Monthly Archives: February 2017

Users of the road

I got my driving license almost 13 years ago and I think I’m a pretty good road user. I’ve had 3 claims on my insurance which have happened in situations which I couldn’t avoid.

The first happened whilst I was 6/7 months pregnant with No3. It was entirely the Mr’s fault. He went into the back of a hatchback because he anticipated the driver being more aggressive about moving on to the roundabout. With car damage and her whiplash claim, our insurance paid out over 10k. That held our insurance back for the next five years.

The second accident, last year, was my fault because I allowed myself to be bullied by another driver to take a gap I knew I couldn’t make. He drove off into the distance whilst I was left to exchange details with the parked car’s owner and a 1k claim to repair the wheel arch which I caught with my fibreglass trimmings on the minibus. 

The last happened just this month and I’m so bloomin’ cross! I parked the car and we went in to playgroup. When I came out I heard a car crunch over something right next to my brand new mobility car – I do not exaggerate, I had 22 days of ownership on my Black Beauty 😦 The bad driver must have reversed into her, felt the impact, drove off. Not a note, not a “does anyone know who this belongs to?” Nothing. Now I have a £100 excess and I’m waiting for the company to collect BB to do the repair.

We’ve been very lucky, no damage to humans just to vehicles and bank balances.

Then we look at the Mr. As well as being a fairly good driver be is also a cycling commuter. Yes. He is one of those nutters who speeds along the cycling super highway to work in offices all over London and he Loves it. Personally, I am not a cyclist. I know how to cycle but my overly rotund posterier just isn’t designed for those ittybitty seats :-/ 

Mr has been hit twice, if my memory still works, whilst *walking* in our local town centre. As a cyclist I think we are on 6 or 7 accidents. One wrecked the bike but saved the man, two meant hospital visits (technically there is a 3rd but you don’t count the cyclist being dippy and going over his own handle bars 😉 ). He has permanent damage and recurring pain and he *still* gets on that bloomin’ deathtrap and zooms off at least 5 days a week. 

Last week, with storm Doris raging around us, he again cycled off, cool as a cucmber and brought himself home without a scratch and proud of a new personal best thanks to Doris helping him on his way. 

When cycling is mentioned on social media, it is normally to scorn the cyclist. Just this weekend a friend posted about cyclists using the road instead of “the perfectly good cycle path”. My response was a little irritated but also, I hope, a polite nudge to remember that a cyclist is a road user too and he isn’t hurting anyone by being on the road instead of the path. I’m not sure she agreed but, for once, every other comment was also to point out the same reasoning. I am blessed with open minded friends. Even C understood why most don’t bother and, of course, she’s allowed to be irked by another road user regardless of the number of wheels and the size of the engine.

It’s a funny old world. Just this evening overtook me because sticking to the 30mph speed limit was too difficult. It’s a limit not a target! The number of people I see on mobile phones is shocking and I often wonder how many people drive without following the legal requirements. Driving is expensive when you add it all up, it’s easy to see why some blur the lines slightly but those who drive oblivious to the rules, I just don’t understand.

If you get 3 points for speeding it is 3 too many. If your insurance is too high try to change your vehicle, don’t just drive without it. Is that phone call really necessary? Could it wait or be put on loud speaker? If you want a drink or 3 leave the car at home. Call a cab and factor the cost into your night out. Seriously, do not drink and drive.
I am someone who tries to avoid being tardy and I get secretly irritated by other people who seem to always arrive late but in all honesty, I’d rather be late to my appointment than early to my grave.

Be safe, people.

#betterdriving #cycling #limitnottarget #callataxi #soberdriver

Mum’s night off

I had made wonderful plans all in advance (this is not me as I currently never know when a bad day will hit!).

I paid hard earnt cash for a train fare and a hotel room for the night.

I had everything packed, I even remembered my toothbrush before I was ready to leave.

Boom. Every single digit sang, every limb as heavy as a sack of potatoes, my head suddenly squeezed like a boa constricta had it locked down for dinner, my heart pounding second after second before randomly stopping and then exploding through my chest. Weekend over.

Does my body hate me? Every week I pay attention to a new symptom, for example, my right hand pointing digit has been stiff for a good while now and last week it looked a little bruise. Today I could draw a circle across half of my hand’s back as I outline this tight, puffy portion of skin. Good job I can type with four fingers, I guess :-/

However. In true Mumma Bear style I decided to fight back. I couldn’t do anything about the train fare and at £22 it was a loss we could just about cover. The hotel room was a different matter and, quite frankly, I wasn’t about to lose a good night’s sleep!

