Why I’m Quiet

Hey guys. I know quite a few of you pop in here regularly to say hi (I’m still bemused by the ongoing stats!).

I’m not actually being completely silent, but instead have been flat out classroom teaching, tutoring, and blogging with my professional hat on!

If you fancy seeing what I’ve been up to, I’m in full glorious Technicolor over at www.TeachAllAboutIT.uk

It’s been a total whirlwind this year & I’ve just popped on to say whoooo! My tutoring business had it’s 1st birthday this week. How very exciting!

That, and I promise to write something not to do with teaching soon…

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Sleep is For The Weak

I watched an interesting and yet terrifying documentary on Netflix today called Take Your Pills. If you’ve not watched it, please do. It’s a worrying window into how kids cope with the academic pressures ladled onto them. There were also so many ambitious adults on there who are taking Adderall to stop burnout. Some had progressed to taking low doses of LSD, with stories of people in their 30s having exhaustion induced seizures and being called / emailed at the hospital for work they hadn’t finished.

(For point of reference Adderall is an ADHD drug similar to ritalin – both are amphetamines, but adderall is closer to methamphetamine)

Ironically, here was me watching this in bed in my pyjamas at 10am on a Wednesday morning. I’ve worked every day for the past 14 days and by Tuesday morning found myself wrapped in a blanket at 7am staring into my mirror instead of getting ready for work, after another “fun 4 hour sleep” unable to put makeup on because I was so tired & woozy. Technically I should have called then, but I felt too guilty to call in sick. My pain levels exhaust me, but I don’t want to “use them as an excuse” – the internalised ableism is almost audible around me at times like this.

As my workload went up, so did my pain levels amd my ability to cope dropped – I already have a heafty painkiller routine, but the morphine levels have risen recently. I had a bit of a stark awakening when just before a stream on Monday my shoulder popped out (fully dislocated with a torn muscle). Mr Geek returned the joint to it’s rightful place & I asked for “some morphine please”. This sparked much hilarity from my friends on camera who witnessed a totally calm woman politely request strong narcotics. From most people I’d get upset, except I know they intrinsically get this pain threshold thing – I don’t scream & wail because I’m not scared. It hurts like a motherfucker & still does, but I know why and how to solve it, and precisely how bad it will get. Staying calm stops my muscles going into spasm & helps the joint back in. Much love to Jo & her meditation techniques for this.

Anyway, knackered lots of pain etc. so in bed on my “day off” before tutoring starts. It occured to me that I was utterly confused by the concept of not being able to focus – these people wanted to push through the tired & work faster, longer, better. And were using amphetamines to do it. They are literally taking drugs to have the unpleasant side effect of my adrenal dysfunction. WTH?!

I made a list of things I’ve achieved over the past 7 days to show the effects of skidding through life in constant fight or flight:

7 days of stuff I’ve done

Learnt how to code with basic Unity & Cardboard VR

Made & released a simulation App for my department’s charity den (go look & download to raise money for our local homeless shelter!)

Written a draft short campaign for the roleplaying group I play with (3000 words & counting) based around Tudor / Medieval Sussex folklore.

Created ink drawings for a couple of characters.

Scruffy witch with long teeth stands holding a fish

Ginny Greenteeth – river hag, notorious for dragging people into water.

Joined in 2 roleplaying streams totalling a collective 6 hours (no regrets!)

They’re not on YouTube yet, here’s one we made earlier!

https://youtu.be/YcDgJos28sE

Created an ink drawing of one of the characters from our game stream.

Drawibg of a Young man in a long coat running with a flaming torch in one hand and a dagger in the other

Lamb the SaltGypsy from our Salt & Thirst Campaign with BloodThirsty Puppets

Worked at my teaching job for 32 hours + a few evenings of marking

12 hours of online tutoring

And a blog post.

….

Now in a list, I looked at that and thought “wow! I’m a fucking superhero!”. No brain, you are not. You are skimming years off of your life by not slowing down even when limbs are literally falling off and you’re crying from being tired. What my brain is failing to mention is:

The sketching is done at 1am when I can’t sleep because my CRPS is playing up & my leg feels like its on fire

Much of the middle of the night suddenly awake cold swears stuff is due to panic dreams where I can’t escape from a fire. Subconsciously I know this is because the alarms broke on Friday & we’re just waiting for an engineer & there’s a plan in place, but I don’t like feeling vunerable & not in control. Being nervous = extra adrenalin.

