Not much, how ’bout you?
I haven’t posted because I haven’t been doing much. Getting through the days … trying to eat less and have the dog drag me around the block at least once a day. Trying to get something done in my art journal every day, even if it’s only gluing down an image. (BTW, if you’re looking for images and updates in my art journal, I’m “caityquilter” over on Flickr.)
I had to buy new jeans this week (thank goodness Target had them on sale!) and since there was nothing acceptable in the fat chick range, I bought mens’ jeans. BIG MENS jeans. Actually ended up with a size bigger than I needed (or wanted) but things were getting desperate so I grabbed what I could.
(clicky biggy but you still probably won’t be able to read some of the journaling)
It’s always harder to keep the weight off in winter – yeah, I comfort eat, who doesn’t? – but this year has been harder with the Seroquel coming into play. I know I’ve whined about this before, but it really does seem unfair that I have a choice of being mentally ok and fat or mentally screwed and maybe thinner. It’s all very well for the psychiatrist to counsel not having any “bad” food in the house, but carrot sticks and celery are NOT what I want to eat on a cold and miserable day! I’ll have to work out how to make long, slow cooked soup in the microwave – the stove is kaput, although the oven part still works – it’s just the cooktop that is not working.
That said, I’ve stopped buying the bikkies (cookies) I liked, and am eating green apples like they’re going out of fashion. Nom nom nom. I’m going to bake some bikkies or slice tonight (I’m limiting any baking to once a week) just so we can have something nice with our cuppas. Without the palm oil and other strange additives of the commercial products. A small treat while the rest of the food intake is so sensible … zucchini slice is a marvellous thing, lots of stealth veges and it lasts for at least 3 meals for the two of us!
Some of the stuff in my art journal has been too personal for me to post. I know, shocking – that I wouldn’t post something – it goes against my history – but there’s one issue in particular that is tricky and unresolved and I don’t want to expose it before things are sorted out.
(some info smudged for privacy reasons)
It’s been cold here. I don’t sleep well when it’s cold – my bones ache. Carrying all this extra weight doesn’t help that, of course, but July is always a tough month to get through.
I didn’t dust this week. I’ve only vacuumed the front and lounge and kitchen once. There’s only so much fighting against the dust monster I can manage!
Another art journal page waiting for the writing… my hair is reaaaaaaalllly bugging me but I can’t afford to go to the hairdressers – and so I’m just using a headband to keep it back off my face. I’m so grey now! (Even the vet commented on how grey my hair is when I last took Connie in.) Connie has to lose 1.5 kg (from her 7.5 kg total weight) and I am not even game to get on the scales (although I suspect my GP will make me when we go to see her on Monday…) – I’m back to needing to lose at least 20kg, though, I’m sure. I can’t afford the gym, so I’m trying to walk each day – even though so far it’s only for 15-20 minutes.
Another oddly proportioned gal, inspired by the styles of Teesha and Nancy B…
I’m very excited that my parents will be visiting for a couple of days in September! YAY!! And I was excited that I was going to be able to get some parts for my brother’s car from the local wreckers – except that when they quoted the price, we had to “tell ‘em they’re dreamin’!” – they wanted $260 for a coupla bits of trim!! Dad reckoned that he could make them out of gold for that price.
Mr Beloved also finds Winter difficult – his old back injury often flares up in the cold, and he just can’t get away from the pain. We move slowly in Winter. At least we don’t live in c-c-c-cold Canberra anymore – we think it’s dreadfully cold when the temperature overnight is 2 degrees C, but there were nights when Canberra had – 6… and I don’t think the houses we had there were any better built against the cold!
As you can see from my Shelfari widget (over there on the right if you’re reading this on my blog) I’ve been doing some reading. Thank goodness for the city library! I’ve really enjoyed “The Secrets of The Immortal Nicholas Flamel” series written by Michael Scott: the whole series (three books so far) takes place in just over a week – it’s action all the way. I’ve also found some of the boxes of books that I moved with; some I’m probably never going to read again and can get rid of, and some books that I look forward to re-reading. I recently read “Cat in a Hot Pink Pursuit” by Carole Nelson Douglas – book SEVENTEEN of that series! I used to re-read all the previous books before I read the new one, but these days I just read the one before if I can get my hands on it – I stopped buying this series at around book “K” (they’re alphabetical).
