I don't like to moan, but...
Actually I would like to moan.
Actually I think I'm entitled.
Actually I think that, right now, after the week we've had, moaning is the only sensible thing to do - or the only thing that doesn't pose a risk to my health, at any rate.
The bad week really started three weeks ago, when my body rejected the notion that coming off long-term steroids was a good thing to do, and went into a lupus flare. Cue extreme fatigue, aching joints and muscles, a fuzzy brain and - most worryingly, since this is what put me in hospital before - reduced circulation.
Still, I kept smiling, and kept going, barring one day off to catch up with daytime telly. The steroids went up again, and the symptoms reduced a little to a manageable level. Unfortunately my waistline is going up correspondingly.
The staffing levels at work are at an all time low, I'm currently doing 2 other peoples' jobs as well as my own.
Still, I kept smiling, and I kept going.
Then I caught a bug and spent last Friday in bed - irritatingly on the day we were supposed to be going to Cornwall for a 40th birthday party weekend.
I resurrected myself on Saturday, we drove there, back again on Sunday, exhausting but lovely to see some old friends and at a fab spot at a youth hostel right on the coast.
Then things really went pear-shaped.
Tuesday Richard went down with flu.
Wednesday Jordan broke her wrist and was admitted to hospital.
Thursday Richard had to get into the hospital, despite running a high temperature, to consent Jordan for manipulation under anaesthetic, because I had a clinic I couldn't get out of. I ended up nearly crying over a computer that lost all my afternoon's work, really crying because I was so tired and so wanting to be with my family not stuck slave labouring for the NHS.
By Thursday night we were all home again, some of us tanked up on drugs, all of us taking comfort from our crutch of choice - chocolate, alcohol and rubbish TV.
Richard went back to work today, still looking a little corpse-like, and I have a headache for the 8th consecutive day. Jordan meanwhile is having to come to terms with life in a plaster cast, and Annie is just fed up of everyone else being such a misery!
I'm still smiling. But only cos I've now let myself have a good moan.
Actually I think I'm entitled.
Actually I think that, right now, after the week we've had, moaning is the only sensible thing to do - or the only thing that doesn't pose a risk to my health, at any rate.
The bad week really started three weeks ago, when my body rejected the notion that coming off long-term steroids was a good thing to do, and went into a lupus flare. Cue extreme fatigue, aching joints and muscles, a fuzzy brain and - most worryingly, since this is what put me in hospital before - reduced circulation.
Still, I kept smiling, and kept going, barring one day off to catch up with daytime telly. The steroids went up again, and the symptoms reduced a little to a manageable level. Unfortunately my waistline is going up correspondingly.
The staffing levels at work are at an all time low, I'm currently doing 2 other peoples' jobs as well as my own.
Still, I kept smiling, and I kept going.
Then I caught a bug and spent last Friday in bed - irritatingly on the day we were supposed to be going to Cornwall for a 40th birthday party weekend.
I resurrected myself on Saturday, we drove there, back again on Sunday, exhausting but lovely to see some old friends and at a fab spot at a youth hostel right on the coast.
Then things really went pear-shaped.
Tuesday Richard went down with flu.
Wednesday Jordan broke her wrist and was admitted to hospital.
Thursday Richard had to get into the hospital, despite running a high temperature, to consent Jordan for manipulation under anaesthetic, because I had a clinic I couldn't get out of. I ended up nearly crying over a computer that lost all my afternoon's work, really crying because I was so tired and so wanting to be with my family not stuck slave labouring for the NHS.
By Thursday night we were all home again, some of us tanked up on drugs, all of us taking comfort from our crutch of choice - chocolate, alcohol and rubbish TV.
Richard went back to work today, still looking a little corpse-like, and I have a headache for the 8th consecutive day. Jordan meanwhile is having to come to terms with life in a plaster cast, and Annie is just fed up of everyone else being such a misery!
I'm still smiling. But only cos I've now let myself have a good moan.
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