Theory For Today

I hope everyone had a nice Christmas. I didn't do so well and ended up cancelling plans, to spend time with my duvet instead. The thing about being ill is that when self-care takes up your entire day, you don't have much time to dwell on feeling lonely!

I have been pondering a theory, of late. It occurred to me today that doctors and scientists have produced something of a miracle by making several Covid vaccines happen in less than a year. It's amazing what you can do when the world faces abject misery and people are motivated for change.

So my idea is this. All surgeons should be immediately given the procedure they did to me.

They will then go through this agony and this will motivate them. Within a year they will have found an alternative which does not turn patients into toddlers struggling to potty train themselves. The discovery will be miraculous.

What an invention.

I have told work I need at least another week off. While the pain has settled back into 7/10 territory, and is not constant (right now I am only at 2/10), the problem is that I simply can't adult effectively. I can't timekeep - I need to visit the supermarket before it shuts and I was so relieved to see that I had four hours to manage this. I cannot predict how my innards will behave. I will be thinking I'm fine and then am ravaged by inner murder with only seconds to get myself to a loo. And then I'll curse my guts for 30, 45 minutes, maybe longer, and feel like my life is spent staring at tile walls.

It seems so juvenile to be missing work because I might have to spend an hour on the porcelain throne. Or not actually make it in time. But here we are.

I have also pondered more than once whether humans really need to eat (surely not). However, in view of the fact I didn't really eat much yesterday, I ended up making a concoction of broccoli and half a tin of stewed steak. I managed to make it to the local shop to get coins for my electric meter. I also had a bath, which was wonderful, and felt like my day ended on a better note than it began.

Time to snuggle up warm in bed while the storm howls outside, and to enjoy some quality Netflix entertainment in the form of Bridgerton.

My 12pm Breakfast

I have pushed back my work return until Boxing Day. I felt rather sorry for myself yesterday and wasn't in a mood to do anything. At some point in the early evening I realised I'd only had one glass of liquid all day - which is a stupid idea for someone in my situation - but it sums up just how fed up I am of having to look after myself.

So here I am, 12pm, been up for a few hours, and I'm now forcing myself to have breakfast. It consists of a cup of white tea & pomegranate (SOOOO nice, massive thanks to my neighbour for leaving this behind when she moved out). And three slices of dried apple and four sugar-free gummy bears, both of which are medicinal, because although they aren't unpleasant, I would not have bothered eating at all if I had a choice in the matter.

I'm now thinking of the donut in my fridge which must be eaten today and which isn't a smart food choice but will taste good even while there are far more intelligent things to eat and that's IF I were even interested in food... which I am not. Please say a prayer to the dog of appetites that I feel like bothering with this later on.

Terrified of having to leave the house today for necessities, and terrified of going out tomorrow, and terrified of going to work the day after. I'm still not ready to do any of these things. But I have to make myself do them.

Gold Star

This is actually me.

I did the thing. Actually, I did the things. I am still deathly afraid of being more than five metres away from home (well, the bathroom) and also deathly afraid of not having an hour to spare at thirty seconds' notice, and of abject misery for that entire hour. But I am healing, slowly but surely. And somehow today, I managed to get my car MOT'd, dropped a Secret Santa gift in at work, and even went shopping at the Big Supermarket and then walked on the high street.

One of my supervisors asked how I was, asked if I could manage stairs ok, then remarked that I looked terribly pale (the look on her face said that she expected me to collapse at her feet or perhaps roll head-first down the staircase). I will admit I felt quite light-headed and a bit loony. But I did it. 

I came home feeling like a Cheshire Cat, but with far less energy. I am half exhausted and half beaming with pride. I was a fair bit more alert after the walk through town. Being upright was good for me. Things are looking good for a return to work in three days.

I managed to write 17 Christmas cards today for my workmates. I also bought a couple of small gifts and some treats for myself - which in hindsight weren't necessary, because I opened my Christmas goody bag from work and it's full of yummy things.

Speaking of yummy things, I am not going nuts with Christmas food this year. The main reason is that I am presently barely eating, I've had a few "ready meals" of late and my habit is to save half for the next day. Otherwise I am just nibbling dried fruit or the odd cracker. I am trying to have a protein shake every day. But it's hard to find your appetite when eating results in mega pain. Still, this shall pass.

Yellow stickers: bag of chopped onion 9p (into the freezer!), two bunches of broccoli for 20p, 30 Christmas cards for 50p, sweet & sour chicken dinner £1.71.

Necessary stuff: small card game for a friend, Secret Santa gift, chocolate cake for Christmas Day (spending the afternoon with work bestie), a kilo of sugar-free gummy bears (they're a laxative!), my MOT (£35). Praise be to the MOT god who found nothing wrong.

Spendy McSpenderson: Christmas socks, beanie, jumper and snood (£11 all up!), and chocolate coins which should probably count as a Christmas necessity.

Floored

Me, that is, and my digestive system, that is. I went in for my surgery, and I had been a bit worried that it might be more gruelling than expected. Keep in mind that the only real thing my surgeon had said was that I'd go home on the day of the operation and that I'd have to avoid any heavy lifting for two weeks.

Well, I am now three days post-op and have only just gotten home today. And oh boy did I get sliced apart. I've been told to take two weeks off work minimum, that I will take six weeks to recover fully, and even if I were ready before the two weeks are up, there was a Covid outbreak in my ward, in a nearby section, meaning I have to stay home and self-isolate for another seven days anyway.

Annoyed isn't the word. Agony comes close. It comes and goes, since right now I am sitting still and have zero pain but when I move I hit a five, and every now and then it shoots up to eleven. I've got the heavy-duty pain relief, but I don't want to spend 24 hours a day sozzled for the odd times now and then when the pain skyrockets.

