As much as I'd like to write about the many things that have happened since my last proper update post, I can't. Nothing much really has happened. I've had a few NaNo meets and the washing machine broke. Plus there was a flat inspection and then the hoover broke too. Other than that very little has gone on.
College is still going fine, I'm still in my third year, still doing photography, still loving it. The only thing that's changed there is that I'm now fairly determined to do the top-up year in order to make my FdA a full BA in Photography once I've finished this summer. After my Gran died, I did a lot of thinking about it and, especially since Matt's going to be at college an extra year now, I think it's for the best. I'll get a more credible, more widely recognised and understood qualification plus more funding in that year. It may mean adjusting my work hours but hopefully that won't be too much of a problem. It'll also give me the means to set up my own business which is what I want to do in the long term after all!
Other news - exciting news, that is - concerns me going back to karate as a favourite thing and maybe, possibly opening my own club up in the spring this year. Hopefully between myself and the three/four others I'll be working with, we'll have our own permanent, 24 hour venue in which to run fitness classes, flexibility training, karate classes, kick-boxing, tae kwon do and sports massage sessions. I also want to start teaching yoga but at the moment I'm no where near good enough for that! We're going down to Birmingham in January to start our formal instructor training with a gentleman from Verve. I'm pretty excited (and simultaneously terrified).
In the same vein, I finally got approved for joining a gym by the doctor when I visited this morning. What one guy was going to charge me £20 for (and not actually give me a medical exam) I got for free from the doctor that sorts my medication. He's not my GP but at the moment he's as good as - he sorts my anti-depressants and anti-anxiety tablets as my GP was on maternity leave at the time and I'd rather not have too many people adjusting my medication here and there as they see fit! As soon as I got the note saying that I was deemed well enough to join the gym, I dropped it off at the gym in question and booked by induction for Friday afternoon. I'm super excited for it, if I'm honest, and a little bit nervous but to be honest, that's usually the best combination.
Now that I've got that sorted, I'm going to start eating paleo (again) and stick to it through doing 80:20. In short, I'll eat paleo 80% of the time but allow myself one day (or just a few meals) that aren't paleo compliant in order to not restrict myself so much that I can't stick to the way of eating. I really want to cut back on my gluten consumption too - after reading into what gluten can actually do to your digestive system and about how people who are sensitive don't often know it, I think it'd just be safer not to eat it. After all, it could be a contributor to my psoriasis and god knows I'll do anything to get rid of that!
I'm still doing fairly well after the light treatment ended. I've got a few patches on my face that have come back but I know that if I moisturise they'll calm down and, failing that, I've still got some Eumovate and Tacrolimus ointments. It's my scalp that's doing the worst at the moment but that's due to me not using the Sebco ointment and wearing my hair up or in hats because of work and the cold... Some days I feel like I shouldn't even bother keeping on top of all my creams and things because I feel so awful about myself anyway. Then I remember that I always feel better when my skin and hair look better - I worry less about my appearance and am generally happier. Plus I'm more willing to do other things to look after myself such as my CBT activities, exercise and healthy eating.
Another reason that I was at the doctors today is that I found a lump in my breast and Matt insisted that I got it checked out. My mum had a breast cancer scare earlier this year so it'd be a lie to say that I wasn't worried about it but, fortunately, the doctor thinks that it's unlikely to be anything serious and is likely just a cyst that may need drained (which is pretty disgusting but certainly not cancer so yay!) Even so, he's sending me off to the special under-30s breast clinic in the next couple of weeks to get an ultrasound just in case and for them to treat it in whatever way they see fit.
That's everything that I can think of for now but I shall be sure to update if anything else comes up!
Showing posts with label doctor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label doctor. Show all posts
Tuesday, 29 October 2013
Friday, 20 September 2013
Just when you think it's all over.
So my gran - the one mentioned in the earlier post today, who'd had a heart operation - had her check up with the consultant today. She'd not been doing too badly even though she hadn't really been doing enough exercise or drinking enough so we weren't expecting it to go badly. I don't think it went badly so much as created a mild concern for the consultant. She's being kept in again because her heart rate's too fast. I don't really know anything else just yet but hopefully it'll just be stress from being out of the house - she hasn't really left the house since her operation. She'd been out a couple of times but always with someone and, when it came to walking less than 500m to go to the doctors the other day, she wanted to be driven.