Here I should mention I have issues with talking to people on the phone. I won’t accept unknown numbers, I’ve learnt that restricted numbers tends to be the GP calling me back, anything that looks like a call centre gets sent to voicemail. Making calls is hideous. I get clammy, twitchy and I can feel the bile in my stomach rising 😦 normally I would try to find an email address and go from there but I had no choice with this. We had less than 3 hours to sort something out and sort it I did!

The lovely lady up in Birmingham emailed the “Booking Gods” explaining that I wouldn’t be able to make it up north so was there any possibility of getting a bed in the closest branch to me here in South London… Success! There was a bed available and it had my name on it. 

I lost a few hours as I needed a lift from The Outlaws but I was determined to spend a few glorious hours all by myself with no “mummy, can I?” or “Mum! He hit me” followed by “she hit me first!”

I took a shower uninterrupted. I sat on the toilet without chit chat. I trumped without apology! For 15.5 hours I could just relax and stop for the first time in I don’t know how long.

Do you know what I realised? I live for the noise, the chaos, the never ending questions starting with “why?”, the mess – so much mess!- and the hugs. There are too many days were hugs aren’t possible, when I have no control of the pain and the slightest featherlike touch releases the kind of noise only bats can hear. I want to get as many hugs as I can whilsy they still want to hug. Slowly but surely, those days are numbered. 

#timeaway #fibromyalgia #disabledmum #hugs #anxiety #showernotbath #largefamily

One painful step forward, two excruiating steps back

I rang the doctor today, cried as I explained that I was in pain, that I really needed to see a specialist now rather than wait *again* for yet another GP at the practice to see that the regime of meds I’m on simply isn’t working.

Nope, no can do. Ring again tomorrow and talk to “The Man Who Can” only he was the one who said that upping my vitamin D would help. If only it would. 

Every day is now a struggle. From the exercises I do to get my legs in a working state before leaving my bed to the exercises I do with my neck and shoulders to try and sleep at night. I can no longer tie shoe laces, or put my hair up (nor brush it first), putting on a coat is a struggle and taking it off more so. And what I miss most, lifting the little ones. I can’t grasp them enough to pick up, I can’t sit them on my knees because of the pain, I can’t snuggle tight if someone can see the wince of pain in my eyes, but, I’m still breathing, my days are not yet numbered, I *do* wake each day and the pain reminds me that I still have time. 

Time to say I love you, time to say I admire you, time to eat too much, time to laugh until I pee myself (8 babies = not very long!), time to stop and take stock and time to remember that I am me. Fibromyalgia might be my diagnosis but it isn’t who I am. There are days when I might forget that I am a writer, a musician, a cook and a baker, a joker, a lover, a sister, a friend, a daughter, a mother and then a person managing as best she can with what is now her disability.

I’m also going to be late!  

#fibromyalgia #nhs #morethanmysymptoms #disabledmum #largefamily

Righting a wrong

I don’t even know if it is possible.

I woke up and immediately had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Had I hit send? No, I couldn’t have, that’s so not me….

Yeah. I had hit that lovely little button. I half remember waking from my amitriptyline sleep and posting before closing the lid on my laptop but it was like part of a waking dream or what now feels like a living nightmare. I am normally the voice of considered reason, very rarely do I pass a sweeping judgement on a person and I never advice confrontation or revenge. I certainly have never over stepped my bounds and done so on someone else’s behalf. 

But I did. And my internet world imploded and there is not a thing I can do to change it, to fix it, or even to find out how things are now. I, I, I, I. So bloomin’ selfish. This isn’t about me. I might have ripped apart someones family and there is no silver lining to that. The worst part is the friendships that I have lost, the connections to people I have known and leaned upon and (hopefully) supported. A safety line I never knew I needed disappeared before I even woke. 

I have no way of apologising or explaining. I *could* message directly but what if that makes things worse? If only there was a way to see, to know, to foretell the impact of my message. Even writing this blog could get back to the injured party and I am terrified of hurting my friends further. It is eating me up inside, the guilt of my mistake. I seem to be doing okay and something happens and I think “ohh, I must share this with…..oh.” I miss seeing pictures of the growing babies and sharing the latest scary/exciting segment of our family journey. 

I mucked up. I can’t begin to apologise enough. I’m sorry.

#sorry #fibromyalgia #iapologise