Walking! And mowing. And Stuff.
After some hard truths from the Doctor on Monday, (115 kg!! SHIT!! That crept up!) I’ve been walking. I even had Mr Beloved drop Connie and me at the library in town and we walked the 3.2 km home! Today I walked home from my appointment at the chiropractor, only 2.8 km (and 20 minutes of the 38 minute walk was down hill) and without Connie, so I’ll be heading out again later today.
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Yes, that is Constance J. Woodle – but no, that’s not really me, LOL! Connie is in her full winter coat – I think next time she sees the groomer she’ll have a close shave – her hair starts to get knotty at this length.
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The bottom line that the scanner cut off says “I am really looking forward to bed!”
We see the doctor again in a fortnight and I’m determined that I will have lost at least a couple of kg by then. I’m back to using the CalorieKing.com.au website to count calories and record exercise: that really helped last time when I managed to lose weight. I’m aiming for around 80kg as my final goal – heavier than Weight Watchers or CalorieKing recommend for my height and age, but more achievable than their estimate – 60 kg? I don’t THINK SO!!Last time I was that weight I was 20 something years younger and caught any flu/cold/lurgy that was going. That’s when I got the glandular fever that is still effecting my life NOW.
And here’s a journal page I started at Social Cre8te at Tammy’s shop yesterday:
There’s some stamping in the background using one of the new ($4!) Kaisercraft texture stamps (the one called “Flourish”, CS759) – I’m looking forward to using the same stamp in wet gesso to give more texture to backgrounds – I forgot to take the gesso with me yesterday! The buildings are made from a book I bought for $2 on British plants - a very good buy because the paper is such beautiful quality, no foxing at all, and very sturdy, even though the book dates from the late 1930s (from memory). (No, it wasn’t worth anything as a book, but it’s lovely as art material.)
In other news: Mr Beloved hired a slasher (what a beastie!)
yesterday, and did the yard. First time in about (mumblety… 5?) months, and the !@&*^!* kikuyu grass ( Pennisetum clandestinum – if you do a search on google images you’ll see just how invasive it is!) had grown into knee high, tangled mats that an ordinary mower had no chance of defeating. (And our mower still needs to go off to be repaired anyway…) At least we can see the dog when she’s in the yard now! We’re pulling up runners and trying to poison the rest of the kikuyu, it’s awful stuff.
And now it’s time to hang the washing – such a beautiful almost Spring day here, blue sky and the birds are turning over the drying “hay” left in the yard…
And a journal page in progress
So here’s one in progress. No idea where it will end up, but so far there’s acrylic paint, watercolour crayons, and that silhouette… I haven’t been doing as much in my journal as I was before the surgery because I’m still kind of – well, crook. I’m not getting all that much of anything done, even though I am getting more awake hours in the day. Hopefully the balance will be better as I continue to heal.
In fact, I’ve been being pretty tough on myself: I haven’t been letting myself go back to bed once I’m up in the morning, and I’m tending to be up around 8 am. This is a whole new pattern for me.
The not-napping has become somewhat problematic, because I really NEED to rest, and for some reason my weird bi-polar brain does NOT WANT ME TO. I need to be gentle with myself and let myself read on the bed and just rest, but no – somehow there is this RESISTANCE that says I can’t. It’s not being reasonable, there is no logic – an hour’s sleep would have little or no impact on my nightly sleep hygiene. I tried writing myself a permission slip: the psychologist suggested maybe I need to write a prescription instead: “Rx: Caity, have a little lie down! It will be ok!”
I’m getting back into my pre-surgery bedtime ritual of listening to Phillip as I do the dishes and generally wind down – taking my medicines, maybe painting a background in the journal, or just flicking through magazines for images, making the bed, setting up the CPAP machine. By the time the 11 o’clock news comes on I’ve generally brushed my teeth, washed my face, and can start to read the very few pages I get through before I zonk out.
The doctors (and various websites I have checked in my anxiety-ridden state) all say that recovery from tonsillectomy takes AT LEAST 4 weeks, and from septoplasty a minimum of 6 weeks – with most people saying they are still recovering out to three months from surgery. Even though I KNOW I’ve had fairly big surgery in areas with lots of nerve endings, I keep expecting myself to be better NOW. I’ll say it again: I am NOT a good patient!