My gran used to be really independent and always busy - she was really physically fit and had a very 'make do and mend' out look on life and was generally a healthy, robust woman, if slightly overweight due to too many biscuits/carbs. I'm just worried that she's going to turn into one of these frail, sickly, old biddies who are scared to go anywhere in case something happens. We'd spend days in Newcastle walking, talking and shopping, stopping here and there for a bite to eat or a cup of tea but now it seems like that's never going to happen again and I'm worried that she's going to lose herself to this post-op fear.
It's probably nothing - maybe the consultant will give her a nudge in the right direction and she'll be back to her old self by the spring. She gets on well with Mr Lord, he's been her favourite doctor all along. Part of me wonders if it's because he's british and treats her like his own grandmother. She has that slightly narrow-minded personality that a lot of elderly people seem to have regarding 'foreign' doctors. Personally, as long as they speak the language well enough to work effectively, I don't see a problem with having doctors that weren't born and/or raised in Britain.
Anyway.I'm trying not to think about things that worry me, remember.
Regarding iOS 7, I'm not really a fan. It was too much of a change too quickly and nearly everything about its visuals is repulsive. It's cartoonish and child-like and too 'Android'. If I'd wanted something that looked and acted like an android, I'd have bought a friggin' android! I must admit, it is growing on me - very, very slowly. One of the features which I do really like is Airdrop. It's just so handy having aeroplane mode, bluetooth, 'do not disturb', wifi, music, etc in nice, easy-to-operate page which is accessible in one motion from any screen. The way they've changed the navigation bar is ok too - I did really like the other one but this one has much less clutter.
I don't like how blocky all the native icons are now either - it just looks really amateur and childish. I like the iPhone because it was sophisticated and business-like almost in its appearance. Now, though, that's all gone and there's just colours everywhere... Not even slightly muted colours either and it almost looks kind of trashy.
Maybe it'll grow on me. Maybe it's just where my head's at right now and it'll grow on me more as I become less of a cynic. Maybe I'll learn to enjoy trivial things and embracing the inner child. Or maybe pigs will fly.
Until then, I'm just going to make do with what I've got and organise things til I feel better.
My gran used to be really independent and always busy - she was really physically fit and had a very 'make do and mend' out look on life and was generally a healthy, robust woman, if slightly overweight due to too many biscuits/carbs. I'm just worried that she's going to turn into one of these frail, sickly, old biddies who are scared to go anywhere in case something happens. We'd spend days in Newcastle walking, talking and shopping, stopping here and there for a bite to eat or a cup of tea but now it seems like that's never going to happen again and I'm worried that she's going to lose herself to this post-op fear.
It's probably nothing - maybe the consultant will give her a nudge in the right direction and she'll be back to her old self by the spring. She gets on well with Mr Lord, he's been her favourite doctor all along. Part of me wonders if it's because he's british and treats her like his own grandmother. She has that slightly narrow-minded personality that a lot of elderly people seem to have regarding 'foreign' doctors. Personally, as long as they speak the language well enough to work effectively, I don't see a problem with having doctors that weren't born and/or raised in Britain.
Anyway.
Regarding iOS 7, I'm not really a fan. It was too much of a change too quickly and nearly everything about its visuals is repulsive. It's cartoonish and child-like and too 'Android'. If I'd wanted something that looked and acted like an android, I'd have bought a friggin' android! I must admit, it is growing on me - very, very slowly. One of the features which I do really like is Airdrop. It's just so handy having aeroplane mode, bluetooth, 'do not disturb', wifi, music, etc in nice, easy-to-operate page which is accessible in one motion from any screen. The way they've changed the navigation bar is ok too - I did really like the other one but this one has much less clutter.
I don't like how blocky all the native icons are now either - it just looks really amateur and childish. I like the iPhone because it was sophisticated and business-like almost in its appearance. Now, though, that's all gone and there's just colours everywhere... Not even slightly muted colours either and it almost looks kind of trashy.
Maybe it'll grow on me. Maybe it's just where my head's at right now and it'll grow on me more as I become less of a cynic. Maybe I'll learn to enjoy trivial things and embracing the inner child. Or maybe pigs will fly.
Until then, I'm just going to make do with what I've got and organise things til I feel better.
