Billygean.co.uk

“He’s just like my old dog,” Octopus is saying, “Tosh.”

MindReader laughs. “Like in The Bill?” And before you tune out, I have no idea either, except that The Bill is a rubbish “cop show” in the UK.

Octopus laughs.

“You watch The Bill?!” I say to MindReader.

“Yeah, when I was like 12,” he says.

I wrinkle my nose.

“Um!” MindReader says.

“What?”

“What were you watching this evening?”

“Um, Four Weddings…”

“Which is?”

I blush. “A programme where four brides rate each others’ weddings!”

“And then what did you watch?”

“Erm… Sharon Osbourne’s Charm School!”

“Right,” he says.

“Good point well made.”

It is hard to describe how it feels.

Sometimes, when speaking to MindReader or BestFriend, I see the light again. I view things rationally – it’s just a virus, a blip, in two weeks you’ll laugh at how dramatic you were.

But the rest of the time, it is just me, my thoughts, and articles like this.

Perhaps it was a mistake to start writing for Action for ME. I read the stories on there every day and, as my health seemingly deteriorates, I feel myself slip back into the dark world where I would have discussions about how long I had to lie down for after brushing my teeth (all day), and how far I could walk (4 steps). I think the reason many people refuse to believe ME exists isn’t because they think it’s a kind of depression, or an attention-seeking thing, but because the horror – that after your next flu, you might not walk again – with no cure, seems less real then.

The longer I spend alone the more I slip from thinking this is a blip to thinking that this! is! never! going! away! and that soon I will become one of those people we’d all rather forget suffered.

The phone went earlier. A friend said “MadFather tells me you’re bad again,” to which I bristled and just him I had a bug. Or two.

But what if I am bad again? What if it’s back?

“It’s just that – you know,” I say, “M.E makes you pessimistic.”

“Hmm?” MindReader says.

We are sitting on our bed in Tamworth. I have spent a great deal of time going over my symptoms and comparing them to January 2008. I am, essentially, trying to convince everyone that I am going to get really ill again, in the hope that they will try to convince me that I’m not. It is strange behaviour at best.

Mush the dog is lying on the bed with us and I am stroking his very woolly ears.

“Well, an optimist would feel better, return to work and expect to be okay so they would probably push themselves. Whereas people who’ve suffered from fatigue have to err on the side of caution – of pessimism – and expect relapse so as to deal with it a bit better.”

MindReader raises his eyebrows. I suspect he thinks I’m crazy.

I do not tell him the extent to which fatigue colours my days. Not just feeling exhausted sometimes and worrying and trying to walk long distances to see if I’m ready to go back to BathShop again, but in other ways, too. The notion that sometimes might appear better and then, as soon as you trust that, things go downhill again. I think about things this way now. My financial situation may currently appear fine but that’s a pre-cursor to everything going wrong, is it not? On the other hand, I think about things as steadily getting better, even when you cannot see the improvements. I see MadFather sigh over his dinner and think his depression might be improving, just below the surface. Normally, when things improve, they just improve, not in this subtle, relapsing-remitting way of ME.

I come to. It’s a strange one. I thought everything would be normal when I could live my life again, but there are many bumps along the way.

“Well, every situation is different,” MindReader says. “Feeling similar to last time doesn’t mean it will be similar.”

I nod. “The thing is -”

“Yes,” MindReader says.

“What?”

He jumps up off the bed. Mush follows him. “Come on,” he says. “No more worrying. Let’s have dinner.”

“But-”

“No more worrying.”

I nod and follow him quietly from the room.

I am mostly better. I am still not back to BathShop Job because it involves standing up ALL DAY and I still get horribly dizzy if I walk too far (SIGH) but I am mostly better and for that I am obviously thankful.

MadFather is learning to be a driving instructor. And, as he goes along, he is teaching me to drive.

That’s right, I’m 24 and I don’t know how to drive. It’s quite inconvenient, so I am learning, for free!

Or, not learning.

“That’s it…” MadFather says soothingly from the passenger seat. “Now secure the car.”