The streaming is my socialising. I do this from bed because sitting in a chair is too painful after work. I’d rather cut a boob off than not join in.

Same goes for tutoring. Big pile of pillows in bed. I enjoy it & it’s paying for the holiday which the girls & Mr Geek deserve so much after giving up life to accomodate me all year.

I loved creating the app, but the all consuming fear that I’d let people down if it wasn’t done meant that by Sunday morning I was covered in hives (I still argue that it was worth it)

……………………………

So the brain & I had a serious talk having been placed into a salted bath by Mr Geek who now just looks at me like a concerned pet owner does at a cat that keeps pulling it’s fur out.

I can’t keep going where the adrenalin rush pushes me. I can’t shrug off every conversation where Mr Geek tells me to rest more and stop working, or at least saying yes to more work. I can’t survive on less than 25 hours sleep per week.

Something has to give, and with a leaky heart valve we’d rather it wasn’t that. Also, that’s not a very rock & roll way to go.

The brain needs to stop flooding me with adrenalin and I need to be sensible and take a few days off. I’ve cleared my diary for the whole 4 day Easter Weekend, much to the dismay of my tutees (downside of self-employed tutoring is they genuinely believe I’m on 24 hour call).

  • Even if it snows, we are going to a National Trust garden.
  • I’m going to sit in Mr Geek’s lap, tangled up together with all the tech off and read for pleasure
  • I’m going to paint with TinyPants on a hill.
  • I’m going to watch sharknado with beanpole

I’m writing this downas a line in the sand. As a very loud, but wise man who never followed his own advice once told me: 49% work / 51% family.

– work emails are no longer on my personal device

– My tutoring books are closed

– Working on a Sunday is now emergencies only

– Anything past 7pm needs to be completed from bed

That seems like a reasonable step towards not breaking my head.

Working 9 to 5… and 6, and 7

Teaching is less of a job than a calling. It’s in our bones. We just can’t help ourselves.

This year I made the momentous decision to join the other 50’000 UK teachers who left in 2015 in stepping down as a full time secondary school teacher. Over the past two years, I’ve done that job on wheels and through a lot of painkillers, but in the end it wasn’t my crappy health that sealed the deal. 

I’m not actually leaving teaching. Instead, I’m moving to pastures new where the only grazers are sixth form students, retaining a very part time role in my current place, and offering online private tuition. It may seem bizarre to leave one full time sensible job to combine part time roles, but hear me out:

  • My sixth form teaching is the highlight of my day. But my subject is niche & in its infancy at my new college so whilst I build my little empire of nerds, hours are reduced. A Level Computer Science students challenge me mentally and I love seeing them fan the first flickers of a flame that grows to so many of them ending up in the industry, or at Uni studying the subject I love.
  • Leaving my current school is bittersweet. Here, I have friends, comrades, family. There are many things that try my patience to the bitter end, but parting was such sweet sorrow that I couldn’t leave completely. 
  • Private tuition brings a whole new dynamic to my teaching skills. In some respects it’s much easier than classroom teaching as there’s no rushing around dividing your time, or dealing with behaviour issues, and you get to develop a strong working relationship with tutees that is difficult in large classes. On the other hand, it’s much harder as you are giving constant input – there’s no quiet purposeful practice when “on the clock”, and many students who come to you as a tutor are there because they’re not keeping up for one reason or another. The stakes are high, but the rewards are enormous.

So that leaves me in a bit of a pickle for now. I’m winding down my full time role, whilst also not winding down at all as there’s still 7 weeks left to go, I’m preparing for my new role in September, and I’m already knee deep in online tutees in the evenings and weekends so I can hit the ground running (or wheeling) in September.

I’m exhausted. But therun up to the big jump to a new Lilly pad is an awful lot of fun.

So, for now you can find me here: www.TeachAllAboutIT.uk doing my thing & quite literally teaching Computer Science to the world!

I Do Not Like Green Papers Ma’am. @PennyMordauntMP

This article from The Disability News Service is a pretty accurate reflection of the state of the UK right now.

Having openly disregarded out of hand the findings from the UN that they are guilty of “grave or systematic violations” of the human rights of disabled people, our government is looking into making anyone claiming disability benefits meet regularly with an “employment coach” (read careers advisors with powers to take away your money). Now whilst this has been presented as helping people with disabilities get back to work, this will apply to anyone who isn’t in an institution. Read people needing physical care at home, people suffering a mental health crisis, people in constant relentless pain. People who can’t always fight back.