I had no choice but to go shopping for easy and suitable food. This sucks when your freezer is full, but I just can't be sure I will be able to cook, and I was missing far too many appropriate items. So far I've forced down half a scotch egg and half a pasty with a bit of cheese. I also ate a strawberry donut before it went past date. Every single thing I eat requires water and dried fruit as an accompaniment, since my poor innards are living a horror movie. I am dosed to the hilt with anti-inflammatories and stuff to make me... go... which isn't, so far, very successful.

My lovely boss and supervisors have leapt to my rescue. I feel terrible for the complete lack of warning they've had since we all expected me back today and I'm in no fit state! Supe #1 has been terrific and so incredibly kind, offering to shop for me, ordering me to look after myself and promising me that I needn't worry about work. I will be on a staged return, they will ensure I go on light duties once I am well enough and have told me to take my time. That's a relief.

Sadly my bank balance is going to suffer and I will lose a good £600 of earnings for the privilege of hugging my stomach and rocking back and forth in pain. I haven't done a survey more than 10 minutes long in months - but it seems I shall have to lose my pickiness and take them all from here on. UC will probably kick in a couple of hundred pounds at least.

Flat sale remains at a standstill... solicitor needs to be nagged to keep me in the loop and nobody seems to be addressing my biggest concern.

Covid Swabs: Not Recommended

But hey, it certainly wasn't as bad as I had expected. I needed this done so I can go in for my operation. The nurses were lovely, I went to a drive in centre, it was all over in five minutes. Unfortunately while swabbing my throat I gagged and basically coughed straight at her, mortifying, and even though I don't think I put her at risk, not that nice for the poor lady. The nose part was actually really easy and not nearly as uncomfortable as expected.

All going well I will hear nothing, and go in for my surgery on two days' time. I'm a bit apprehensive in case it is more physically demanding than I expected. I've kinda realised too late that I'm not supposed to do any heavy lifting for two weeks... a bit late to be telling the boss hey? They'll get a nice surprise next week when I simply apologise but someone else will need to unload the lorry. We are equal and yet somehow it is just expected that it's ME who does the heavy unloading. Well, they'll just have to pull their weight for two weeks.

Be Me

> be me

> go to the shop for milk

> Not Walking™; drive half-way around the world to get to nearest shop with easy parking

> remember my vouchers

> pick up voucher items (cocktail sausages, banana, pork pies)

> also collect six more types of snack food and two ready meals and two types of juice

> get to till; be determined to create at least five seperate receipts (because receipts are worth money)

> carefully scan everything in groups, thinking how smart I am

> scan two vouchers then realise I forgot to use the sausages voucher and now it's too late

> get home

> omg I forgot the milk

> go to other supermarket because: shame...

And I was so annoyed about that voucher that I bought more sausages. Oh well, at least I have six receipts...

Back to work tomorrow so it seems as though I should hunt out my Christmas jumpers!

Question Everything

The papers are still filled with stories of people who are doing it really tough, and how wages are too low and the standard of living is poor and yarda, but it strikes me: not enough attention is focussed on how these imbalances came to be. We are so quick to blame a lack of public spending, or an uncaring government, or, I don't know, our vast national debt. I don't like to be that person who points at the human in question to apportion blame. So instead, I am going to ask, not for the first time, why are we not taught money management in school?

I might be lacking in compassion today, but I am getting tired of seeing middle-income people who can't manage to make income cover expenses. Not because I don't empathise (right now, sooo many people are finding their income cut without warning). But because I can see that they built up their lifestyle and their spending level, and there was nothing in the tank to spare. The aspirationals are "locked" into their pay tv packages and mobile phone contracts and paying off clothing and the car finance. And and and. All things that they would argue are normal. And yet they chose to get into all these financial agreements, one contract at a time, spending right up to the hilt of their finances. Which is just fine until paying it off becomes a problem, after which they moan that wages are too low to cover bills these days. It's somehow the wages' fault that humans spent the money.

People are very fast to bite when told that our grandparents "went without" in order to achieve what they wanted. They point out, rightly, that back in nineteen yickety-two people could buy a house for the cost of their annual income and in 2020 you need about ten times as much. Yes, yes; we can all do basic mathematics and see that housing is far less affordable. Big deal. They've all missed the point. You're supposed to spend according to what you earn, not select the appropriate "normal" lifestyle and spend away and then howl that nothing is left over.

This means - the horror - that if your income can only cover freeview tv and a Netflix subscription, then don't sign up for the awesome sports package so that you can watch Scunthorpe United in your living room. And if you do the maths and see that you'll have £50 left each week even if you do sign up, then you should still stop right there and leave it alone. £50 is not a comfy safety net. £50 would not cover your bills for a month if your job went sideways.

Got earnings, got aspirations? Then put away 25%. If you can't do 25, then figure out a way to cut something out of the spending. If you think you can't, then think laterally. Think harder. Think differently. Change something. Trim something. Forgo something. There's a virus out there and nothing is certain. Caution is the buzzword. You are less helpless than you think.

Question everything.

November Stuffs

PA £10.35

Shoppix £5.00

Kiva £7.92 (this is actually a repayment, not an earning - I used to lend with Kiva a LOT but over the past couple of years, I am often losing my money so I'm just waiting for the last few loans to come back to me and then getting out)

Ahaa... it wasn't "nothing" after all. It's low overall though, because I've been burnt out and didn't do many surveys and didn't snap many receipts. I still gather them like a good little monkey, but then they... expire 😔 I've even been slack about collecting my free login points for raffle sites. The horror.

Currently sneezing and contemplating what to do with my next few days off work. Aside from doing some surveys and snapping some receipts, of course. Oh and digging into my shift leader training for work.

Maybe I can rouse myself to write an actual article?