And now it’s getting too cold again for me to write. Off to the house for some art journaling before an evening of couch potato-ing – Monk, Doc Martin, and The Bill.
Oh, and the election? Let’s just say that regardless of all the sh1t that happens in the (drearily long) 5 week campaign, my vote will be going to another party for the first time EVER. And it won’t be one of the major 2…
New Specs!
Picked up my new specs today: love not having to look through a halo of scratches!
(yes, I have put on weight. It’s cold and the new medication is NOT HELPING. Just once, could I have a med that DOESN’T cause weight gain? )
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.
A journal page
{clicky for biggy}
Now that I’m on (the very anxiety inducing) new medication, my sleep patterns have changed significantly. (Actually, they’ve become part of the anxiety, but that’s another post…) Whereas previously I would read a book during the late hours of the night and then sleep ’til noon, I’m now crashing out after about 6 pages of reading. (I am waking up at least three or four times during the night, but I’m getting back to sleep pretty easily.)
As my psychologist said, “welcome to everyone else’s world.” I now understand why the library loans generally run for 4 weeks – I’m just not getting enough reading done!
This ties back in with my earlier post about needing to have contact with people and find something meaningful to do when I have Good (or at least Not Too Bad) Days.
A Conversation I Had To Have: Isolation and Loneliness, and A Really Bad Dress
This morning I was chatting with a dear friend – someone I’ve known since 1992, in fact. So this person KNOWS me, as much as anyone who doesn’t actually live with me 24/7 can, I guess.
And this person expressed concern at the way I have isolated myself. I realised that I didn’t have a single LOCAL friend I could call up today and just say “hey, let’s hang out.” Part of this is from being part of a couple, since I do like to spend time with Mr Beloved; a lot of this problem has developed because of my mental illness and my tendency to withdraw from the world (or as Alexander Woollcott once said , “like a sinking ship firing on all rescuers”. He said it about the British actress Mrs Patrick Campbell, but that’s not important right now.)
So I’m on this new medication and off the anti-depressants, and suddenly the days are really hard to get through. I need to actually find things to do. But I can’t work and I can’t volunteer for things because I’m too unreliable: on a Bad Day, I really can’t do anything. And I don’t know when a Bad Day might happen, so I can’t have anyone counting on me to show up. But I really DESPERATELY need more human contact and more exercise, both physical and mental.
Maybe I’m almost ready to join a gym again?
I feel like I’ve burned a lot of bridges: I had a disagreement with the Quilters Club (long story, involving blogs) so I don’t feel I can go back there; my former BFF (who I had a really DUMB fight with, although we were probably heading in different directions anyway) is one of the main movers and shakers of the local Sewing Guild, so I don’t feel I can go there, either. The gym I’d LIKE to go to – is where the former BFF goes. So if I went there I would inevitably end up running into her…
What else is there? How do I get out there and meet kindred spirits? Once upon a time I would have found a church but I lost my faith a long time ago now. There are lots of people to play with online, but I really need someone or a group of people that I can meet with In Real Life. And I need to be able to do this in a way that doesn’t cost very much at all – after the week we’ve had, the dog is eating better than we are, since we’d already bought her soup bones before The Day That Went Wrong. (I forgot to mention on that post that the washing machine flooded earlier in the day, too, just to make things even more fun…)
I had been going to Social Cr8te at the local scrapbooking shop, and probably will again, I just haven’t really been feeling well enough after the surgery yet. Maybe next Thursday. And I know a couple of the girls are probably doing scrapping there tonight, but for once Mr Beloved and I have something we both really want to watch: a special on the Eurovision Song Contest (for which we are utter tragics, it’s so kitsch and wonderful, even if SBS does insist on using their presenters rather than taking the British stream, which even without The Great Woges is generally funnier.)
So, this morning I was quite miserable about how shut in and lonely I have become. I went and woke Mr Beloved (who had not come to bed until about 5 am, as he was doing computer-y stuff, and fair enough, that’s his thang) and tried to explain that I needed to get out of the house but I wasn’t sure where to.
