he would have a busy Friday.
"i have been given a pack of 10 first class return rail tickets for anywhere on the Virgin, National Express or East Midlands Trains rail network which you can have for your charity auctions, plus a load of stuff from Doctor Who, Torchwood, Casualty, Holby City and, thanks to Teignbridge District Council, a sponsorship message on a roundabout between Teignmouth and Newton Abbott", "my other half has just said that he’ll throw in a free meal for a family at the Mount Pleasant Arms in Dawlish Warren and a £50 bar tab too (Dawlish Warren is in South Devon), and "Craig said that he’ll turn it into a weekend break at the hotel with breakfast and meals for a family of four" - after I asked him for news about the box of stuff, on 3rd October 2009.
And look! Here are the snapshots from the facebook messages stating much the same:
On 11th November 2009, he informed me "i work for ofcom so can do it internally" when talking about Doctor Who when he thought Martha had said the word "fuck". "OFCOM Telephone Rule 3.2 Ss8" apparently. And, how exciting! The next day he would be up early. But why? This: "get the pre-records ready for GMTV tomorrow morning - it's coming from Manchester for the first time (although they won't mention that on screen!) ... just getting the set up, studio ready and some early morming incerts ... and gotta do the edits for it too ... shame we don't have credits: Executive Producer STEVEN MURPHY for TX MEDIA LTD and GMTV STUDIOS".
If you have a spare skip nearby, you might want to fill that with salt.
He'd been to the National Television Awards and blamed the Loose Women for being drunk.
He'd won a Mac from GMTV.
He was an executive producer for something or other and had a very important clipboard to make sure the programme complies with guidelines.
He was in hospital for a while and couldn't reply to me, being later diagnosed with Wolfe-Parkinson-White Syndrome, a heart condition.
Let's jump forward to 22nd April 2010 when I asked if the box will arrive any time soon, which prompted him to say "oh your big box of stuff will be with you on MONDAY - am posting it on Saturday before I go on my hols".
How about 10th September 2010? "i'll get it sorted for you on monday - sorry sorry sorry".
Luck is not on his side, for this is what happened on 22nd November 2010: "hey - sorry it's Marc his hubby - just checking his email - he's in hospital ... no he fell down the stairs at work and done his leg in".
Dear oh dear oh dear OH DEAR. And that was it. That was the last I heard or read from "Steven" or "Marc" or "Craig" or whoever the fuck Matthew Attenborough pretended to be.
It's been a long time since I listed the things I have been given and sent by lovely people, and the reason is, as ever, my own quite shitty health. My days aren't easy and they're not spent lazing about. When I feel OK, i do what I can. From my asking by writing begging letters for a signed card or some, I've pleaded and beggeded and have been sent signed postcards and photos by SO many (mainly Doctor Who and Harry Potter) people (or their people), including Hugh Bonneville, Karen Gillan, Matt Smith, Maggie Smith, June Whitfield, Bernard Cribbins, Tracy-Ann Oberman, Matilda Ziegler, Julia Sawalha, Michael Palin, Camille Coduri, Jessica Hynes, Sinead loads from Eastenders people, loads from Coronation Street people, and LOTS more people. I've been sent huge signed film posters, Doctor Who illustrations, signed books, signed records, signed CDs, and SO MUCH MORE.
A large chunk of the stuff has been given by those wonders @marshamusic and @shaunwkeaveny and I am SO thankful to them. I could squeeze them 'til the cows come home. And go away again. And come home again... as well as @LisaLynch, who gave me 2 of her books, which she'd signed, and they made LOTS of luvverly moolah for charity. Thank-you, Lisa!
I want to have two HUGE bundles each of Doctor Who and Harry Potter stuff - one for Macmillan Cancer Support, and the other for Cancer Research UK. Torchwood and The Sarah Jane Adventures things will probably be added to the Doctor Who stuff. Not sure yet.