Thursday, 22 August 2013
A Reminder
Monday served as a grim reminder of just how unpredictable depression can be. Just how hard it can hit back after an easy - or at least relatively smooth - time.
It came out of no where, really. I'm well aware that a 'good' day for me usually involves a period of feeling down or restless or unsettled - I don't often get whole days of feeling good at all. I guess I do know how it happened. I like routine, although I use that phrase loosely. My routine consists of being at home, in Newcastle, and sleeping in my own bed - not travelling too much, going to work, sometimes meeting someone in town for coffee etc.
Both weekends of the last fortnight, I've spent in wildly different places. One was at Bloodstock - a festival in Derbyshire and the other was a family wedding in Gretna Green. Between the two I was only at work once. All the packing, unpacking, washing and repeating had me worn out by Sunday just gone - when I got home from the wedding. I had intended to go out with some friends - just meeting them at the pub like I almost always do on a Sunday night - but in the end I didn't feel up to it. I was low and tired and figured I'd be no fun to be around. Fortunately, I'd picked myself up a bit by the time my other half came home.
Monday, however, was something else entirely. I was distracted, withdrawn. I kept sitting down and losing myself in my train of thought. I didn't know where this had come from and I certainly didn't understand why it was happening. It wasn't until that evening that it occurred to me that I'd barely had a minute to myself in the last two weeks. I'd hardly had a chance to touch base. I hadn't seen or spoken to many people, the house was a mess because I hadn't been there to tidy it and I'd just been eating junk and snacking or having big starchy-carb meals.
I don't know how it happened. One minute I was fine - or thought I was, or thereabouts - the next I was crying uncontrollably. There was shouting. Lots of shouting. But mostly crying from me. I remember the door slamming. I remember screaming, near silently - unable to get the sound past my throat. Hoping that my flatmate wasn't in. Hoping my flatmate was in. I needed someone. To come and hold me, to comfort me, to shush me while I cried. I couldn't stop myself.
I had a hospital appointment that afternoon. I still hadn't stopped crying by the time I got there. One of the nurses rang the mental health crisis line for me because she was so concerned. Surprisingly they didn't actually do anything - I guess they didn't think I was much of a suicide risk because I'd managed to get myself to the hospital already. Despite the fact that I'd told them I intended to take my life and was concerned I would if left alone. Then again, maybe the sheer fact that I was lucid enough in that moment told them that I wouldn't do it. Or something.
I was in the hospital five and a half hours before I spoke to someone who really took the time to listen to me. Of course, by this time I'd calmed down a lot. I just didn't want to be there. I didn't want to go home either. I just wanted everything to stop. To hit pause. Throw my hands up and get off the ride. I'd had enough. More than enough.
Home wasn't better. The next day wasn't really better either. The doctor recommended a week off work with more time if needed. We fought again once I got home. I'd tried to talk. He still didn't want to have to deal with anything. I cried again. The only thing that was different is I didn't take it out on myself. Tuesday night was a little better though.
Wednesday was a little brighter. I met up with some of the girls I used to be in college with. I had tea with my parents and when I came home we weren't up long before we went to bed.
Today? Today's been better. I feel more secure in the knowledge that we're actually alright and it was just that everything was getting too intense. I've got an interview at Lush in a couple of hours and I'm bricking it. Well, I'm actually pretty excited - I'm just nervous too. I keep thinking that I know nothing about the brand or the products or anything like that but I know it's not really true. I'm looking forward to it.
It's just for a xmas temp job but hopefully I'll get kept on at the end and I'll be able to leave Sainsbury's in the new year.
That seems so far away right now but I know it'll come round in no time.
It came out of no where, really. I'm well aware that a 'good' day for me usually involves a period of feeling down or restless or unsettled - I don't often get whole days of feeling good at all. I guess I do know how it happened. I like routine, although I use that phrase loosely. My routine consists of being at home, in Newcastle, and sleeping in my own bed - not travelling too much, going to work, sometimes meeting someone in town for coffee etc.
Both weekends of the last fortnight, I've spent in wildly different places. One was at Bloodstock - a festival in Derbyshire and the other was a family wedding in Gretna Green. Between the two I was only at work once. All the packing, unpacking, washing and repeating had me worn out by Sunday just gone - when I got home from the wedding. I had intended to go out with some friends - just meeting them at the pub like I almost always do on a Sunday night - but in the end I didn't feel up to it. I was low and tired and figured I'd be no fun to be around. Fortunately, I'd picked myself up a bit by the time my other half came home.
