from the frontline

this communique also appears on ‘The Word of Sinna Luvva’

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Sometimes it’s difficult, if not impossible, to describe the exhausting ache of self-questioning, veering towards a sense of guilt for being ill and hence, a burden or embarrassment to those who you really care about. I must be honest that even this preludium to a post doesn’t really express the underlying frustration that prompts it; at root, the knowledge that even the best of days carries a stamina rating of perhaps 20 – 30% of my pre-illness norm.

What I was really wanting to say is that the relative paucity of postings, arising from a desire to communicate (with and for whom I know not), bears little distinct correlation to my present levels of pain, discomfort, joy or plain normality. There are times when I wish to write but simply lack the necessary energy to place the written words in any meaningful order; at other times I am positively glowing with the enjoyment of spending time with my beloved, excited by the variety of avian visitors to our sundry garden feeding stations, or even the refreshing joy of a brief brisk venture out into the bracing air, can fill me with such glorious images which, were I to write them down, would sound like an overblown description of some utopian paradise.

An evening cocktail of tramadol and amitriptylene tends to curb the night pains, even though sleep is invariably of a restlessly intermittent unrefreshing variety. In the morning I continue to take a low dose of sertraline which seems to control the reactive depression which this disease can so frequently carry in it’s wake. Currently I am also taking mebeverine (3 x daily) and lansoprazole (2 x daily) in an attempt to ease my IBS and gastro-oesophageal reflux problems.

I am extremely fortunate to experience a fair number of days where pains and muscular spasms are quite simply a faint background hum, futilely struggling against my enjoyment of the day. Unfortunately, at night, as my body strives for rest the fitful pattern of sleep leaves one more vulnerable to these pernicious nauseating pains and spasms.

This afternoon, my far too familiar nausea-inducing nagging pains, emanating from the armpit and apparently gnawing through bone and muscle down through biceps to wrist, vengefully returned. A combination of painkillers and splint type wrist supports eventually alleviated this as I rested on the sofa. And so I come to this post, in the hope that at least some of my words convey their intended meaning.

Communique ends.

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