We ended up going for a walk around Toowoomba’s main shopping strip – or rather, what’s left of it after the big shopping malls have forced the closure of many of the smaller, older businesses. Lots of empty shops.
I did get a giggle from the sign for this business:
I think it’s the juxtaposition of yoga and burlesque that makes me laugh – apart from the business name, of course. From one extreme to the other, all in the one business. I’m almost tempted to go check them out…
And then there was this dress:
I had to post it to my facebook page as soon as I got home and ask: “WHAT is this dress doing? Anyone want to suggest an appropriate time and place to wear this?” (You’ll have to go see my facebook page for some answers…) I mean: Gingham with that – what’s it called – crimplene? finish, topped with plastic/metallic beading around the boobs, with more re-embroidered lace dripping towards the waist; then the border of black lace with another ruffle of tulle and then more black netting over white tulle – omfg, I don’t know WHO designed it, but I’d dearly love to know what was going on in their head.
So: what to do? Dear Friend who got me thinking about this suggested a book club; I’ve looked on the local council’s online guide but there’s not really much there that appeals. Surely someone else must have faced this – what did YOU do? Any suggestions gratefully received…
I’m so tired…
… of feeling anxious about everything. Really, REALLY tired of it. All I want to do is to be able to sleep when I want to sleep. Enjoy the day instead of waking up feeling like “Oh shit, another whole day to get through.”
It’s not that I am unhappy (umm – I don’t think I am…) I love Mr Beloved, Miss Constance J Woodle, Miss Kit Tern and the three birds; I am safe with our own roof over my head (although admittedly the house could use a few hours of cleaning and decluttering, whose couldn’t?). It’s not like I live somewhere where men with machetes are suddenly going to attack (I hope not, anyway!) It feels horribly self indulgent to be feeling miserable and anxious when there really isn’t that much going on, you know? I mean, yes, my throat and nose are still recovering from surgery (which I was extremely fortunate to be able to have) and the bruising on my wrist is blooming and settling so that should be ok soon too.
So why on earth do I have these anxious feelings?
Monday I get to go to my Nice Psychiatrist again. And hope that I don’t feel like too much of a failure because I have had to take valium some nights recently (post surgery) because I get so wound up about nothing that I can’t sleep, I can’t even do the calming down exercises properly.
Isn’t that silly? And yet it upset me to write it.
I’m hoping the horrible neighbours have quietened down (it’s nearly 11pm on Saturday night – they’re in their 20s – what do you think of my chances?!) so I can go snuggle in bed and read some lovely Terry Pratchett. I’ve just been grabbing random volumes from the library, since it doesn’t really matter what order you read them in once you’re sort of familiar with the workings of Discworld. (some of the characters get a bit out of order but that’s only a minor quibble.)
And poor Constance J. Woodle wants to go up and hop under the feather quilt with me. Here’s hoping it’s quiet…
…and counting
Well, this time next week the surgery will have been done and (hopefully) I’ll be at home recovering. (Not sure if I’ll be spending one night or two in hospital.) I’m trying to be brave…but because I KNEW I needed help, I went back to my psychologist again today.
On Tuesday, I showed her my current art journal (you can see some pages from it on my Flickr Stream). Here’s a sample page:
My psychologist, T, found the journal really useful: she could see a definite cycle of moods, and we talked about the repeated imagery I choose. All of which was useful, but since I rarely look back at pages once they’re done, I later realised that doing so had left my feeling very anxious, feeling like I was out of my depth. So I made a second appointment for the week (usually I try to keep them about a month apart, since they’re expensive and I only have access to a limited number of appointments).
So: we worked through some techniques to help with pain management and with the panic attacks. Even did some scribbled drawings, which was a helpful way of getting in touch with some emotional stuff that was (literally) choking me up. Phew. Talked about ways of getting me connected back into my body instead of panicking about the stories going past in my head. One of the tools sounds super simple when I write it out (name 5 things I can see, 5 things I can feel on my skin, 5 things I can hear…) but it’s such a useful grounding technique.
Then I stupidly had a fruit based smoothie at the mall, made on apple juice, when I KNOW that apple juice puts too much sugar into my system too quickly and I get woozy… had to sit for half an hour feeling crook before I could move again. D’OH!! Talk about not listening to your body!