In fact, I had to contact the ENT surgeon again because “my nose feels weird (and now my left sinus cavity is hurting, too)” – I’m now on another course of antibiotics. I burst into tears when I saw my GP this morning: WTF? I felt like everything – the sore hand, the blocked up breathing, the pain in my leg which wakes me up during the night – all just got on top of me and before I knew it I was sobbing.
If you’ve made it this far you’re probably my Mum (hi Mum!) because anyone else reading has probably left the pity party by now. But thanks for reading, anyway.
Another journal page
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Another page – I was tickled with the way Marie Antoinette’s top half fitted with a fashion magazine lower half. And isn’t that rose covered slipper chair (is that what they’re called? It’s definitely a “boudoir” chair, not a lounge room kinda seat) just so so pretty?
I am not a good patient. I am high maintenance and grumpy.
A week later…
Well, the surgeries were a week ago today. I’m still pretty miserable, as you would expect. I went and saw the ENT (otolaryngologist) doctor on Monday afternoon, and he said everything was going the way it should. I’m eating ordinary food (including scratchy toast!) to help the healing from the tonsillectomy – although I am also having ice cream every so often because the coldness is so soooooooooooooooothing. Bugger the weight gain, for now I want the real deal, full cream, super smooth ice cream. To be eaten with a teeny coffee spoon so it lasts longer.
My nose is very tender from the septoplasty- I’ve been using this stuff at least 3 times a day.
Once you get over the initial weirdness, it’s fine; the oh-so-trendy (but really very old) neti pots are the same thing, with a different solution to mix up. One of my blog friends suggested it must feel like getting dumped in the surf – I’m not a beach person, but yep, I have vague memories of the feeling – but the Flo stuff is much much gentler. Still weird though.
BUT – I can breathe through BOTH NOSTRILS!! AT ONCE!! Which I haven’t been able to do for maybe 20 years or more. It’s awesome! My right nostril actually works!!
I have some odd bruises and my left hand is sore – not so much where they had the various lines in, but all around my wrist, especially on the inside of the wrist and back of my hand, and on my lower and upper arm. The ENT Doctor said that I had a panic attack when I was coming out of the anaesthesia, and he was glad that he’s already had me booked for an ICU bed, so they could give me stronger stuff to calm me down. Oops! I must have really flailed about. big black and purple bruises are still just coming to the surface.
Mum and Dad called me last night to tell me there was a program on SBS about anxiety – I’d just missed it, but Dad reckons I should catch it when it repeats. I’m almost to anxious to watch it, though! ARRRRGH!
Did I mention our computer printer is kaput? It won’t even turn on now – for a while you could fool it by unplugging it then plugging it back in, then it would shoot paper through but not print on it – now it’s completely gone. Only had it 5 years or so. I know the mean time to failure is less than that, it’s just I was hoping to beat the odds, I guess. Wouldn’t you know I’d only just bought ink refills for it a fortnight before? (and no, they’re not compatible with anything newer…)
And the cooktop for our stove? Leaking gas like a mad gas-leaking-thingummy. The plumber/gasfitter told us some horror stories about gas leaks and houses blowing up, just to cheer us up…Obviously, we’ve turned the gas off at the cylinder, duh! The oven part is ok ‘cos it’s electric, but not having a cooktop is a bit of a pain. We had to buy an electric frypan. (And I can hear my Mum laughing, because I made fun of her keeping an electric frypan in all the stuff they’re moving, “just in case”… YOU WERE RIGHT, Mum!!) The stove is only 5 years old too.
And – to top it off – my CPAP machine (the one I need for you know, BREATHING at night?) needs a new motor: $386 was the quote. I am currently using one borrowed from the local supplier, so that’s alright, but sheesh! At least I don’t have to buy a whole new machine.
Touch wood nothing else happens, right? Poor Mr Beloved is doing everything he can to help, keeping the laundry done and making sure there’s food in the fridge, and keeping the menagerie fed.