I feel I must reiterate what I feel is one of the most important points of all this: I make absolutely no money from this. I don't want to. I started this because my Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer, and still suffers now, over 3 years since the horrible times began. All I ever wanted to do was get things, sell them on eBay 100% for the charities I chose, and know that those charities have benefitted.
In another blatant begging instance, if YOU have things you'd like to donate to my cause, if you want to help Tell Cancer TO SOD OFF, you can leave a comment on here, or email email@example.com, or tweet me @TheCurlyLucy. It can take a long time for me to get round to doing things, but I get to them in the end. This is why things get bad, sometimes.
SOD OFF, CANCER.
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Saturday, 23 June 2012
Naivety isn't something any of us likes to admit to but I was when I started this fundraising lark. I had people sending me things, signed books, records, photos, CDs, posters. And there was someone who seemed so very helpful and eager to help. "Hooray!" I thought. Aren't people nice?
Yes, they are. They can also be turds who take money "for postage costs" with a promise of sending stuff from the BBC and ITV studios and signed cards and T-shirts for me to list on my eBay page to sell 100% for charity. If you're not aware of why I do this, I shall tell you: in 2009, my Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a mastectomy. She's still having treatment and is still having a really bloody hard time.
I never sell my charity things to profit for myself, I never take any of the money. Every charity listing is 100% for that charity. The three I concentrate on are Macmillan Cancer Support,, Cancer Research UK, and Breast Cancer Care.
A man called Steven Murphy started talking to me on twitter, and, as the months went by, and we talked more, we talked on the phone. More months went by and trust was built, and (though I can curse myself endlessly now) I transferred £15 to his bank account to cover the amount it would cost as there was a lot and it was heavy. After being told he would then send the box of things, I waited. And I waited. And he was "ill". And I waited. And many obstacles occurred.
He used to use twitter.com/tgmedia, but THAT IS NOT HIM NOW. It used to be Trafalgar Media.
He also seems to have used twitter.com/tvguidelive and twitter.com/txmediauk.
On the TwitPic site, he's here: Steven Murphy.
The website he said was his lived at TG:media, among other places.
If you wanted to search, I'm sure you find all this and more. While trying to find out more, I found this: a non-too complimentary view from others about much the same thing. He now says he's a POLICE OFFICER. In Cornwall.
Somewhat naturally, I am so annoyed with myself for transferring the money to his bank account from mine, and I still have his details, from that time, at least. Retrospect is a great thing, but it only ever comes along after an event. Obviously.
Without wanting to sound all politiciany, please let me explain that I absolutely do not want people to give me their money. I don't want anything other than him to give me back my money, an apology for lying, disappearing, and countless other words I can't think of right now. He is still on my facebook friends list - back after a vanishing for a few months - and there has not been ANY reply or contact of ANY kind for over a year. Possibly more. I don't now believe there ever was a box of things. Obvious now, isn't it?
If anyone can help or has advice or knows what I can do (please bear in mind I'm not wealthy, nor am I particularly well, nor do I want terrible things to happen to this person), please help me? I want what is right to happen to happen. I WANT MY MONEY BACK.
All I ever wanted to do was sell stuff for those charities. I never wanted to profit for myself, not a single shiny or dull penny. Please. Please, can you help?
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Thursday, 21 June 2012
When I stayed in London for a weekend to attend Lisa Lynch's Super Sweet 30th birthday party, it was a marker for an impressive "independence" achievement for me, despite that independence being fleeting, much as it is now, three years later. It was also the start of a slow-burning desire to exercise
The next year, 2010, I walked and slowly ran my first sporting event, and raised money for Endometriosis UK. I surpassed my original target by hundreds, and was so overwhelmed by the generosity and kindness of people I'd never met, mostly via the wonder that is twitter.
The next year, which, coincidentally, was also last year (2011), would see me walk the same event, again raising money for Endometriosis UK.