As someone who is negotiating a reduction in hours to hang on to what physical & mental health that’s left, this is scary. The argument behind insisting that people with disabilities work is to give a purpose and improve mental health. Well my dear Tory MPs, let me give you some cold hard facts.
I love my job, but pushing through regardless has directly caused some very dark thoughts. And I am infinitely lucky to have the husband that I do because he listens every time I need to shout my frustrations at the world. Most people wouldn’t have the patience. (You, by the way, don’t deem him to be a carer despite dressing me every morning, helping me bathe, cooking for me, & cleaning. why? Because he does all of this AND holds down a successful job. Sounds fair, yes?)

Despite holding on by my fingernails, I work partially because I’m too scared that the state won’t catch me if let go.

A day of work leaves me with levels of pain that regular strong painkillers & morphine don’t touch. This is not “oh, take a nurofen & have a glass of wine”. This is unbearable pressure on my spine, deep bone pain in my joints to a level where without painkillers I’m physically sick. Now tell me how running your second home paid for out of Government coffers gives you a headache…

A day of work leaves me so exhausted that I can barely hold a conversation with my children. (I am eternally thankful for my husband & our parents who take care of the important kid stuff). 

Physical pain takes a mental toll. I’ve lived my life as a pacifist, but I wish every MP who thinks this is a great idea could live for a month with these daily pain levels. Of course, they’d need to carry on with their current lives because why should we be cut any slack? It does you good to be at work after all.

Since I went downhill 18 months ago, I’ve been asked on 4 separate occasions by government employees (DWP, Social Services, & Occupational health ) “do you think about killing yourself?”. Always matter of fact, like it’s a reasonable conclusion to draw because EDS doesn’t have a cure & no one knows how to effectively manage the pain. 

Putting aside the wholly inappropriate nature of assuming that someone with a disability would consider death preferable to their current situation  being permanent, the answer has always been no. Until I started trying to work through another physical dip this September. So here I am trying to negotiate putting my health & family before my job. Because, dear Tory MP, it’s not a job that gives me a reason for dragging my arse out of bed despite it hurting to breathe a good percentage of my days. It’s my family. I make a difference by bringing up two beautiful & well educated children. By growing old with my husband and reducing my financial burden on the NHS by taking care of my health.

You can try & strip away disabled people’s dignity in the name of austerity whilst you pander to large corporations who pay less tax than I do, but in the end you’ll be seen for exactly what you are. Hopefully by the general populous, but better still, I’d love to be wrong about the whole religion thing and see you meet God at the pearly gates and ask you directly, “DID YOU DO UNTO OTHERS….?”.
Note: I have started my official response to the green paper, but the form is so long and poorly worded that it is testing the limits of my speech to text. It’s almost as if they don’t want responses…

#spoonie #blogs about #chronicillness (hashtag city)

See that? That’s my final spoon flying into the distance. Off it goes along with my ability to appear like I’m coping.

A year ago, I said I’d be happy if I made it to Christmas with my job and life in general in tact. I pushed for medical help & I’m the end paid for it as it was not forthcoming locally.

At Christmas, I was determined to make it to the end of the year (academic, so July. I know, us teachers even mess with the calendar). Since then, the liquid food is almost gone & I’ve gained most of the weight I lost (meh, would’ve preferred not to, but health over flubber). By my own criteria in two weeks I will have won. Made it to the end. Two short weeks currently feels like a lifetime & I’m not wholly sure I’m going to get there.

Let me tell you about EDS fatigue. I’m writing this whilst I clock watch because in 15 minutes I can take more painkillers. I’m exhausted, but every time I lay my head down I’m jolted awake by the pain in my legs & shoulder… & neck. I have a migraine brewing at the base of my neck & pushing against my eyeballs. 13 minutes.

I took on too much this week (normal teaching + new form induction for year 8 + year 5 taster day + parents evening). Tomorrow is Friday, but also sports day #2. I’d sent a concerned email to PE about my ability to trek across the field and through trees in potential rain to the athletics in my powerchair, but was assured that the field was totally accessible and the weather would be “hot and sunny”. Actually, it was chilly and drizzly and whilst the powerchair did make it slowly this was not without having my bones shaken out of place to a point where I took oramorph at school for the first time in several months. I have to do this again tomorrow. The fear of adding to current pain levels combined with zero spoons = no sleep and rising anxiety levels.7 minutes.

