Wednesday, 3 November 2010

My unglorious summer (and autumn come to that)

Dealing with PMDD is hard enough.  It's just about bearable if I can keep stress down to a minimum.  I had saved up a few quid to go away for a week in August.  Somewhere cheap and sunny was the plan, with my boyfriend.  The kids were both visiting thier dad's.

A few weeks before I was going to go away on holiday for a break, my car dies.  I lived without a car for a month or so, then realised that a holiday abroad wasnt going to happen.  My savings needed to go towards a new car.  Half my kid free time was spent at home, then I managed to find a suitable car.  Problem was, I'd spent everything, and even going camping went out of the window.  The stress and extra hassel of not having a car in a rural area, of not going away, of not making good use of the time without my kids, really took it's toll.

I had a back up plan.  I had booked a trip to Spain for 4 days in October, on my own.  It was a dancing holiday, a retreat.  It was going to be my saviour.  I was gonna achieve a massive thing if I could travel abroad on my own, and the retreat itself offered great respite, fun, good food, and peace.  I was getting really nervous, and had a few wobbles about going.  Three days before my planned trip, I started to get excited, and began to compile everything I would need to take, organise what to pack, and borrowed a case etc
Two days before I go, while cleaning and tidying up the house (after taking the little one to school and walking the dog) I bent down to put away a magazine and my back went.  Lower back.. a definate PING.  I knew immediately that this was not good, and managed to walk like a stiff crippled robot to the kitchen  I took a painkiller (one of my usual back pain tablets) and hobble back to the living room.  Sitting down was excruciating, and I knew immediately I was stuck on the sofa.  None of my neighbours were in, so I had to call my man at work.

I was on the sofa for the rest of the day.  The doc faxed over prescriptions for stronger painkillers and muscle relaxants, but there was nothing anyone could do.  I knew I wasnt going to be going anywhere.  But I kept hoping that I would, as if by a miracle, be better to fly and dance in 2 days time.
It took 4 days untill I could walk without holiding on to everything.  That weekend was horrrible.  My mind kept reminding me where I should have been, wondering what it would be like, what I would have been like if I had been able to go.  I felt sick.

Let's just say it's really knocked me.  I had such hopes for what I was going to do when I came back from Spain, energised and excited.  But instead, I'm still in pain, still having to be very careful what I do, and every day feels like a waste again.  My weight is becoming an issue for me again, but even walking the dog for an hour, means I need to sit down for a while afterwards.  I feel 83, not 33.

All in all, a VERY unglorious summer.

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