Each event was also when I would meet friends I had, until those days, only "talked" to online, whether through facebook, twitter, or email, or by text or letters. Last year's 5k run [walk] was about 5 weeks after my second laparoscopy, which made it very hard for me to do any training, and walking the distance proved to be incredibly hard for me, with both legs, ankles and feet feeling as though they were burning after only 2 kilometres. But I carried on *FANFARE* and it was so lovely. People cheered all the way round no matter the charity they were supporting. I wore my Endometriosis UK T-shirt with such pride, and grinned and waved at those also supporting them. It's a wonderful, satisfying feeling being part of something like that; I only wish I'd been able to run, like I had planned.
Typically, the endometriosis pains and fatigue disrupted my plans. Additionally, I was having considerable problems with codeine in the 2 or 3 months prior to my laparoscopy; the withdrawal symptoms relating to the codeine I wasn't having to take were because of minimal pain, due to having the 4-weekly injections of Decapeptyl SR. The intermission in the pain calendar was extremely welcome, although the ills I felt from the lack of codeine in my system, having had quite a lot of the stuff every day for months, were far less welcome. They were not welcome. They were not invited to dinner but they stayed, anyway. A super-lovely GP and I worked out a tapering plan to ensure I suffered minimal symptoms while very slowly reducing the amount of codeine I took each day.
With the days sporadically becoming warmer and brighter, and with the knowledge that the adidas Women's 5k Challenge would not happen this year due to the Olympics, I wondered if I could again raise money for Endometriosis UK by taking part in a not-too-strenuous-but-equally-not-easy-in-any-way event type thing. And lo! It was here that I did discover that THIS EXCITING EVENT was happening! And so, dear readers, you lovely, generous, caring and kind readers, I have registered to complete the 5 kilometres Big Fun Run course in Crystal Palace Park on Saturday 8th September 2012.
CLICK ME NOW!
I've been slowly getting fitter, little by little, and I feel improved even walking round my house, up the familiar stairs, getting up from the sofa, and making tea. It might all seem like not much, but when there are so few moments with not pain, it's a HUGE change. The fitness classes at hospital have been fun, even though I've so far only attended half, with thanks going to unwellness caused by a period, a virus, and another sinus infection. I haven't wanted to miss those classes, but, as you may well know by now if you've read this blog before, when a period arrives, it's all about the period. The Duloxetine is still working well, the pains are less bad, and the periods are less bad, albeit still very significantly ouchy.
I want to do this 5k and I want to do it well. I want YOU LOT to help my beloved and wonderful and TINY Endometriosis UK continue to be funded, so that it may help those frightened, desperate and terribly-affected girls and women come to terms with this most cruel of conditions, to better live their lives, and to feel properly supported by people who truly understand what endometriosis means.
As with the previous events, this is not going to be easy for me to do. It may be less painful to walk, but it will hurt me. This truly, honestly is going to be a challenge for me. An early morning, several train journeys to get to Crystal Palace Park, the event itself, the walking and the trains back home, and the realisation of what I've done will all take their toll on my entire being, and I will be hurting and aching and tearful and overjoyed and wondering why the hell I put myself through all that pain. Again. And then I'll remember: because I'm helping people like me.
My sparkly, phenomenal, and really rather super new fundraising page is sitting just under these highlighted words and, if you should feel so inclined, you can help women and girls just like me, who have fearsome pain and dreadful days, so that they'll be sure people are there to help them get through those dark times. I promise your donations of supremely welcome moolah will do wonders for countless people. You can, indubitably, make an actual difference to actual people's lives. Including mine. And I'll be hurting after the 5k. So please, make it worth my while, if you can? Please? CLICK ME NOW!
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Monday, 18 June 2012
Knowing how it feels to be unwell a lot of the time, or at least not great, is really quite rubbish. If you know someone who experiences similar or the same feelings, it's good. But still rubbish, because you know they suffer, too. When a friend (and my former home tutor) introduced me - by way of those postal letter things - to a girl call Lynsey (who she also tutored at home), none of us would know how important that meeting would come to be in our lives. The friendship that evolved would become one of the most special in my life, and continues to be so.