GLEE is back on the tv tonight - I really enjoy that show.
And now I need a nice cuppa tea…
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.
Today I feel…
(Please skip if you don’t want to read about my mental health stuff. )
(Oh, Edited to Add: I am so not well that I am not even going to write my usual Easterfest Rant this year. Long term readers may find this astonishing.)
Today is my birthday, I am 42. I’m not feeling great. I don’t fit into the size 42 jeans I had previously shrunk out of. (Please pardon the execrable grammar, it’s been a very long week.) And my infamous stress rash of excema around my mouth and chin is back – first time in 6 years. I’d almost forgotten about that. Damn it!
With the official bipolar diagnosis comes the medication dance: go off one, take another, vary the dosage of something else. Every change effects every other medicine – keeping track of possible interactions and working out how to manage pain relief is taking up a lot of my brain.
One of the things that really upsets me about changing medications is the *fabulous* side effect of weight gain (seriously, just ONCE, could I have something that doesn’t increase appetite?!). I am feeling GINORMOUS again. I had worked hard to get under the 100kg mark, and was really hoping to keep losing weight. BUT – throw in a couple of passing bouts of flu, falling down and re-injuring myself, underactive thyroid etc etc and by the start of the year I was back around 103kg, according to the scales in the GP’s office. I don’t weigh myself at home, I just go by which clothes I can wear – and I’m back to wearing all the fatty boombah clothes. I avoid looking in the mirror, so when I see photos of myself it’s really shocking – see the post below for an example. WHO is that fat chick?
I had been feeling quite helpless about the constant HUNGER that the Seroquel brought with it. I’m trying hard to take the Nice Psychiatrist’s advice and only have things that I can eat without too much danger: fill up on veges, then protein, and only then have fruit/carbs. It’s not easy. Just as well I like carrots and celery, raw, as munchies. (Any suggestions for ways to make vege snacks more interesting are most welcome…)
The other problem Seroquel (the new mood stabiliser, I was already taking Valpro )has brought is these wretched panic attacks. Now, I KNOW panic attacks are caused by anxiety. Trouble is, I’m not sure what I’m anxious about. Body image, yes, though that’s not the main thing, I think; I’m wondering if some of the known side effects of seroquel (racing heart, dizziness, jitteriness, etc) are what my body is reacting to as if they are caused by anxiety. Maybe it’s the cessation of the antidepressants, who knows.
Or maybe the Nice Psychiatrist is right (again) and what I’m feeling are signs of getting better – if I’m not depressed, then maybe this is what close to “normal ” feels like. I hope not, I’m really not enjoying it. I’m seeing the GP on Wednesday (flu vax! Getcha seasonal flu vax!) and will speak to her about all this – and I’m hoping the NP will be in her office on Tuesday, and maybe she can help.
I have to keep telling myself “This is just an uncomfortable feeling. It will pass. I don’t have to LIKE it, I just have to observe that it’s an uncomfortable feeling and it WILL PASS.”
I know I’m getting anxious about sleeping/not sleeping – I’m used to being able to lie down and read for hours, but since the seroquel I’m finding that I get about 2 pages read before jerking awake with the realisation that I’ve been making up the story, not reading the words. I may even have to return library books unread. (GASP! That NEVER happens. Seriously, unless a book turns out to be complete crap, I read what I borrow.)
Here are two positive things: 1) I managed to sleep for a couple of hours this afternoon with my CPAP (Continuous Positive Air Pressure) mask on. Now, I’ve been compliant with my sleep apnoea treatment for – um – 5 years now. In fact, I’m pretty much the poster girl for the benefits of wearing the mask whenever I lie down – it makes THAT much of a difference to how I feel, to how well I function. I usually think about putting the mask on and starting the machine as my signal that I’m going to get a restful night of sleep. Then suddenly the other day I got worried about it. For no reason that I can see. Even writing about it is triggering more anxiety, oh bugger. (It’s just an uncomfortable feeling, it will pass…)
Last night I was so worked up about the damn mask that I couldn’t put it on – Mr Beloved said ok, let’s stop that worry and just try sleeping without it. I did, but this morning was not pretty: I felt like I did before the CPAP treatment, like I was trying to stumble through a foggy swamp. I tried going to the pharmacy by myself while Mr Beloved went through the supermarket checkout, and I had trouble making myself understood. (It didn’t help that there was a flickering fluoro tube right above the counter at the chemist’s – that’s a migraine trigger for me about 8 times out of 10.) I had to send Mr Beloved back in there for me, since of course you can’t buy painkillers over the counter without having the pharmacist label them, which always takes time.