I dutifully put the handbrake on, put the car in neutral, and take my feet off the pedals. We are in a large industrial estate and I thankfully have not seen a single pedestrian or car.

“Now, we’re going to get the clutch to biting point, observe around us in the mirrors, and reverse very slowly over there,” MadFather says, pointing.

In my head, I am competing with a former self. I had one driving lesson before I got sick and I remember vividly reversing round a corner and proclaiming it was easy. Right? What? WHAT? Cocky, talented past-Billygean who did not need twenty naps a week and who could eat cake.

I clear my head. I engage the clutch, check the mirrors and put the car into neutral. It slides slowly forward. I frown.

“Billygean!” MadFather says, pushing it down. “You’re driving with the handbrake on. AGAIN.”

I blush. “Am I being a bit thick?”

“Just a bit, now reverse – that’s it… that’s it.”

I see another van coming up the road. Pretty unlucky.

I brake suddenly and stall the car. Suddenly I realise I don’t know something. “We drive on the left side of the road here? Right?”

“Oh God.”

I am feeling a little better every day. I make a cup of coffee and walk out to the garden.

I am glad I am not too ill here – being ill on the very same sofa on which I was originally ill would probably make me sad; the same way that the buds blooming on the trees last summer was a strangely concrete reminder of how long I had been ill for.

The sun is warm and I realised I have missed having a garden. “I will RECONNECT with nature here!” I said to MindReader when we moved here and I was a bit sad at our lack of space and he rolled his eyes.

Mush comes out to join me and I cannot stress enough how fun having a dog is!

He is obsessed with a ball and JUMPS for it, so we put it on a table (for a few moments)

MadFather

And a floating cup of tea

And, my favourite photo of all…

I know it looks like he’s sitting down on an imaginary chair, but this is mid! jump!

Er, hello.

I am sort of better. Most of my symptoms went quite suddenly on Tuesday morning, but my glands remain up and I am therefore in some sort of cautious limbo, not wanting to even test the waters in case it gives my body an excuse to rebel.

We moved house on Tuesday and Wednesday. I obviously didn’t really do very much, lying on pieces of furniture until they, one by one, got loaded into the van and eventually lying on the carpet which I’m pretty sure MindReader’s sister found fairly strange.

On the house move, I can’t remember how much I’ve told the Internetz. We’re moving to Solihull, into MindReader’s sister’s old house, as soon as her new house is ready. I think we’re going to be living in Tamworth with MadFather for the rest of the summer and some of the autumn. In light of recent events, when I eventually do go back to work I don’t really want to add a commute on my list of things to deal with but we don’t really have any other options currently.

So. Since moving, I feel a bit worse, which is playing on my mind because I really did do nothing. I get dizzy whenever I do anything for more than a few minutes which is pretty standard post-flu behaviour for my body, but, and here’s the thing.

My legs – they don’t seem to work!

A feeling that my legs are bending backwards is something I get when ill, and something I think I have written about on here before, but this is sort of a prolonged case of it, combined with shaking, aching muscles. I am hoping it’s just one more way my body tells me that SOMETHING IS WRONG in that urgent, attention-seeking way that it does.

Yes, so, we have moved back home, and I haven’t gone back to work or even done legal work from home. The whole mono/glandular fever saga has frightened me into not overdoing it and suddenly I look back on all the other bugs I’ve had throughout this illness and wonder how I recovered at all. Being overly cautious may be good on the fatigue side of things but actually I think I may have gone a little crazy. I actually worried about the fact that there are STAIRS in his Tamworth and a lift at the flat in Birmingham. I mean – get over it.

It’s quite chaotic at MadFather’s because his home seems to have become a bit of a refuge for divorced 50 year old men. Currently staying with him is a man MadFather calls Octopus. He plays squash with him and he’s very lanky with long arms and legs that go everywhere, apparently. Octopus has brought his dog with him, who is called Mush, and humped my leg earlier today (maybe that’s why they feel shaky?!).

So me, MindReader, our 5 fish, MadFather, Octopus and Mush are all living together. You couldn’t make it up, could you?