Lynsey is my first EVAH guest blogger *erupts in applause and throws someone's pants on stage in celebration* and here, she tells you a little of her life, my life, and our lovely and very solid friendship.
When Lucy first asked if I would be her first guest blogger I was completely chuffed and then mildly scared; Lu has a lot of followers and is a stickler for grammar and spelling – I'm not very good at these but my followers generally don't seem to mind my grammatical faults. But I know Lu loves me as much as I do her so she'll forgive my down falls.
That's the thing about true friendships; they're tested by annoying habits as much as they are by big life events, but sometimes these life changing times are those that bring you the best friendships.
I met Lucy via our home tutor 13 years ago, we were awkward teens, Lucy would be quiet in her shyness; I on the other hand wouldn't shut up. Who'd have known that these polar opposite personalities would become such firm buddies and still have a strong bond even if we don't see each other for months on end. Our friendship is almost a two fingered salute at Endometriosis and RSD/CRPS, they may bring us down, but the pain brings us friends who build us back up again.
So many of my friendships have bore the same beginning, I've met some the best people I know from support groups, hospital stays and even my medical team have continued to be in my life way after treatment. Despite all the pain I may go through, as does Lucy and many of you – her readers, there is a silver lining to it all.
Unfortunately with everything there is a flip side to this said silver lining, a black cloud that descends over a friendship. Even without illness, you must have all experienced - that friend - the one who doesn’t want to be there when times get tough, the one who can't understand why you just don't get over yourself and move on. These are known as toxic people in my book, because to be a true friend you must take the good and the bad, even if that bad takes weeks, months, years or is a condition or illness that lasts a life time.
I'll put my hands up, sometimes my issues/illness/family problems have taken president over my friendships; but those who know me, recognize it's never out of malice or spite, it's the simple fact my concentration is directed another way for the time being.
I'm often asked would I take away my disability; it's a hard one to answer; I'd like to be rid of the pain but then that same pain as made me who I am today and I'm quite happy with that; would I have changed the experiences, the life lessons or the friends I’ve made – the answer would simply be – "Ah, Hell no!!
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Tuesday, 12 June 2012
I often write very short lists of what I want to try to get done that current day or the next. I don't always do everything on the lists, but I remain firm in my belief that it's better to have those tasks on lists than not bother trying to do anything, or to have any aims, no matter how small they may be. Today's list: Ironing; 30mins Gym ball and/or Theraband; Bird food. The picture on the left is the ACTUAL list I wrote for myself on Sunday night. That's my writing, that is. Yeah. It features three tasks for me to attempt to complete. I woke at a good time, i.e. before 9 o'clock (in the morning), and, although I had some heavy pains, felt good "in myself", for want of a much better phrase.
When I came downstairs this morning, I was ready to fulfill at least one thing on the list. The exercise! After the mostly horrible-because-of-a-period week, today has been mostly pain-free, not least because of the dihydrocodeine. Usually after taking two of those tablets, I laugh in what can really only be described as a thoroughly stupid giggly and drunken manner. And the pain stops. Most of the time. This morning, I took them, drank my lovely sugarless Assam tea, plonked my heavy legs (and feet) upstairs, and pulled on my old clothes for decorating after deciding to help my hero Dad strip the wallpaper in the kitchen. (Incidentally, the jeans I wore were a size 12 and, for years, were quite baggy. Today, I struggled to do them up as my bum has grown out of size 10 jeans. Or stretches them to their limits, at least. I laughed and cheered loudly. On my own. I really did. They were tight as HELLFIRE is HOT. So, another point to Duloxetine for the weight gain. HOO. RAH.)
When we moved to this house (twenty years ago this year), we couldn't possibly have thought that only now we'd be having the kitchen WE have chosen, or, more specifically, the kitchen Mum and Dad have chosen. I know I'm not alone in being a person full of endless and passionate praise for their parents, for thinking them magnificent, so caring, generous, loving, and, frankly, really fucking amazing. For all these years of exceptional hardship, whether because of lack of money, bad health of one or more of us at any time, grief from losing a member of our family, my troubles at school - my Mum AND Dad have never, ever let me down. They have always been there, no matter what's happening. Again, that's not unique to me or my family, but it remains a brilliant thing, so I celebrate it whenever I can with hugs and tea and more hugs and more tea. I know: adventure even Bear Grylls can not imagine.
