Mum With MS

Lost In Translation

I watched the film of the above title last night. V funny, but nothing really happens. Unless I've missed the whole point. What did occur to me though, is that this is very much how my life has been during this relapse. Months of not very much happening and yet life still grinds out the days without so much as a please or thankyou to those who aren't quite up to the task of being actively involved in the day.

Before you think I'm feeling sorry for myself, I'm feeling quite the opposite. I think I may have learnt over the last dark weeks that 'stuff' doesn't matter. This was no big epiphany. Rather a dazed tut as I was looking out of the bedroom window with Ben as the recycling bin men (they're probably called something more PC nowadays I'm sure) emptied the green waste bin.

And while we're on the subject of bins, is it just our council that are bonkers when it comes to sorting out which bin has what in it and on which day they are collected? On red days we put out our green coloured wheely bin that contains household waste. On green days we put out our brown bins that contain green waste. We also put out the red box that contains plastics. Is it me?

Anyway, felt a bit better over the last few days so hopefully I'm coming out of the gloom. Just feeling sapped of all energy hence the lacklustre entry on todays blog. Off to bed. I have a date with an electric blanket and a duvet and I don't want to be late....

Symptoms, symptoms everywhere.....

So....I ran around the house like a loony on Monday morning getting Ben ready for pre-school, and then of course he needs the loo just as we're heading out of the door. When I say he needs the loo, the truth is he's still in nappies at the grand old age of 3, (I KNOW!!!), so we were delayed getting out of the door. Dan was virtually thrown into his seat and we hot tailed it so we wouldn't be late for the first day back after half term. My Passat kept pinging telling me it was -1 degree outside. Luckily for me I didn't have to do any scraping or de-icing as the car is parked on the drive near the outlet for the central heating and since our system is so inefficient and we don't have cavity wall insulation, so much heat escapes from the house resulting in the prevention of ice formation. Anyway, we drove carefully, keeping to the speed limit at all times (I once met a police man whose favourite phrase was "It's called a speed limit, not a speed target...") and arrived only 5 minutes late. Only to discover I was the only person there as it was a training day. I'm pretty sure they must have told me, and it only adds to the long list of Fi Fi Forget-Me-Not (kids' programme, a character who always forgets stuff in case you're wondering) moments in the last few weeks, including me completely forgetting to take Dan for his jabs. By this time my hands had started to seize up. By the time I drove home I was having such bad pins and needles I couldn't get my daft digits to do essential tasks like unbuckle Dan's seat belt. Then I had shooting pains in my leg and finally the fatigue kicked in.

I managed to drive to Person Without Whom I Would Be Lost's house (Audrey, you're a star as always) and she and her lovely hubby Phil rescued Dan from his seat, got me and Ben in the house and watched me like a hawk until I felt able to go solo again.

I'm so blessed to have such supportive friends on my doorstep.

I'm thinking of moving in with them....

Vaccuuming for the MS patient

One of the plus sides of having a condition that leaves you exhausted, as well as having 2 small children, is that people don't frown because your house is a tip. It's a given that the physical strain of brandishing a duster and vaccuum cleaner is too much for someone who has spent the morning playing hide and seek with a 3 year old and has a neuroligical condition with symptoms including fatigue. But there comes a point when no amount of turning a blind eye will conceal the fact that the house needs a damn good vaccuum.

So.....I got the trusty old Dyson out of the cupboard under the stairs, dusted it off (is that irony?) and determined that the 2 and a half hours that Ben was at pre-school would be spent trying to clean the house. After around a minute, the Dyson cut out. So I had a little rest. After about 10 minutes I tried again. Same thing. So I had another little rest and sang Row, Row, Row Your Boat to Dan. I'm still not sure about the new fandangled version of this children's classic with the "If you see a crocodile, don't forget to scream..." at the end but Dan seems to enjoy the screaming bit. Although it really is more of a shout that he does. Anyway, I managed to Dyson the upstairs in about an hour and a half after more than several stops and starts.

When The Husband got home, looking it has to be said like a broken bag of biscuits, I was surprised to discover that after a long day at work and an evening coaching future football stars he wasn't really in the mood to spend any of his precious half hour before it was time for bed following instructions on the troubleshooting page of the Dyson website figuring out why it kept cutting out.

"Besides," he said with his best concerned face on, "It probably helps that it keeps cutting out because then you can't do the whole house in one big go and wear yourself out. You know you shouldn't overdo things."

He really is quite brilliant.