Sunday, April 07, 2013

Moaning in da house

No, it's not IceBear but it could be except he's not wearing a blue velvet collar with a diamond heart on it.  Dumb animal seems to think my verandah is a verandah and likes to lie across it at night for an ear scritch and a pat.
Not a lot of wellness going on around here and I'm seeing Doc Marvin tomorrow morning. I could have seen him this morning but fortunately not as I forgot about the bloody clocks. Cat must have thought it was Christmas getting fed at godonlyknows what time.
I think I know the Doc well enough now for a whinging session about every inch (kilometre if you watch the Biggest Loser) of what's this spot and why am I falling apart and why is my brain hiding under a rock in terror.  That last isn't funny, how can I miss a whole day of doing blood sugar tests and I missed last night before bed. Diabetes educator will have a melt down.
I've only had one doctor who I could confide in without wondering if I was going to be judged by weight or whine but since Ma has just bribed him with a handmade birthday card and a Garfield tie for his politically incorrect collection of attire for a serious doctor, I think I can get away with it.
So far this year has been a real  nerve cruncher. Three times I've had to put the funeral home on speed dial but Teflon Tessie still reigns supreme. She's in bed a lot more than last year, no interest in cards except for special people but she's reading on her iPad, watching dvds on the little viewer and annoying me on the mobile.  So I relax, relax just a little too much actually. I relax into a full meltdown and it ain't pretty.  I haven't upchucked in years because I usually read the signs and throw down enough tranqs to stop Black Caviar but I missed this one.  Didn't even make the loo, but the bath was closer.  Lordy I could never be bulimic, it's ghastly and the ribs hurt and I feel like I should shove my throat back into place.  Go back to bed, take pill, get up for pee, take different pill, go back to bed in dressing gown to stop the shakes since shaking is making brain hurt. All I need is to rest, calm down, maybe a little sleep. The Bear needs feeding, stagger up, feed, go back to bed with Bear following.  Dear thing lies all over me to keep me company and probably judges how long the body could keep him from hunger before I was found.
Right, shakes stop, sleep is imminent until postie clangs the gate and the lump jumps high enough to qualify for the Grand National.  Settle, calm, courier clangs gate and throws parcel at the front door, lump flies off the bed.  Settle, calm, no shaking, cat fed and the bloody mobile rings and it's out in the lounge and I have to get it in case it's the Home and I have to speed dial the funeral home, wrong number.  Farnarkling wrong bloody number.  
By this time it's midday so I decide to try toast and a cuppa.  Go back to bed for a bit and mother rings.  "You don't sound well", no I'm bloody not.  But I must be because I'm talking to her and would I please look for nighties with long sleeves, her arms are cold at night and bring a party pie (stomach did a flip) because tomorrow's Friday and she hates fish.  
Surprisingly I came good about 11.30 p.m. just in time to go to bed.  Friday I found shopping easy, found her nighties with 20% off, found the Midsomer Murder she didn't have and bought the damn party pies.  It was kind of hilarious watching her trying to get the sauce out of those little plastic tubs, I had to tell her the secret in the finish or I would have worn it.  
Just to round the day off, nasty-old-bitch up the other room, said in a very loud voice, "Who is that great big woman?"  Carer said I wasn't all that big and I was very nice. Nasty-old-bitch said I was big, enormous in fact.  Restrained myself from slapping the old cow.
Glad to be home even glad to drag the groceries in. The IceBear had his head in the food box, probably counting the tins.  Finally I sit down to a plate of Brushchetta and a ginger beer (diet).
That was an up the ladder day, Saturday was a down the snake day and a good cry because I was too terrified to go to a great party that night.  I couldn't do it and I felt like I should have made the effort but it was a no go.  This time the pills went down before any dramas but that's when I decided that I must share my hysteria with someone qualified other than you, my ill healthed, hysterical, pill popping blog mates.  You know who you are and we are all in the same boat, it's called The Titanic.

6 comments:

Elephant's Child said...

Aaaaargh. Failing anything more useful, I am sending hugs. You really have had a bad trot this year.

River said...

JahTeh, you have me getting all teary-eyed here, I'm so sorry you're having such a hard time of things. So much trauma in such a short time, perhaps things will ease and the rest of the year will be better.
((()))x one million.
Please take care and don't forget your blood sugar tests.

Kath Lockett said...

JahTeh, I do know how you feel, honestly I do, having had a recent meltdown that still leaves me feeling raw and sad and ashamed and tired and shocked and delicate. See the doctor and take your pills; do whatever works. K xo

Ann ODyne said...

same from me as from the dear hearts above.
I hope you all saw the first 2 Saturday night editions of Last Tango In Halifax (well maybe not Kath, sorry) as it is all the mess and confusion of Real Life and I don't know why I laughed. Every character is having a shit of a time, yet staggering on to the next obligation. Great cast too. Nobody has a neat nice life.

Coppy - re that uncouth resident who demanded to know who you were, I am surprised you didn't give her a few unforgettable moments. She's rude and lucky too (this time).
Rock ON.

R.H. said...

Big woman, your generosity, tolerance, humour, good sense.
I never tire of you.

JahTeh said...

EC, I always think of you when I'm groaning and whining. Perhaps we should all get together as a choir, can you just hear the whines, clicking of crap bones and joints not to mention we probably couldn't hold a tune but oh so arty.

River, we could end the choir in tears, what a finish. I don't usually get this hysterical until August, must be the comets.

Kath, you have a real reason to meltdown so you can Youtube your choir performance to us. The delicate sound of dead nits hitting the bottom of your trusty migraine bucket.

Annie O, I missed Last Tango, I was watching violence and mayhem to match my mood.
I tag you as conductor of our choir since you have experience of music mix and wouldn't we be a mix.

Rochester, Big woman, I'll take but enormous I'm not copping. You may write the introduction to our choir. You can do a nice line of groan and moan when it suits you.