This house was built in the mid-1960s. There were BROWN tiles ALL OVER the walls, with randomly placed line "drawing" tiles variously featuring *cue Tony Hart's gallery music* an iron-shaped cheese dish, some kind of mill thing with a draw, and a partly-melted candle. *End of music* Brown. Brown brown brown. Cupboards, worktop, floor, walls. The cupboards had been removed the Sunday night before by my Dad and brother, revealing green woodchip wallpaper. Not just one green. No, no. THREE greens. THREE. GREEN. WOODCHIP.
Think about those words, dear Feasible reader. To temporarily adopt Jimmy Cricket's catchphrase, there's more. Whoever "decorated" the kitchen to its now-dead "style", whether the same person or different people, used a total of FOUR wallpapers in one very small area behind one of the cupboards. Two florals, with one featuring a geometric hell. And two colours of paint on to blown plaster. One of them was a green, you'll be flabbergasted to know.
The ceiling, where not painted its most recent shade of bright white, is a rather fetching [retching] brown, but more the kind achieved with years of fatty cooking and smoking. Nice.
This was all here before we moved in, and before the people who lived here before us, too which dates the decor to pre-1985. Ish. The standard of workmanship in this house, from wallpapering to plastering, from 49° mitred angle doorframes to the asbestos elbow-destroyer on the walls, is shocking. It's awful. Really. So bad.
That's one of the reasons I wanted to help my Dad with stripping the wallpaper. He's not in the best of health, either, with arthritis ruining his hip and back. It should have been fairly easy to remove the very offensive wall attire. It wasn't. There were TWO layers of green woodchip paper! Different greens. And ANOTHER layer of woodchip. It was YELLOW! I lost count of the times we had to soak and score the paper...s...
It took about four hours to remove a very small area of paper but remove it we did, and we had our respective aches and twinges and stiff backs and heavy legs. And it was all worth it. I finally said hello to the bathroom in the middle of the afternoon. I turned on the radio in there to hear the Edward Elgar's "Pomp and Circumstance Marches" and I grinned and bopped and grinned some more as the magic of what seemed like every instrument ever devised and created combined in the most perfect of ways to produce glorious majesty in music form.
What surprised me about me really very ambitious efforts considering I'd only just eaten the dihydrocodeine, is that I felt awake and eager and not spaced out in the least! Having said that, however, I do now feel... not broken, as I did on Saturday after the Friday night out before it, but... perhaps slightly cracked. My back feels stiff, my legs are aching, my shoulders, elbows and wrists feel as though all the nerves have been pinched, and my nose is snotting more than I've known for years. Lovely. But, like I said in the last post, these pains are good to feel because they're the result of something I have done, because I chose to, because I felt I could. It's not the endometriosis pain stopping me from doing things. I've not fed the birds, nor have I ironed any clothes, and nor have I done any exercise. Although, I did climb on the worktops, and stretch to soak and scrape the paper off the walls, and twist, and turn, and I think that might be all right for "exercise", such as it is.
I would like to have done more today, I would like to have done at least one thing on my list, but I haven't. I just didn't have enough spoons. Previously, I may well have felt guilty about that. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I would have felt guilty! But, tonight, I don't. I put a lot of effort in to helping make the kitchen another step closer to being ready for its new face. And I'm pleased with that. Dad would have taken a lot longer to do it all without my help, he'd be in more pain than he is already, and he'd be even more tired than he is now. That's more than enough for me to be pleased with, especially as I woke up in quite a lot of pelvic pain, which needed painkillers to stop it getting my day off to a bad start. But I think my new way of thinking was a large part of that happening. I don't take enough credit for my achievements, be it the money raised from my 100%-for-charity eBay auctions, the improved way I look at life, or the help I give friends when they need me. I just don't want to disappear up my ever-growing arse is all, I suppose.
