I am just well-upholstered…

My euphoria, sans Pain Management appointment, was short-lived.  I’ve had a sore leg for a few days/weeks (I’d scratched it on the shower screen a few weeks ago) which hasn’t got any better.  I suspect cellulitis, as well as a particularly annoying varicose vein, so I attended the walk-in centre at the hospital after work.  The lady I saw was again, very good; she was patient and took time with me.  She checked my heart beat, lungs etc.  but when it came to the blood pressure my heart sank, I always have problems getting my blood pressure checked because of the lipoedema in my arms.  It is excruciatingly painful.  Despite my best efforts to pronounce lipoedema, (I think most health care professionals only hear lymphoedema), and explain I am better with a wrist monitor, she proceeded to use a small cuff on my forearm.  I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be as bad here as in my upper arm, WRONG, it was excruciating, I’m sure she looked at me like I was over-reacting, or over-acting.  I let her continue despite the pain until a reading was reached; 160/105mmHg.  Too high, she said.  (That’s because I was being tortured, anyone’s blood pressure is bound to rise under those conditions).  I checked later on and there is a distinct bruise, on my arm, where this torture had occurred.  I’m not really complaining, I think overall she did a splendid job, in comparison to other healthcare professionals I’ve come across.  Lo and behold, my own diagnosis was right, I have got cellulitis and she has given me antibiotics (Flucloxicillin) for a week, she also said I should go to my GP about my varicose veins.  

This goes some way to explaining why I’ve been feeling generally quite low and run-down, I thought is was mainly due to having a busy week and not being able to rest as much as I’d like.   Hopefully, the antibiotics will kick in quickly and I’ll start to feel better, I’ve booked next week off work and although I’m hoping to rest and recuperate a little,  I am also hoping to get a few things done around the house.  I need to feel a bit more on top of my game for that as housework is already a struggle when you are living with lipoedema, fibromyalgia and are a buxom beauty (trying out positive affirmation to help my mood).

P.S. – I just looked up buxom out of interest in the dictionary/thesaurus and was quite tickled by the synonym “well-upholstered”, I may just use this expression in future in place of fat, which has become such a derogatory term.  From this day forward, I shall proclaim loudly, “I am not fat… I am just well-upholstered”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Throw-back…

Exhausted.  Achy.  Feeling bloated.  Lethargic.  I could sleep for a week.

This week so far can be summed up, thus!

I’ve struggled, big time, this week.  It’s not been too hot, but I feel worn down by the heat somehow.  By the time I finished work today I was almost screaming out in pain.  Not the type of pain that is instant and excruciating, but the kind of pain that wears you down ‘cos its been around for weeks, gnawing at your psyche.  Its difficult to explain.  From the outside I’m a big, fat, lumbering old fart.  Nobody should have any sympathy for me, its all my own fault.  I’m fat because I eat too much (not true); I’m sure that’s what other people think.  That’s what one half of my own being thinks.  The other half doesn’t think, its too busy working to keep up the pretence.  The pretence that I’m alright.  The pretence that I’m coping, still able to function as a normal human being.  The pretence at being happy, content.  Somewhere in the middle of these two halves is a molecule of love, respect, compassion, sympathy, empathy … all the things I give to others relatively easily, but which I find difficult to give to myself.  I feel unworthy.

I don’t know if I understand love, respect, compassion etc. or should I say I’ve never felt love, respect, compassion etc. from anyone else.  I hear the words, but I don’t feel them, I don’t feel the emotion behind the words coming from anyone.  Is that normal?  Are they just words? Is that why I don’t know how to do it for myself.  Growing up I thought love was being given something you wanted, whether it was food, clothes or stuff; something other than the mundane.  Dinner was just dinner, but when I got my favourite meal (cauliflower cheese) it was given with love; I’d get cauliflower cheese on my birthday, but other than then it was a meal hardly ever had.  Take clothes, of course I had clothes when I was wee, but they were everyday clothes, hard-wearing and boring.  There were no pretty clothes; perhaps one item for best, but otherwise they had a purpose, to cover your ruddy body; not to be loved or to make you feel good.  Clothes were utility.  And stuff, I got stuff I needed for school, the occasional treat, but I never got the stuff I actually wanted; perhaps once, I did get a cassette recorder (see photo) one Christmas, which would get confiscated when I was naughty. I remember it being confiscated a few times, but I can’t think of anything I did, at that age (probably around 11 years), that was so naughty.  I ruddy loved that cassette recorder.  I think this was when I started to love things more than people…when I realised things didn’t let you down the same way people do.

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I don’t know if, how I am, how I think of myself and how I treat myself are a throw-back from my childhood, or as a result of an overactive, under-stimulated, depressive mind.  All I know is I feel sad, empty, lonely, angry, resentful and achy most of the time; I think living with Lipoedema and Fibromyalgia just adds to this ‘cos when I feel run down, from trying to function properly, my internal voice seems to ramp up its constant criticism of everything and everyone.  I wish I could find a way to switch it off.  I am hoping that by writing these things down it will help, but even then my little critical voice inside is still chirping away…