I had a Rheum appointment today. Went well, for the most part. She went through with me exactly why she KNOWS I do have arthritis, no matter what my blood tests might say. She gave me some ammunition to fire at any health professionals who seem to think my arthritis is in my mind. I may not have mentioned but I am seeing the
physio who I originally met through the PMU and she holds to their assessment that there is no physiological cause for my pain. My first session with her was mostly a stressful update interview where she implied (heavily) that I should be seeing a psychiatrist and commented that it was good that I now had a proper diagnosis (FMS). Cue conversation that consisted of me almost shouting at her that I DO in fact have arthritis (I may have been getting a bit tetchy by that point) and her offering the condescending query as to whether my “arthritis” is showing up in blood tests now? I have decided that free physio is worth me steeling myself to her annoying attitude. I don’t really mind that she believes I am just in pain because I haven’t been exercising enough but it will proceed more smoothly if I feel strong enough to tell her to shove it (politely of course).
Anyway back to the Rheum, god, have I mentioned I love her? She’s just a darling. Beefy was there to add his two cents. I am a crappy patient, I tend to get all meek and not say any of the things I planned, he has no qualms about saying what he thinks and that can be a big help. She’s going to research some meds he suggested for muscle spasm and forward her suggestions to the GP.
It was also quite an enlightening examination. She pointed out that she can press much harder on my joints. Not something I’d ever thought about but she’s right. There are still parts of me that react to a feather-light touch as though I’ve copped a punch from a heavyweight boxer but overall, I’d say that my stupid overactive nerves seem to be chilling out a bit. I reluctantly have to concur with the FMS diagnosis now.
We’re gearing up for a certain 2-year-old’s birthday on Saturday, I am in complete denial about her turning 3. I still call her “the baby” by default. I have a feeling she’ll still be “the baby” when she’s 21. Actually I once knew some parents who couldn’t agree on their daughter’s name. They chose the Dad’s favourite for her first name and the Mum’s for her middle name. The thing was, because they both hated each other’s naming choices they called her “Bubba”. Fine when she’s a baby, even a toddler. Unfortunately she stayed “Bubba” a lot longer, I think they chose a name to call her when she was about 7. That’s just crazy, I’m totally not like that.
So, birthday. I’m really too tired for a birthday celebration at the moment. We’ve had the flu one after the other for the last fortnight. The two little ones went down hardest with nearly a week of 40 degree temps each. I was literally wading through snot and vomit. Beefy and I are on the mend but both big kids are home from school sick now. Ordinarily we throw a party but I just couldn’t face a proper one so we decided on just the grandparents and my sister, her husband and kids for cake. Now, recently my mother has been moving on with her life. This is a fabulous and happy development and I am thrilled but she’s kind of physically moving on without addressing any of the psychological baggage. Again, this is fine because it’s her life and all but she’s sometimes a leeeetle bit stressful to spend time with. My sister and I spend our time consoling each other and trying to find ways to gently suggest (not all that viable with my natural flair for sledgehammer subtlety) that she needs to think through her behaviour. So, she’s bringing the new man, he’s lovely, he’s straightforward and together and responsible and gentle. All of the things that my father wasn’t (isn’t). I am really happy for her to bring him but I know it’s going to be one of those occasions where I’ll be longing for wine. I called a friend today and she reorganised her life so that she and her hubby and kids could join us and she could act as a buffer. She’s a good buffer, she’s played the role for me before and knows just how to keep me from rocking in the corner with a bottle of vodka.
Beefy and I raced around today getting all of the birthday essentials. I was even able to grab a cheap pair of jeans for myself. I have been rapidly shrinking out of my clothes. Ill is the best diet. It’s been about ten years since I was this small. To be honest I was a little bit shocked with the size I ended up with. I think the weight loss can stop now. I feature a naturally pancake flat bum and I fear any more and I will end up with concave buttocks. Not pretty.
We managed to get everything we needed – presents, cake makings (My little Pony- Pinkie Pie cake, stay tuned for how well I mangle that one!) but by the end I was struggling to put one foot in front of the other. When we got home I managed to get myself inside and into bed but after that I was gone. I couldn’t sleep because of the pain and I was struggling to so much as lift an arm. I HATE that my body does this. If I do too much I have no choice. I can’t push through it like I used to, I have to rest. I am unable to even get myself to the toilet. I am not handling it that well, I just want to be me again. The new meds have helped, honestly they’ve helped enormously but I am at the maximum dose and I am not magically me again. Beefcake had to go and fill a script for the opiate pain meds that I had been off for six days. I was doing so well but there was just no choice. Bugger.
Anyhoo, exhausted now. Have to save my strength for tomorrow is cake baking, construction and crumb coat. I can’t flake out on that because there is no way for beefy to manage it alone, we are ambitious with our birthday cakes in these parts. Wish me luck.