Now I’m going to head off and paint some pages in the art journal. I am going (with Mr Beloved, I’m not game to drive yet) to the supermarket later on (about a half hour before closing time, when there’s hardly any people) to get more ice cream, and to the library to pick up a book I’ve been waiting for: The Museum of Innocence by Orhan Pamuk. It will be interesting to compare it to the Istanbul of Barbara Nadels’ Inspector Ikmen series.
Otherwise, I’ve been reading various Pratchetts, and enjoying discovering Discworld all over again. Highly recommended for when you’re miserable, they’re silly enough to make you grin and wise enough to make you feel content and safe.
Right, time for more nose washing…
Connie takes Caity for a walk in Queen’s Park
Connie took me for a walk. Well, I drove us to the park, obviously, but once there we went at Connie’s speed. Which is faster than I can work my new camera:
This is an Abutilon, one of my all time favourite shrubs. Except you can hardly tell that since I wasn’t allowed to stop and take a photo… (it almost works if you look at it through those 3D glasses with different colour in each eye…) We had a small tree like this in the garden of our house in Dubbo, and I’ve wanted one in my own garden ever since. One day, when we can afford the time and money and have space…
Someone told me years ago that this is a Rose of Sharon Tree… I don’t know for sure but it’s a very pretty small to medium tree with ginormous leaves and both pink and white blooms.
And a strelitzia.
Then the batteries on the camera went flat. I’m not having much success with the new camera – and I don’t think it’s the camera’s fault, since it’s a Canon Powershot A480 – your bog standard point & shoot beastie these days. I think I just need to slow down and work out how the damn thing works. Ah well, at least it’s not film I’m wasting – gotta love that about digital, you can just throw away the bad shots.
I was trying to walk MINDFULLY, to concentrate on what I was feeling in my body: this is supposed to be helping me manage the anxiety. (I’ll get back to you on that one…) instead, I was mostly just trying to keep up with Connie. For a 6 kg dog she has a lot of pulling power!
In silly TV stuff: who else loved Glee last night? Such a funny show. And tonight there’s Bonekickers (ABC2, at 9:45) which is a fairly lightweight pisstake on Time Team crossed with CSI or Bones. It has some moments, though.
So that’s it for today – I’m just filling in time til “After The Surgery” now… telling myself that by this time next week it will all be over and I’ll be recovering at home, la la la. The admissions centre nurse called and did the health check stuff; on Tuesday arvo I’ll get the call to say when I go in and when I have to fast from.
I just want to get better!!
Rex and Caity
(frame from Kitschy Digitals Fabric Covered Buttons kit)
Little Rex is now the size of a big house sparrow – quite intimidating to his parents who are both small for their breed.
(And what a great shot of my stress rash, eh? The only thing that makes it go away is – duh – getting rid of the stress. Not a lotion in the world will fix it.)
Nothing to see here, move along…
Ugh. This is really just a post about my health issues, mainly for my reference. But do read on if you’re fascinated by the ongoing drama of it all …
You know the panic attacks? Part of my problem has been feeling short of breath. (Which is both a symptom and a cause of panic attacks. Talk about your vicious circle!)
This is not helped by not being able to breathe through my nose (very much).
So – waaaaaaaaay back in September I got a referral to see an Ear Nose and Throat Specialist: the appointment was today. After some fiddling about with strange dilating bits and pieces, and running a small camera around inside to see what there might be to see, he told me:
I have an ulcer in my septum (partly caused by the CPAP machine blowing air on it. CIRCLE! VICIOUS!!)
And my septum is also badly crooked and needs straightening to help me breathe.
And my ginormous, constantly infected tonsils have to go, but 20 years or so (this apparently dates back to when I had that really severe bout of glandular fever in 1992) of restricted breathing has caused other structural problems which I won’t go into here .. ick ick icky.
So: tonsillectomy and septoplasty. May 5. (so soon!) I’m not scared of the actual surgery (hey, I’ll be asleep!) but I am frightened of the post operative pain. Especially when the doctor helpfully pointed out that adult tonsillectomies are probably the most painful of all the surgeries he does. And that because of the sleep apnoea, the first night after surgery will be in an intensive care bed.