Monday, however, was something else entirely. I was distracted, withdrawn. I kept sitting down and losing myself in my train of thought. I didn't know where this had come from and I certainly didn't understand why it was happening. It wasn't until that evening that it occurred to me that I'd barely had a minute to myself in the last two weeks. I'd hardly had a chance to touch base. I hadn't seen or spoken to many people, the house was a mess because I hadn't been there to tidy it and I'd just been eating junk and snacking or having big starchy-carb meals.
I don't know how it happened. One minute I was fine - or thought I was, or thereabouts - the next I was crying uncontrollably. There was shouting. Lots of shouting. But mostly crying from me. I remember the door slamming. I remember screaming, near silently - unable to get the sound past my throat. Hoping that my flatmate wasn't in. Hoping my flatmate was in. I needed someone. To come and hold me, to comfort me, to shush me while I cried. I couldn't stop myself.
I had a hospital appointment that afternoon. I still hadn't stopped crying by the time I got there. One of the nurses rang the mental health crisis line for me because she was so concerned. Surprisingly they didn't actually do anything - I guess they didn't think I was much of a suicide risk because I'd managed to get myself to the hospital already. Despite the fact that I'd told them I intended to take my life and was concerned I would if left alone. Then again, maybe the sheer fact that I was lucid enough in that moment told them that I wouldn't do it. Or something.
I was in the hospital five and a half hours before I spoke to someone who really took the time to listen to me. Of course, by this time I'd calmed down a lot. I just didn't want to be there. I didn't want to go home either. I just wanted everything to stop. To hit pause. Throw my hands up and get off the ride. I'd had enough. More than enough.
Home wasn't better. The next day wasn't really better either. The doctor recommended a week off work with more time if needed. We fought again once I got home. I'd tried to talk. He still didn't want to have to deal with anything. I cried again. The only thing that was different is I didn't take it out on myself. Tuesday night was a little better though.
Wednesday was a little brighter. I met up with some of the girls I used to be in college with. I had tea with my parents and when I came home we weren't up long before we went to bed.
Today? Today's been better. I feel more secure in the knowledge that we're actually alright and it was just that everything was getting too intense. I've got an interview at Lush in a couple of hours and I'm bricking it. Well, I'm actually pretty excited - I'm just nervous too. I keep thinking that I know nothing about the brand or the products or anything like that but I know it's not really true. I'm looking forward to it.
It's just for a xmas temp job but hopefully I'll get kept on at the end and I'll be able to leave Sainsbury's in the new year.
That seems so far away right now but I know it'll come round in no time.
Thursday, 16 May 2013
Two weeks on.
I've lost count of how many times I've wanted to die in the last fortnight. Half the time I didn't actually want to kill myself, I just wanted to die. Whether it was to curl up and pass away or be hit by a bus or something, anything, as long as it ended my life. My self-preservation instinct is gone. I don't care about anything. I'm either numb, depressed or so filled with rage it's terrifying.
Sometimes I'm fine though, like now. Six hours ago I was a shaking sobbing wreck. I barely had the strength to grip a pen and I just wanted to die. I'd been feeling violent towards myself all day but by 8pm I just wanted to drop dead. Violently, peacefully, whatever as long as it involved me not living.
Then everyone came home. That helped me through it and hearing about the misfortune of a friend of ours tapped my maternal side which pulled me round as I went to cheer him up a bit - utilising Lush bath bombs, Savannah Dry Cider and fancy teas from Whittard of Chelsea.
The only reason I haven't self-harmed again is because I've managed to guilt myself out of it each time since I promised I'd stop hurting myself. I have, on occasion taken more than the recommended dose of my tablets but not so many as to overdose. Just enough to take the edge of more than usual. Singularly, none of my tablets are normally fatal in overdoses but together I'm not so sure. I'm careful. And I only do it when I really need to - when I feel as though I'd do something worse to myself otherwise.
Tomorrow I'm going to ask if there's anything they can do to dull the whole rage side-effect thing and if they can up my Mirtazapine dose. I'm not sure what my psychologist appointment is going to involve so I'll write about that tomorrow. I'm a little nervous about it but hopefully it'll help me out in the long run.
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