The question should be asked at this point, why don’t you just put the blog down and get some sleep?

Well, here’s the thing about fatigue and EDS. Imagine you got up at 4am (bleary & a bit confused). Now stand up holding cans of beans in each  hand – raise your arms & keep them there… how long? Well, all day. Gravity isn’t working in our favour – where connective tissue fails, simple lifting of your own arm can be exhausting and eventually painful.

Now you have another tin strapped to the back of your head – tilt your head back and look at the sky. Same thing – All. Day. Spines are there to keep us upright. Unless the connective tissues are lax meaning that sitting up straight, or holding your head up is akin to doing situps all day. I wobble between focused controlled posture & slumpy withered flower.

Finally, get home and drink three cups of coffee before bed because your autonomic system is wrecked and thinks it is bloody hilarious to release a shit tonne of adrenalin into your system as you try to rest. Couple this with overnight hives due to mast cells chucking out histamine in reaction to the drugs that keep you from becoming one of the zombies from 28 days later through sheer pain levels, and EVERYTHING IS JUST PEACHY.

So yeah, when I grit my teeth and sing song “good morning! Yes I’m fine thank you. Nearly there!” at you in the morning, I’m doing it to hide the rocking quietly whilst I do mental battle of “I can’t do this anymore…” with the “yes we can!” chant missing in action. 

Times up. The cavalry has arrived.

A Personal Best – #RaceForLife

This started as a Facebook post to tell people what hairbrained scheme I’d signed up for next, but I had way more to explain than I could stick on a simple post, so let me elaborate…

I’m not going to bang on about it, but if you fancy having a giggle at me looking like pink covered death, I’m running the Worthing Race for Life next Sunday. Ok, not exactly running, I’m propelling in a wheelchair. Taking part is not only to support Cancer Research UK, but is a middle finger up to the stereotype of being ill.

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This morning, my mum hesitantly passed on a message & conversation she’d had with a local physio who called on Friday. It seems that pain management had referred me to the home visit physio who called to book in to see me (yay!). My mum explained that I wasn’t able to speak to her because I was at work to which the response was “well if she’s healthy enough to work, why has she been referred to me?”. People deal with their disability & chronic pain in different ways. Some can’t work & I don’t judge them. I do work as a distraction technique which works because I love my job (despite what I tell you after 4 hours of year 8). It takes a team of people to get me there & my health suffers as a consequence of pushing too hard, but there is a twisted vision of disability in the UK right now:

If you’re disabled, you should work. “Don’t expect us to lift you out of poverty”
If you work, you can’t be disabled because you’re health enough to work.

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Shock horror! People with disabilities are all different & we cope by being adaptive and imaginative (Cue my speech to text / video marking system). So yeah, this race is a fair bit about pushing my limits. One thing I won’t do is slide into this victim / saviour complex that health professionals use where I am eternally grateful that they deemed to lay their hands on me 😒. So far GP & OT have been amazing. Other local team are patchy at best. They’ve accepted defeat with cardiology and sent me to UCLH, next is to get them to do the same for Rheumatology.

So why do I need physio if I’m well enough to work?

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I’ve been in pain a long time. Like PAIN pain? There were signs early on. I’m too stubborn to give in. Mr Geek deserves a medal. Research is important for all conditions.

Right now, I’m in a lot of pain. My hip subluxes daily, my pelvis dislocates as much, my knees & shoulders dislocate more often than I’d like, my back is a weird shape as the discs degenerate, my hands vary from ok to weird bendy claws. I sound like a bowl of rice crispies! I take painkillers, but my body is resistant to their effects, so the dosage I need makes my head fuzzy. The number of times my lower back & SI have moved has damaged the nerves to an extent where I can’t feel my feet anymore & on occasions go full ‘floppy leg’. Nerve function also interferes with continence. Combined with stretchy insides, this requires some adapting.