Thanks. So reassuring. Here’s hoping the 6 new prescriptions I have to get filled and take with me to hospital are covered by the PBS…
And the surgeries won’t fix the sleep apnoea (I never expected they would) but once I recover, I should be able to breathe better overall.
Thank goodness that my GP Mental Health Plan was signed off on today, and I can see a psychologist. Not the one I was seeing before, because he’s booked up until JUNE. But I can see someone else in the same practice tomorrow.
There’s no point in getting my hair cut or coloured anymore, I swear I’m tearing it out over EVERYTHING!! I’m soooooo tired, and feeling really overwhelmed by stuff.
Oh, and I’m not getting any reading done: before changing medications, I was reading 6-9 books a week. I’m struggling to even be half way through one in the last 2 weeks – and it’s not because it’s a difficult book, it’s because I can’t concentrate and I’m so damn tired.
That’s all.
So, where were we up to?
Ah. I see I haven’t posted anything significant for quite a while.
Well. There’s a reason.
I now have a brand spankin’ new OFFICIAL diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. (Something which had been suspected for a very loooooooooong time, as in, since I was a teenager…) Which means: new medications. And going off old ones. And so far, we (Mr Beloved and the support team: the Nice Psychiatrist and the Wonderful GP, and the Friends Who Are Team Caity) have managed to avoid going inpatient for the changeover: it’s still an option, but one I really don’t want to take up.
But sheesh, it’s not easy. There are definitely times I would like my old head back. Times when feeling EVERYTHING TOO MUCH is – well, too much. And the ANGER, the RAGE at things is Not Fun. And my immune system is not co-operating: in all this turmoil, I’m catching every little bug that goes ’round (And I’d like to especially thank that $&*%^ cow who COUGHED EVERYWHERE, with no attempt to keep her germs to herself, in the doctor’s waiting room last Wednesday. Your lack of consideration was *really* not appreciated.) I feel like my head is TOO FULL, and not just of snot from the sinus infection. (Ok, TMI, perhaps. But true.)
Also, panic attacks? I know how to deal with them (count breathing s l o w l y , breathe into paper bags, whatever it takes to get more CO2 and less O2 happening) but I don’t LIKE them. (Not that I can think of anyone who WOULD like them.)
Six weeks, apparently, is the length of time it takes to know if a particular drug is working. Two down. Four to go. Unless the dosage is upped when I see the Nice Psychiatrist on Wednesday.
And did I mention the other inevitable side effect of increased appetite? No shit, WHY couldn’t just ONE of the drugs I have to take be an appetite SUPPRESSANT, huh? Nope, EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. makes me crave carbs. It’s almost enough to make one believe in a conspiracy between Big Pharma and Big Agribusiness. Bread? Sure, I’ll have another slice. Or three. With butter, and maybe some jam. And are there any bikkies left? How about some pasta?
Thank goodness that I am no longer enslaved to Diet Coke: if every glass of (fizzy!) mineral water I have was the Evil Black Drink, I’d be (a) broke; (b) addicted and (c) sweating aspartame. (Is that possible? I swear, I can get back on that stuff so fast that my endocrine system gets whiplash.)
Not much art journalling getting done; not much of anything, really. I’m sleeping more deeply but when I’m awake I’m too scattered to achieve much. Not sure I like this version of me at all. The drugged up depressed version was easier to manage.
ANYWAY, I am looking forward to baking on Wednesday – I’ll be making one of my all time favourite recipes, the banana variation of Rose Levy Beranbaum’s Cordon Rose Cream Cheesecake. (I can’t believe I forgot to put her new book on my wish list for my Birthday! ARGGH!) On Thursday, I’ll take it to Social Cre8te, as my birthday cake. These days I try to only bake if the results can be sent out the door so I don’t scoff the lot. (But the leftovers of the banana cheesecake are definitely coming home so Mr Beloved and I can share it – his birthday is the day after mine.)
In other news: Mum and Dad got the house in Adelaide they wanted; and now their Wagga house is on the market. ( I confess to being just a teensy bit jealous that they’re going to live near my brother, and not me, but Adelaide is really a much better fit for where they’re at.)
