Lovely stuff

As a long time member of the Fibromyalgia Club, I usually wake feeling unrefreshed and aching all over. I have never been hit by a bus or train, but I would imagine that early morning stiff feeling would be akin to it.

Almost in a trance, I find my way to my kettle and turn it on. I grab the milk out of the fridge and proceed to take my blood to determine how much sugar I have in my diabetic old body. Like my weight, there is always too much of it.

Whilst the bread is toasting, I check my diary to see if there's anything we have to attend to or go to. With fibro fog my second nature now, I write everything down so that I don't forget it. In spite of aches and no spoons, if I don't have to leave the house today, I may do a little soft shoe shuffle. No wait- not a shoe shuffle- a slipper shuffle.

Really, it's sad when you come to think of it. A day with no appointments or shopping makes my day. I don't even care that the bins go out more than I do. 

Pyjama days are splendid days and I look forward to any excuse during a fibro flare to allow me to lounge around in my nightie and dressing gown. On days like that, it is enough that I brush my teeth and wash my hands. Forget the trauma of taking a shower. That's a good day job!

With high blood readings lately, I have had to be strict with limiting sugars, but because I hate my tea with none or worse still, with artificial sweeteners, I only allow myself one treat: a cup of white tea, one teaspoon of sugar. Stirred not shaken.

My first cup of tea in the morning is the one I enjoy the most, and I find I can limit tea sweetening during the day. Give me the joy of a refreshing, uplifting *sweetened* cuppa in the morning and I will be a reasonably happy little diabetic warrior the rest of the day.

Most people need a coffee in the morning, but for me, it's tea all the way. I can't live a happy life without my morning cup of tea with milk and one: it truly is lovely stuff.

 

The only nice thing about it

So we went to the doctor yesterday to get our results from blood tests taken a few days ago. My blood pressure was 140/90 which was slightly better than last time, but still high.

He asked was anything bothering me and I had to tell him I am worried about Chris. Both of us have heart failure, high blood pressure, diabetes and cellulitis plus I have fibromyalgia. 

We both have pitting oedema on our feet and legs and the fatigue that comes from obesity and feeling sick. Dressing and showering is shared in that we help each other and because of exhaustion from showering, we shower every second day, taking opposite days. That way, we can help each other.

Our love language is touch in the form of massaging each other's feet and legs and our speech revolves around spoons and how much sugar is in everything that passes our lips.

We rarely leave home any more except for the doctor or chemist and our rubbish bins go out more than us. The highlight of our day is to discover we don't have any appointments or need a blood test. We are extremely relieved to know we can just stay home and have a PJ day.

It is unusual to call on us and not find at least one of us having a nana nap, particularly if we haven't slept well the night before.

When massaging Chris's feet or watching him sleep upright so that he doesn't feel like he's drowning in his fluid, I become anxious about how ill he looks and I fret that I will lose him.

I can't bear to think of that and when I do, I have to give it to the LORD in prayer and trust that He will grant us more time together.

All this angst does nothing to alleviate my fibromyalgia pain or help me get over a flare and I find myself taking mild pain relief every 6 hours. As the doctor advised.

Our home is able to be company ready in half an hour as it is basically tidy all the time. True, there may be slippers in the lounge or a cup on the table, but this can easily be fixed. I just close our bedroom doors to hide the permanently clean but unmade beds.

We love our home as we feel it nurtures us and even though we only may be gone a few hours when we have to go out, we find we are really looking forward to coming home again.

When we were engaged, we agreed that it would be nice to grow old together and we have. Twenty-five years later, it isn't so nice. But thank goodness we have each other and that's the only nice thing about it.

We both are spoilt girls

With heart failure and certain blood pressure tablets, my feet and legs puff up with fluid. I have pitting oedema which means that the indent when a finger is pressed on the limb, stays for a long time. My heart is not working as it should.

At the end of the day, when we watch TV together, Chris will automatically reach for my feet and gently massage them, rubbing the fluid upward towards the heart. He also rubs my toes which burn and sting with neuropathy from diabetes.