Regarding the glandular fever, and don’t think it’s not been on my mind because it’s at the bottom of the post, I rang the doctor yesterday (my test was supposed to be this morning) and informed him that I have no symptoms now really, and that I never had a sore throat or a fever. He told me that it’s SO unlikely to recur, and it’s SO unlikely to get it without the sore throat, that I should just not have it since I’m ‘generally on the mend’ (although it is debatable whether my body ‘does’ mending or just complains a lot). So I gaily said “great! cancelled!” and hung up, much to MindReader’s amusement.

So presuming my glands go down and my legs start working again, we’ll never know what it was, I guess. You’re up to speed!

Oh yes and thank you for all the emails – my inbox crashed!

Hello blogreaders (especially those who sent me amazon gift certificates, cards and woolly jumpers in the post!),

I didn’t want to have to blog about this. Mostly because blogging about illness and getting well and then getting a string of minor colds is tedious but also because some one from work now has my blog url [when she said 'do you blog?' I couldn't resist telling her that yes! I! do! and I have HUNDREDS of readers!] But, since I’ve called in sick I may as well go for it.

So. I had a big week. And I felt tired. Yes?

And then I felt more tired.

And then I played tennis (when will I learn? [insert rant here about how I shouldn't HAVE to learn silly lessons like 'not to overdo it' if I had a NORMAL BODY]). And then I carried on as normal, feeling slightly niggly tired until Wednesday night when I went on a walk with MindReader, got proper, old-school dizzy, sat on a canal lock and sobbed.

I have been in bed since then. My glands have gone up today. I presumed I had a viral infection or – crikey! – swine flu until I went to see GingerDoctor today who said possibly the worst sentence I have ever heard in my life.

He said:

PERHAPS THE GLANDULAR FEVER HAD RECURRED.

And, since I have spent way too long crying AFTER visiting doctors I cried then while saying WHAT and also DON’T YOU KNOW IT RUINED MY LIFE?

He said it recurred in something like 1% of cases. I reminded him that it lingers for longer than 6 months in 0.001% of cases and he raised his eyebrows and called me ‘unlucky indeed’.

So. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but, I’m having a glandular fever blood test next week.

Now your turn: emails, post, nice thoughts: go.

“I have now worked with three people who have got swine flu,” I say, our door slamming behind me.

“Oh, hello,” MindReader says, sprawled on the sofa in shorts. I take a moment to admire his very sexy, muscly, blond-haired legs. “You’ll be fine,” he says, returning his gaze to Sky Sports News.

“But – I mean – I should probably make a will???” I say, and yes, that sentence did require three question marks, representing the cumulation of a few different thought processes involving actually getting some symptoms, my GP not listening, my body breaking again and watching all 13 cycles of America’s Next Top model AGAIN and dying on my sofa of boredom.

“What?” MindReader says, standing up. “We’ve been through this, Billygean.”

“Have we?”

“Yes. You don’t have underlying health problems in the way that they mean. You know, like problems with the lining of your lungs… or, you know, really serious stuff.”

“MINDREADER,” I say. “Do you REALLY think I don’t think I have underlying health problems? I have googled lymphoma TWICE today!”

“I think you have underlying MENTAL health problems.”

MindReader and I are at the pub. We are planning our mini-break, heading up to Edinburgh after a wedding in Newcastle (a wedding! we never do that!) in a few weekends’ time.

I flip open the Edinburgh Fringe festival guide.

“You’ve been – to Edinburgh – before, haven’t you?” I say.

MindReader looks a bit shifty. “Yes – twice.”

“With N-?”

“Yes.”

I haven’t mentioned MindReader’s significant ex for quite a while. Go me.

“What did you do?”

“Oh, well the first time we just went up for the day…”

I wince.

“What?” he says, sipping his cider.

“Well you know – it’s the ‘we’ – as in, you and her… it’s a bit…” I wrinkle my nose.

“Ah, right,” MindReader says. “We – I mean, me and the person I was with just mooched around the town – there’s loads of those shops that you’ll love. And the second time – me – and the person I was with went to the zoo. Oh and we I mean, me – and -”

“I’m being completely unreasonable aren’t I?”

MindReader smirks. “So what else is new?”