I’ve made peace with things falling apart & have created my own rehab program to maximise on the bits that do work in my upper body & core which involves daily squeezing of muscles to get blood flowing, massage from Mr Geek, & pushing myself to just bloody well get on with being an adult (between naps) and being involved in wheelchair racing. I still find it hilarious that I’d call it racing at the speed I go, but I’m working on stamina not speed. An average time for a new runner for a 5k is 25mins, I’m currently at 45mins (Although this is based on how far I’ve pushed as I’ve not gone full distance yet). What I need from this sport is the muscle function to stop my shoulders from popping out as my muscles now do much of the work that the ligaments & tendons should do. What I get as I push myself slowly & lopsidedly around a track in a funny looking chair is shouts of encouragement, smiles, normalcy, and fresh air, all of which do me the world of good. Today was hard & my right shoulder was not playing ball. I fought my way through training and subsequently created a mega pain flare which meant spending the evening in a morphine haze, strapped to a tens machine, and reduced to non-verbal communication via whimpers & tweeting. It was worth it though. It wanted me to stay in bed, but I didn’t.  I may have been in an awful pissy mood, but I got out there & put my big girl pants on. Who needs legs when you have a lightweight chair?

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Thirty years ago (age 6) I had clicky knees and my teacher called my mum into school as she was concerned about my hypochondria. I was always sporting a support bandage for a sprain, or crying during PE because my ankles / knees / hips hurt. I was tall & skinny and covered in bruises from falling, or kneeling, or who knows. I loved riding my bike, but 10 minutes into an off road ride I’d be exhausted & my knees would hurt. I was a weak child. I wet the bed – this was never to be discussed outside of the house (to my knowledge I don’t think we even told the dr). We tried everything, but it continued way past an age where you’d want to admit to it. (I’ve not even blogged about it before, but it’s time to put that piece of the puzzle into place).

Twenty years ago (age 16) I didn’t know that everyone else didn’t ache like hell by bedtime. I certainly knew that it wasn’t normal to find yourself desperate to pee and not hold it. I couldn’t stay awake as long as everyone else who could party all night. I was miserable. We were teenagers, so walked everywhere and my hips would scream & getting to hot would lead to being so dizzy I could hear my heartbeat whooping past my ears. Consequently, I was told it was in my head & given antidepressants. It became a self-fulfilling prophecy with me believing that the physical pain was in my head. For a number of years I self harmed through traditional means, risky behaviour, and poisonous relationships.

Ten years ago (Age 24) I had two tiny people who arrived early, a c-section scar that tore and damaged the nerves in my stomach, shins of a 10 year old (bruised) and was in a whole lot of pain with my back, hips & knees. I had migraines & after getting really run down with babies, university, & working evenings at the theatre, I caught viral meningitis. I used sticks & a basic folding wheelchair on and off when my back was particularly bad. Physio tried to reposition my spine & damaged my pelvis permanently. Each injury was looked at in isolation & we had no idea why I had such bad luck with my joints.

A year ago I was in daily pain, taking regular painkillers and using sticks to move around most days. I had no idea why I was in so much pain & my joints were so unstable. Picking up.my laptop bag, I could feel my elbow & wrist separating, so Mr Geek bought me a bag on wheels. I was exhausted & aside from a diagnosis of osteoarthritis, was seeking help to understand my body. My GP was reluctant, but gave in when I begged for something more than just opiates.

8 months ago, I could barely move out of my wheelchair or keep hold of a meal & had trouble swallowing. I lost weight & we wondered how bad this would get. I saw a specialist in connective tissue disorders who put all the puzzle pieces together with a diagnosis of Ehlers Danlos Syndrome type 3 (Hypermobility) with a type 1 crossover  (Classical). That diagnosis changed everything. Ok, it’s a diagnosis without a cure, but it’s one that explains to A&E why I’m there, it’s one that paved a way to pain management, it gave me a foundation to work from. The pain was real & now I knew why.

Now I’m going to propel myself 5k in a paralympic style racing chair (lent by the lovely Harriers Team). Mr Geek since we first met has been my relentless supporter, physio, carer, chef, comedian. He quite literally picks me up when I fall down. He has facilitated me fighting my own genetics more than any doctor or physio. He’s put a fair amount of his life on hold for me. This probably isn’t the time to get into why Mr Geek isn’t allowed to run alongside me (men get breast cancer too & yet are banned from this event)., but he’ll be there at the finish line as a real reason to make the full distance. I’m by no means better, but we have so much more of an understanding of my body & how it’s likely to function. Knowledge is power.

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So, I’m partially doing this as a thank you for believing that I can fight this in my own adapted way & also to support someone very special who’s kicking the big C in its balls. Cancer Research could save thousands of lives and countless more family & friends who are affected.
When the consultants finally get around to working together instead of intellectual willy waving, there is hope for a treatment for Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. Until then, I shall wobble my way along the track supporting & representing those who can’t.

