26 February 2017 – 6 April 2017 – Will my clothes please form an orderly queue at the back of my wardrobe until my next bout of illness?
27 February – 5 April 2017
I was unwell in some form or another for most of March and the beginning of April. I am very lucky in that I enjoy lengthy gaps between the horribleness that comes with CF. The Arthritis returned this time at the end of February and wouldn’t budge. The usual blasting of steroids didn’t have the same effect. The lack of exercise, general reduction in movement, ridiculous appetite as a result of the ongoing steroids meant that for the first time in my life my weight increased beyond the dimensions of every garment in my wardrobe. My weight has always had a life of its own. When I am well it goes up and a with the first hint of illness it drops, rapidly. The sudden inability to fit into my entire wardrobe is a new experience for me.
I feel I must take this opportunity to put my hand up and admit that this didn’t make me the most fun Mum, Wife or colleague to be around. If I’m being entirely honest I should throw in Daughter and Sister too.
Trying to squeeze into skinny jeans that are too tight, when every joint in your body hurts, doesn’t make for a sunny start to a weekend. Swap the skinny jeans for the entire working wardrobe and voila, we had Maleficent in the form of an Employment Lawyer.
Until Sunday, 2 April, thankfully my lung function seemed to be fine. Despite the grumpy moods and my very slow movement during what were usually hectic mornings, (meaning a 6.00 am start to ensure H arrived at nursery on time and I arrived in the office) I had kept up with all medications and treatments.
Last week at my clinic appointment my lung function was an impressive 75%. Everybody concerned seemed happy with that. With hindsight, this might have been raised slightly by the fact that I doubled up on steroids on 1 April to enable me to meet a University pal for afternoon tea.
My Uni pal is lovely. She is one of those rare people who appear to be filled with energy and enthusiasm all the time. She tells funny stories and makes me laugh without even trying and she encourages every quirky aspect of my personality.
I don’t see her enough and our afternoon tea had been planned for a while. I had arranged a fun activity for Hubby and H whilst I was out, as I knew that my afternoon was likely to descend into prosecco fuelled giggles. I didn’t want a hobbling Maleficent to spoil it.
I had joined Slimming World the week before and bought a new outfit. I therefore had an outfit that I could walk in without causing myself an injury.
[The decision to join Slimming World was not made lightly, as I later explained at length to the Dieticians on the CF Ward – I won’t go into details, the subject could be a lengthy article in its own right]
I needed an afternoon of giggles. I did what I had to. It was worth it.
6 April 2017
On Monday 3 April I started to feel ill. I coughed literally all night (and I am using the word literally correctly).
Today, I start intravenous antibiotics. I am genuinely not sure whether I have managed to keep Maleficent under control at the Hospital but I have refused all attempts to put in a long line. I am glad I have because my marvellous Doctor manages to get a cannula into my hand on his first attempt.
I am hooked up to a drip in no time and I have a good hour to check through my work emails whilst the first dose of antibiotic floods into my blood stream.
Hubby collects me from the hospital after my first dose of antibiotics and Grannie and H are waiting for me at home.
H: “Oh, Mummy, What have you done to your hand?”
She throws her arms around my legs.
M: “It needs to be bandaged for a few days sweetie”
H: “But what have you done?”
M: “I’ll tell you later. Look what I bought you today”
I produce a magazine from my bag with four mini pots of Play Doh attached to the cover. Her eyes light up. “Thank you Mummy. I loooove Play Doh” and off she trots to the kitchen. She appears a minute later kisses me and then runs off again.
I’m not actually sure what I will tell her. I’ll think about it.
I am able to eat dinner and then enjoy a huge cup of tea in my enormous fluffy white dressing gown (a Mother’s Day gift – the best one I have ever received) whilst Hubby puts H to bed.
I really do need to sort myself out. Sometimes you can do all the right things, take everything you’re supposed to, do everything you’re supposed to and you get ill any way.