And that’s all the news that’s fit to print… oh, except that one of the Neighbours from Hell has an “UNDER CONTRACT” sign on the realtor’s board outside his house (yay!) and another Neighbour from Hell has had a ginormous loud breakup in their relationship and seems to be moving out. (And since they’re the ones who tend to be REALLY LOUD just outside our bedroom window at 3 am, he can’t leave soon enough for us. )
Time to take the next handful of medications…
It’s a MONSOON!
Well, thank goodness we FINALLY got the phone line in the street replaced! When the Big Telco man arrived and hauled it out of the ground, he was amazed by how ancient it was. He showed me ant chew marks which let water into the line (everybody sing: everyone knows an ant CAN’T move a rubber tree plant but he’s got HIIIIGH hopes…) – apparently those rotten little beasties can gnaw right through the old stuff. The NEW cable comes covered with a more ant-proof outer, apparently. Anyway, so far the phone line is holding up under fairly wild conditions:
As I’m writing this, it hasn’t stopped raining for 48 hours. We’re getting wind gusts up to 87 kilometres per hour (that’s NINE on the Beaufort Scale – or, to be more accurate and modern, 24 metres per second.)
The rain by itself isn’t a huge problem – even though we had 157 mm of rain in February, and therefore the ground is wet, and most of the rain is running straight off into water catchments. No, the problem is that our house (and I suspect a lot of other houses in southern Queensland) isn’t designed to cope with rain that arrives HORIZONTALLY. And at 24 metres per second. Blowing right under the ridge cap and running down the frame inside.
Consequently, the roof is leaking. Again, that’s not toooooo bad – the ceiling that’s under the worst leak is pretty high on our list of Things To Do If We Ever Have The Money. It’s plywood and was eaten by termites (well, the corner opposite the wet patch was eaten by termites) and overdue for replacement. (It’s just part of the larger puzzle that involves new gutters, insulation, roof repairs, etc etc etc…)
The sheets of tin lifting in the wind (and pulling the affixing nails out with them) over the laundry/toilet extension of the house (different roof line to the main house) – well, there’s a hand’s width of daylight (such as it is in this gloom!) already. Eeeek! That’s quite worrying.
One lane of the big highway down the Range has been closed due to a mud and rockslide.
Its’ very, VERY wet.
In other news, I’ve been out of action with stomach/abdomen problems again – fortunately, tonight is prep for the procedures tomorrow. (icky drink! Then never more than 2 metres from the loo…) I’m having a gastroscopy and colonoscopy, or as Dad says, an up periscope and a down periscope. Part of me wants the doctors to find something and tell me why I’m so crook; the other part of me doesn’t want them to find anything wrong. Arrgh! In any case, I can’t go on feeling so sick all the damn time.
No pics today: camera is in house and I am down here – and I’m not braving the rain again until I have no choice!
And it’s baa-aack!
I have done something to my back ARRGH! I can hardly move. The worst part is that it’s in a totally new place, one where I haven’t had severe pain before. DAGNABBIT! Off to the chiro tomorrow (I missed my usual Monday appointment because I was too sick to go.)
In happier news: remember all the hassles we had getting our solar panels and solar hot water installed? Well, they’re starting to pay off. For the same time last year our electricity bill was around $350. This year? FORTY EIGHT DOLLARS. Holey moley shoot the pony, what a difference! Mostly down to getting rid of the old electric hot water heater (which we now know would have made heating water by burning currency look cheap); but the almost $80 rebate from power our solar panels put back into the grid was lovely too.
And the gas bottle saga continues: When Origin came and filled the bottle, they discovered that it was too close to the solar panel inverter box. *sigh* (Why the various officials who signed off on the solar didn’t know this I don’t know, but I am MAD AT THEM!) So we have to pay for a plumber to cut the gas line and move the (now filled) bottle to comply with the regulations, and reconnect the gas. Good news: we picked a plumber and phoned them on Friday- they offered to come round and do a quote – and they did! And he called before he arrived! And he’s coming back tomorrow to do the job! So if it turns out well, I’ll let you know who it is, in case any Toowoomba readers need a plumber… the rest of you can just grit your teeth and weep in envy.
Art tomorrow.
