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.