Haven’t written a longer entry in awhile because things have been tough. I don’t know if any of you kids remember me writing about a month or so ago about how I’d had a bad relapse that hadn’t cleared when I got my period? I’m still in it. And it seems to have escalated ten thousand fold with the approach of another period.
I’ve been finding daily life more painful and restricting, and have been dealing with the ramifications of that.
One being that I spoke to the manager of this volunteer we have. She donates 2 hours of her time every week to our family, to help me take Snort and Coconut out to a local group. The manager is an awesome woman; I really like her. She came over one day to push the babies’ pushchair to the park – through snow and ice – so we could take them swinging.
Anyway, I shared with her that waaay back when, the spinal surgeon said I needed to consult with a pelvic specialist, and that referral had never happened. She suggested I get Crazy Lady (every family in Country B has a specialist nurse assigned to them for kids aged 0-5, ours is named Crazy Lady) involved. I agreed because Crazy Lady has sped up referrals in the past.
Well, weeks went by with no phone call from Crazy Lady. Then this week there was a knock on the door and she just fucking appeared. No forewarning, no professional bothering to call and make an appointment for her, oh no. She busts in during naptime with no regard for my sleeping kids.
She comes into the flat and starts demanding to know if I am depressed. ‘Are you depressed? You’ve been doing so well and I hear things are going down.’
I say, ‘Well, yes, physically things are getting pretty awful. I just needed support getting this referral, maybe speeding things up.’
She totally brushes me off. ‘Go to the doctor for that. Now, ARE YOU DEPRESSED? Be honest!’
I’m totally bemused by this and say no, I’m not depressed. Then she says she’s coming back next week for ‘a proper chat.’ No thanks. I will write a whole entry about why I’d rather pull out my toenails than talk to this woman. But that’s an aside.
So her visit upset me epically. I didn’t like someone just turning up, making assumptions, and ignoring the areas I truly do need support in. So I left a message the next day cancelling her visit this week. I also phoned up my favourite receptionist (holla! Tracy’s in da house!) and made an appointment to see my favourite doctor on a Saturday morning in a few weeks, so TMD can have the babies while I’m in the appointment.
I guess I’ll be asking for this referral. It’s to a private specialist, but I don’t think public healthcare has an equivalent, so it should still be completely free.
Yesterday TMD had to stay home from work because I couldn’t walk. At all. Even with crutches. And codeine. I was a non-stop sobfest because the pain was so intense I just couldn’t handle it.
Today is a bit better, but probably only because I’ve spent the whole day passed out in a drug induced stupor.
So, my plans. I know I never updated anyone on the whole Christmas weight loss thing, but I’d lost 33 pounds in total by Christmas. Not all in the three months, though, of course. Because I’m sane and realise 1-2 pounds per week is the ideal, though of course I’ve been losing much slower than that. I plan to continue losing weight.
I also am borrowing a Yogalates video from a friend who is hopefully posting it today (holla! Mamacrow in da house!). I know my core muscles are key to ever recovering. I need to not get all crazy and stay realistic. For me that means not going from zero to sixty. Once I have recovered from this truly terrible dip in my physical abilities – maybe this week? – and can do a bit of movement, I plan to do small amounts of regular work on my core. Another friend is posting me paper copies of all the Pilates exercises her physio gave her for SPD/PGP.
What would I do without kind people, hey?? Knowing I have people supporting me offers me a bit of cotton wool to wrap myself in as I try to continue to recover.
I also wish there was a way to go swimming regularly. Those of you who only know me as a stay at home mum may not know I was once Super Lifeguard, The Best Swimmer On The Fucking Planet! Swimming and pilates have consistently been the two exercises recommended to me by specialists. The key to swimming is getting my fucking driving license, which again will be the subject of another entry.
Core muscles are the name of the game. Mine were destroyed by twin pregnancy – my bump went out to my knees when sitting. They were then obviously cut through when I had a c section. Core muscles are what supports the spine and pelvis. I need to strengthen them before I have a hope of regaining a normal (normal for me, not for anyone else!) life.
My mom pointed out that I’ve been sitting around, mostly, and just waiting for things to suddenly heal and be better. She’s right. I have been. I have also been scared of trying and having things not work. Classic fear of failure.
I guess at this point, 17 months postpartum, I’ve got to be realistic and understand that recovery will require more active work from me. That will require me to keep strong emotionally and mentally, as well. So I may blog more about this stuff just to keep myself on an even keel.
Everything is hopelessly tangled. I think losing (more) weight is emotionally fraught for me because I’m just about at the point where I could eggshare again. And getting thinner without having another pregnancy? Would really upset me. I need to move past this. Whether we expand our family by me getting pregnant or not, nothing is possible until I am able to move again. And Snort and Coconut deserve that, TMD deserves that, I deserve that.
This weekend is going to be all about rest and healing, so that I can physically cope with next week. I’m using the ‘opportunity’ afforded me by being unable to walk to read more about spirituality, to think, to relax and refresh.
I’m also thinking a lot about what I want life to look like, and trying to figure out why I always, always, always avoid doing the big things I need to do, why things scare me. Finding my courage is sometimes easy, sometimes hard. But follow through? I lack follow through.
Any comments welcome on any aspect of this post, though be aware I’m virtually confined to bed so don’t necessarily want anything that’s going to be upsetting. So by ‘any’ comments, just this once, I mean ‘nice and uplifting comments, suggestions, commiserations.’ Hehe.
Thanks, for reading. For being.