The other night as Chris rubbed my foot, Xena jumped up onto the couch and lay beside me. Not wanting to miss out on cuddles, she put her paw up on Chris's arm, purring loudly. It was a lovely relaxing time and helped lift our depression. 

Neither Chris or I are doing too well physically at the moment. Chris's sugars are uncontrolled and he has fluid on his lungs from heart failure.

Such is the loving nature of this man that he rubs my feet continually, even when he needs his own done. I do rub his feet and legs at least once a day and when I cut his toe nails for him. But it must be said that his ministrations to me are more frequent than mine to him. I simply have no spoons at the end of the day. 

I manage the house with all that entails and Chris knows that my spoons are in short supply, especially with a fibromyalgia flare, and so he seeks to bring me some comfort and pleasure at the end of the day.

Xena seems to pick up on the loving atmosphere and always makes sure she's between us in order to be included in the cuddles. 

She loves her Daddy too and we consider her as our feline child-and because she loves her Mummy as well, she purrs contentedly as she wonders which one of us is a spoilt girl. We both are spoilt girls.

This too will pass

 

It's been nearly a week without spoons. I have absolutely no energy to speak of and have just been focussing on keeping the clothes washed, kitchen clean and cooking.

I suppose it's my fault. With some recent spoons, I probably overdid it and hence the Flare of Flares. It's sort of predictable with fibromyalgia. But I was hoping to break out of the pain/fatigue cycle. I haven't.

 

The doctor has become concerned about my blood pressure being high 160/90 and has been trying to get me to give myself a once a week injection of a drug that's supposed to help me lose weight as well as keep the sugars low. I don't want it.

My feelings are that once you inject something, you have to put up with any side-effects for another week, unlike oral tablets that you have some control over. You can stop taking them: not so with injections. Yes, you can stop using them but the chemical is in your system for a week.

I am sick enough with the antibiotics I am taking for suspected cellulitis in my leg. They are very rugged and have given me thrush as well. But I need to finish the course to heal my leg.

So because I have an infection, I am listening to my body and taking a nana nap if I need it. And I don't feel guilty for napping.

I am trying to keep upbeat and not stress too much. It's hard for me as Chris is suffering with his heart failure as well.

I know better days must come and that's why I chose the picture above. With prayer and leaning on the LORD, this phrase often comes to mind:  "this too will pass" and it will- eventually. 

The downside of country life

So  the other night I was going into my bathroom when I noticed this huntsman on the frame near the door. My heart nearly stopped!

Walking into the bathroom, I must have passed close to this horrid spider who could easily have jumped on my head and such is my fear of spiders, it possibly would have killed me in a cardiac event brought on by fear!

Not an overly big spider by huntsman standards, he would have been about 3 inches across. But he was big enough to induce panic in us as we scurried to find a broom and the fly spray!

I didn't want to lose this guy as we wouldn't know where we would find him, so there was a great over use of flyspray and frantic loud bangs of the broom. Suffice it to say, he got a burial at sea!

It is said that they come in pairs, so we were watching everywhere until his mate was found. And she was...

I was in the adjacent laundry and found her sunning herself on the glass panel in the back door. I grabbed my flyspray and went to spray it, but then realised that she was outside the door. She too had to be gone because I didn't want her coming in the house. I'd had enough excitement with her mate's intrusion.

A few sprays of the flyspray had her on the move, and a few heavy thumps of the broom, and she was no longer. Except for food for the birds and ants. 

Indeed, I had to chuckle at how fast I moved, considering my two damaged knees and fibromyalgia. It's marvellous what an adrenaline rush can do for a body! 

Not only did the fear of losing the huntsman to perchance come back to terrorise me, rattle me, but so did realising that I had married a man who refused to rescue me from dangerous wildlife! Such was my expectation of my knight in shining armour! :)

Don't get me wrong: I still love living here in the Australian bush with my liver-lilied Chris,  but snakes and huntsmen are definitely the downside of country life.