Tag Archives: tomorrow
Woke at 5.30am, reeking of fake tan and feeling wide-awake. A few hours later, I’m sitting up in bed, half-watching the first season of ER and trying to pick dried wax out of my eyebrows and off my face. S is taking me for a meal tonight at our favourite Indian restaurant, so I’m trying to remove all ten tonnes of body hair before he sees me; having polycystic ovaries is a nightmare sometimes. I’ve been managing the symptoms quite well for the past few years – losing five dress sizes almost overnight in hospital helped – but it’s slowly getting worse again.
My diet is failing miserably. I lost 6lbs, then started binging again. Not badly; just enough to halt any progress in its tracks. I’ve been avoiding the Slim-Fast tins in favour of bowls of cereal and toast, convincing myself I’ll get back on track tomorrow.
It’s never tomorrow. I’d do well to remember that.
After the stress of yesterday, I slept like a baby last night. Drifted off around 9pm and slept right through. I’m not even sure I can remember dreaming – which is incredibly rare – and when I woke, I didn’t feel the usual urge to snuggle under the covers and put off beginning the day. Rolled a joint, made a coffee, checked my emails and played some Boggle, all before 7am. Considering I’d been getting up around 3 in the afternoon and going to bed when the sun rose… I think I’m doing well. There’s no doubt it has to be down to the Lyrica; nothing else has changed.
When we bumped into S yesterday, my mother chatted to him about how Lyrica’s worked for me:
“It’s a miracle, isn’t it?”
S gave me a hug and looked me up and down:
“It’s great, it’s fantastic seeing her so bouncy and happy again”
- Your Health Questions Answered: PCOS vs. Diabetes? (pphsinc.wordpress.com)
- Vitex: A PCOS update (scatteringmoments.wordpress.com)
- In The Beginning (unapologeticallybrilliant.wordpress.com)
- A Different Polly? (shescoops.com)
- current PCOS journey (alliwanttodooo.com)
I truly hate, loathe and hugely despise being unwell. Having spent most of my life succumbing to one illness or another, the whole thing has become tedious and incredibly repetitive. This time, I couldn’t begin to describe what I’ve fallen victim to: it could be a cold, but it feels worse, it’s not flu because I can (just about) walk, and it’s not food poisoning because the need to camp out in the bathroom only lasted two days, yet I still feel like shit. It could be a virus. I could just be run down. All I know is that I feel exhausted, achey, nauseous and dizzy.
Despite this, my mother made it very clear that shopping needed to be done. I’ve always accompanied her on shopping trips; it just feels like the right thing to do. I’m not convinced she’d cope by herself these days anyway – her arthritis is terrible and she seems to become panicked a lot more than she used to. By the time we eventually got to town (via taxi, as we always have done), I was feeling a little anxious about being out and about in such a weak state. I was by no means dying, but navigating the high street with a head full of cotton wool was a daunting task when I’d almost constantly been indoors for the past few days.
A few things of note happened.
1. I bought appetite suppressants. Appesat, to be exact. Yes, I spent almost £30 on seaweed extract in a pill, in the hope that it’ll stop me binging. Earlier, I’d dug out some leftover Lipobind, thinking if I combined the two and cut down a lot, I could probably be skinny again within a few months. I suspect my weight has a lot to do with my recent low mood… looking in the mirror and seeing a chubby face staring back at me never results in a good day. I haven’t started taking them yet; I suppose the diet starts tomorrow.
2. I panicked. Not once, but over and over, until I could barely breathe. I’d had no idea that town would be full of stalls and people, there for the food festival. How I made it through, I’ll never know. Less than two hours became a lifetime as I tried to avoid making eye-contact with anybody in case they somehow knew how uncomfortable I was. Luckily, the excuse of being unwell hid the panic from mum; drawing her attention to my anxiety never ends well.
3. Sainsbury’s had an offer on fridge packs of Diet Coke. Sod the aspartame; it’s low calorie.
After getting home, I celebrated surviving the trip with a well-packed joint (extra bonus points added for new Rizlas; there’s nothing like opening a new packet) and a hummus vegetable wrap. Before drifting off for a nap, I thought about a conversation I’d had with mum earlier.
I’d told her about the Appesat. I figured that if she found the pack without knowing I’d bought them, she’d suspect I was up to my old weight-loss tricks. Spun her a line about it being good for ex-bulimics who get the urge to binge, and she seemed to accept that and not push the issue (which is rare, for her). Still, she wasn’t going to drop the issue entirely.
“You’ve been eating a lot, T. Every night I come down to crumbs in the kitchen, and last night there was rice pudding everywhere”.
“Yeah, I know” (really not wanting to discuss any of this).
“I just wish I knew what was pushing your buttons”
Ah. So that’s what she thought – no wonder she was being extra nice to me. She thought someone was winding me up, making me dislike myself, pushing me to grasp at control. So I told her, truthfully, that nothing was pushing my buttons. I’ll be damned if I understand it myself.