2) I took the dog for a 10 minute walk today. (Or, she dragged me, on the uphill section back home, anyway.) Doesn’t sound like much, but it’s something I haven’t felt able to do for ages. I was having trouble with shallow breathing and inadvertently holding my breath, but hey – I did it. Such a small achievement, to walk to the railway line and back. I survived it, and while I felt out of breath, I didn’t feel like that was a cause for concern (because I had a reason to be puffed.)
And now – I cooked dinner (with lots of “hidden”veges – amazing what a food processor can do to carrot, onions, celery, garlic – somehow it’s not as daunting to eat beef and beans with no other visible veges); watched some tv (can you BELIEVE they’ve cancelled The Bill? I mean, they went through those dreadful years when the director was determined to make it a soapy, and NOW they’re getting rid of it, when the show has never been better?) and once I’ve posted this and read some emails I’m off to bed. And if I wake up in the middle of the night, it will be ok. I can deal with that. Even if I have to start by breathing into a paper bag again…
PS: I now only have the most basic of phones – it cost me $29 outright, ok? So I can’t get picture messages or take photos or anything else groovy; I can’t even tell who the messages I can’t see are from. So if you sent me something other than a plain text sms, I’m not ignoring you, I can’t see you.
PPS: Mr Beloved’s birthday is tomorrow. He tries to ignore it.
Introducing…. REX!
Credits: Kitschy Digitals Vintage Camera Kit (background paper, Box Brownie, Polaroid frames); Lesley Grainger‘s Birdie ABC Alpha; Doodled Edge from Laurie Anderson – Heaven’s Gate Designs.
We’ve heard the little one saying “peep peep peep peep PEEEEEEP” for over a fortnight now – but we didn’t want to do anything that might endanger him/her. Well, S/he has open eyes and is finally big enough to start to stand. I think you have to be a bird person to truly love the little ones when they’re this ugly/cute! Bollinger and Dorian, the parent birds, are spending increasing amounts of time out of the nesting box, but both are still on feeding duty.
I’m trying not to get too attached, as it’s still early days, but young Rex is over the most vulnerable phase, we hope.
BTW – Mr Beloved called the chick “Rex” because it was able to make a fierce hissing noise when disturbed – sort of like what baby dinosaurs might have done. (And how much do I love the look of adoration on his face as Mr Beloved holds Rex?!)
We went to the Nice Psychiatrist today, and I feel like I have a little more control over what’s going on. She listened to my whinging about side effects and gave me the option of changing meds or sticking things out – she thinks that a lot of the symptoms I’m struggling with are signs that I’m actually getting better. So – knowing that it really takes at least 6 weeks for new medications to settle, I now have an action plan, possibly at half hour increments, of How To Cope with panic attacks, rage, hunger, etc. It feels a bit silly filling in the day in such small wedges of time, but apparently I know this makes sense and stops any one problem becoming OVERWHELMING.
And tonight I baked. It smells sooooo good – let’s hope THIS one makes it out of the tin without any disasters! It’s the banana variation of Rose Levy Beranbaum’s Cordon Rose Cream Cheesecake. Mr Beloved beta beater(!) tested the mix before it went into the tin and pronounced it Good. It’s been at least 6 years since I made it last – I had to buy a new springform tin to replace one that didn’t survive the move from Canberra.
I must get to bed: Social Cre8te tomorrow, and we’re celebrating my birthday, so I have to be there (with the cheesecake!) I should point out that I didn’t HAVE to make my own cake, I just wanted an excuse to bake. Especially since part of the new regime to cope with the side effects of the medication will be a CARB FREE HOUSE (or as close as we can reasonably manage) – so that I don’t end up the size of a house again. Lots and lots of veges and vege soup in my future.
BED!
Photos of cake etc tomorrow.