Tonight was about relaxing with tea, a hot water bottle, friends on the texts, and more tea. And food. Wherever it is now. In that box, probably. No, not that one; that's the Tupperware. This could take a while...
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Sunday, 10 June 2012
Friday was "Going Out" night for me. If you've been reading this blog for a while and/or know how my life is, you'll know I don't do going out at night, let alone in the daytime, save for doctor or hospital appointments, or a nice walk to the local shops.
Following a few days of a less-bad-but-still-pretty-horrible-and-soul-depleting period, I spent a wholly wonderful and giggle-filled afternoon and evening with a friend before we went to see a show by another of my friends. Possibly, I should have stayed at home, and carried on "resting", as I'm still eating the dihydrocodeine for period-related pain, and still have the all-too-familiar dizzy, heavy, aching of endometriosis and its period and ovary pains.
Along with the not-so-new anti-depressant, Duloxetine, the grogginess and urgh that come with the endometriosis generally, the periods, and the codeine can be quite hard to cope with, when I know I have to get things done. Mostly, those things don't get done. Or, they do, but much, much later than I have hoped or planned. Frustration often leads to guilt, which, in turn, leads to anger, more often than not. It's hard, at times, to remember that my not helping out at home is not because I'm a bad person or that I'm lazy; I'm not well. It's not my fault I'm affected this way, of course it's not. It's usually a complex mountain of emotions, so tangled, a considerable knotty mess. Worse than trying to comb my hair after a twiddle session.
The journey to the venue on Friday night took much less time than I'd expected, which was a bonus, and the scenery was really quite lovely. Horses, cows, hobbies, a kestrel, churches, countless green fields. The evening itself was an altogether joyful, happy, silly, giggly, being-with-friends time, and even though it seems to have fully broken me, my Rapunzel hair and I would not have changed a thing. These events happen so infrequently for me that, when there's a chance to enjoy myself, I grab it, and I want to fondle it, squeeze it, lick it, and keep it forever in a little box. I'm suffering now: I've been in stiff, achy pain all day; the period and ovary pains are still doing their worst; my concentration has been depleted beyond what I consider reasonable; and I've been tweeting happy happy codeine nonsense. Again.
It can be very easy to misjudge the abilities of a person if that person is seen doing "normal" everyday activities. If I'm seen to hang washing on the line in the garden, or walk to the post office, or tidy the kitchen, someone may well assume I can always do those things. As Jo says in this blog post, when you have, for example, a chronic pain problem, some people will only ever see snippets of your life, like excerpts from a film. Some parts of my "normal" day-to-day life are never seen by some members of my family, neighbours, acquaintances, some friends, although some of them know what my life is like, because theirs is so sadly similar. Most people will never know how the pain and the fatigue affect me, what they don't see is when I'm lifted off the floor because I can not move for the pain which stuns me in to submission, at the mercy of endometriosis. It's not a surprise to those who have similar troubles that some arse-candles have told me to keep my chin up, to put a brave face on, to look on the bright side. Really? D'you think I'm not already? Apparently, some people think that's the case. Knobheads.
It's been a long time since my last blog post. In a so-vague-it's-really-not-similar-at-all way to Lisa with her latest blog post, the reason is not because I've been terribly ill, either physically or emotionally, but because I've sort of done stuff. Not big, adventurous stuff. In my last post, I told you about my gym sessions at the hospital, and that I'd update you on how they'd been. Well here's the update: they've been MARVELLOUS. I've missed some, because of a clash of hospital appointments and the inevitable endometriosis/period bothers, which has been really bloody annoying, if you'll pardon the pun. I was brilliantly confident in that first session. Confident for me, anyway. I stood at the front, not hiding at the back like I would have not so long ago. I got the red Thera-Band - which I LOVE so much I bought my own - and I stretched and breathed, and stretched, and relaxed, and stretched, and breathed. I talked to people I'd only just met, I had fun on the cycling machination gadget, I walked on the conveyor belt, I bounced on the gym ball.