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Live to work, or…

At the start of the week I commented to the lady who drives me back & forth to work that this term doesn’t feel as long as last. After a week of migraines, popped out shoulders, & cold limbs, I take it all back. I’m not wholly sure how I’m going to drag my wobbly aching carcass through another week of this. EDS has once again knocked me flat on my arse. My current days are going something like this:

6am
Mr Geek wakes me up by stroking my back, then helping me stretch out & rubbing my feet & legs until I can tolerate using the crutches to get to the loo. Then he gets out my clothes and helps me get dressed (all the while discreetly checking that I’m not going to topple over from a limb giving out or just plain potsy fainting).
Right now, mornings are hard. I wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a bus & am making it to work not through guts & determination, but because of Mr Geek physically moving me through my morning routine & fear of losing my job. Even the idea of cutting my hours puts me on edge – despite the potential for feeling physically better and actually getting to spend some time with my offspring, not being full time makes me more dispensable & if Mr Geek stops working from home, there’ll be zero buffer against people talking at me (no rest potential there – may as well be herding kids).

6.30am
Sat on the side of the bed, Mr Geek brushes my hair into a sock bun whilst I attempt to plaster my face in enough self-tan moisturiser, concealer, eyeliner, and contour the living crap out of it until it submits to looking human. Final touches – my headscarves to protect my hair from breaking, because although it’s looking healthy again, it starts matting & breaking the minute I leave it out.

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Mr Geek saves the morning yet again here surrounding me with my baskets of morning drugs & make up. He doesn’t leave me until everything is in reach.

7am
Down the world’s slowest roller coaster to my chariot awaiting me at the bottom of the stairs. It’s a work day, so it’s The Beast. The powerchair is necessary as 8 hours+ of self propelling is arm rippingly painful.
It’s weird, the powerchair is built specifically for me, but I’ve come to resent it. I’m passive in it. In utter contrast, Leonardo (my manual) is an extension of me.
As I get into the kitchen, Mr Geek hands me coffee & hot milky weetabix which perks me up enough to kiss the kids goodbye and wheel myself into the taxi and off to work.
I don’t want to be leaving the house right now. I want to crawl back into bed & rest my bones that won’t hold me up. I want to cuddle up to Mr Geek and giggle over my snap crackle and popping joints when he cuddles too tight. I want to sleep. But, instead I put on a big smile & say good morning in my Oscar winning performance as girl who is coping.

7.40am
Off to work. Bones rattling. Pain levels increasing. The chair is strapped down in the van, but I am not. I wobble freely over the hill wincing at the cattle. We’re both headed for vets soon.

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It's not a terrible view on my commute

8.15am – 4.30pm
Holy hell in a handbasket. There’s a blur of 100+ students, marking, worrying, patrolling of corridors. They ground me & remind me that my little whirlpool of pain isn’t the whole world. There’s other shit going on & if I don’t vacate my pity party right now, I have a shit-tonne of kids to dissapoint. And that’s not going to happen. They couldn’t give 2 hoots if I’m on my feet, in a chair, doubled over in agony, they need entertaining & their little sponge minds filled with the stuff I’ve got. Life goes on.

There’s also a rising tang of pain that exudes from my hips and hands and across my body. Painkillers and work don’t mix well, so let’s suck it up for a few more hours…

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5pm.
Home. Kiss kids.
Lay on sofa. Oh God my head / joints / back / [fill in the blank].
Nap.
This is probably the most restful hour of sleep of the day. It’s delicious.

7pm
Wake up to Mr Geek trying to talk to me and waving food in my general direction.
Then straight to bed & set the bed incline to sat up with raised feet whilst blogging / watching TV until the evening drugs kick in enough to let me pass out again.

To sleep. Per chance to dream.
I wish I could sleep.

It’s a miserable way of looking at my days, but it’s my reality during term times and it becomes a harsher reality as the term goes on. This half term is 7 weeks, as is the next one. Most holidays I’ll keep working from home to stay on top of things, but this half term I’m planning to rest.
I’m not wholly sure what the long term goal is now. Right now, what we’re doing is just about physically surviving the week, then treating every weekend like it were a tiny holiday (and getting mightily frustrated if time is ‘wasted’ not making the most of our down time. Ironic eh?).

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