And I loved THAT so much I bought my own. It's blue. And it's a ball. It's a lot of fun. And I can feel it and the Thera-Band making a difference, I can feel my muscles working, being used, aching from being used. And they hurt. And it was good! I felt good! I suppose it was the endorphins doing their feel-good thing, but also that I'm aware I'm doing what I wanted to for so long, i.e. exercise, but felt unable to. I was hurting but because of something that was helping me, that was good for me. It wasn't something that was pulling me back from what I was nearly about to achieve but couldn't quite manage because of the pain, which stopped me walking out the door, or reaching across the worktop, or using the vacuum cleaner. This hospital-prescribed exercise has been the shove I needed to get back to being active, even if not quite on the same level as an athlete. It's enough for me, to help strengthen my body to better deal with the pains I have daily, and with periods.
Other bits and pieces have been going on and, while not super-important or life-changing to me, have been enough to be more important than sitting on the sofa tweeting about tea and whatnot. Because I've felt like doing other things. That still doesn't mean that I can do all the things I want to, because I still can't and maybe that won't happen soon or ever, but it might. Having that positivity is so incredibly important because it means other aspects of my life might change. I'm having more good days, and more good hours in those days. I'm waking up earlier, getting to bed earlier and doing more between those two happenings. I'm still tired, I'm still in pain, I'm still eating codeine every day, at least twice, and I'm still rattling from all the other types of medication I have to take each day.
Helped along and brilliantly encouraged by gorgeous friends, I've begun to do things I have wanted to do for such a long time. Such a long, long time. I'm watching films I've wanted to see for years but just never got round to. I've started - finally! - listening to classical music, which I've liked very much for so long but never quite got round to properly discovering. I have now. And I love it. I've found some new favourite composers, and works, and it moves me, building emotions the way only music can for me. Procrastination is one thing; being prevented by bad health is very much another. Of course, I do waste time playing Words with Friends - challenge me at thecurlylucy - and looking for ridiculously cute photos of animals on Daily Squee. Of course I do, I'm an idiot. Who isn't?
Even though not doing what I should do isn't really a good thing, not doing it because I have chosen not to do it most certainly is good. For me, at least. Not great when I've been asked to vacuum the hall and stairs 87 times in 2 hours, or when I'm meant to have got the washing in half an hour ago rather than punning to Twitter. Being prevented from walking normally, being "made" to stay on the sofa or in bed or on the floor, not having the physical strength to even speak because of the tears and the pain and the desperation to have all this stop and give it a rest is surely no-one's idea of a good life.
Before I started typing this blog post, I had it in mind that I'd finish and post at about 9pm. It's now past 2am on Sunday morning, and it's not quite finished. Why have I taken so long? Silly texts with a diamond of a friend. (Carbon Man!) Playing Words with Friends. Playing on Twitter with puns about potatoes. Watching the Germany vs Poland Euro 2012 match. Watching Harry Belafonte talk to David Lammy on Sky Arts 2 at the Hay Festival. Some of the delay in writing was because I wanted to do those things, while some was because I couldn't seem to move. Fatigue, codeine, endo. I expect I'll carry on recovering from Friday night for at least another day yet. It's still quite crap how long recovery takes, and loathe as I am to rest and take it easy to enable me to do stuff, rest I must. Which is why, at nearly 3am, I am still awake and typing these very rambly words. Sensible is not my middle name. Clearly.
And so, with meh-inducing pelvic pain, ever-heavy eyes, and an increasing inability to type coherently, I am away to bed to sleep and, hopefully, have a night full of rainbow dreams. Sunday will, if my plan transpires, be the day I finally watch Tron after feck knows how many years of wanting to.
Goodly night! Or good morning. Or afternoon. Or evening. Or whatever.
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