Wasted Years

So, understand

Don't waste your time always searching for

Those wasted years.

Face up, make your stand,

And realise your living in the golden years.

Iron Maiden - Wasted Years

We could call this a belated resolution for 2015, but it's going to take some explaining. You, my readers, seem to enjoy it when I have a bit of a rant - watch this space. It's going to be a rough crossing!

We as people are no stranger to the fact that, like it or not, we're bombarding by advertising. In the field of health and beauty, that advertising does only one thing: it reinforces the narrow societal standard of what health and beauty look like. There is no variation, it looks one way and one way only. If you don't look that way, well, you don't have a place in this society, peasant scum!

In my early twenties I not only became vastly more aware of the existence of this standard, but also became far more cognizent of the fact it is a huge problem unlikely to be solved any time soon. I then set about putting a lot of effort into rejecting it.

Firstly, I'm 5'3". No amount of exercise or wishful thinking will make me supermodel-tall. I'm also British and typically British-woman-shaped. Even if I carried not even an ounce of spare on my legs and backside, they'd still be the largest part of my body. My frame is built  that way, and years of horse riding, skiing, swimming and plenty of other activities have created a fair amount of thigh muscle that won't shift in a hurry. Since I booked my first lesson in returning to horse riding this weekend, I'm not exactly doing anything to disencourage maintaining that muscle.

Why am I telling you all this? Because recently I've noticed I'm back-sliding on all that work on rejecting the tsandard and being happy with me for me. I don't think I can pinpoint when this started, but it's been creeping up on me for some time now. It's finally reached the point where I can't really pretend it isn't there any more.

When in a reasonable mood, I can easily say this has been compounded by inability to really exercise for a couple of months post-surgery, a tendency not to eat properly for those couple of months because I was eating what was comfortable and easy to chew, and spent a fair amount of time swinging between no appetite at all and wanting to do this:

(Image from thisfelicitouslife.wordpress.com. Original "X all the Y"meme from hyperboleandahalf)

In some part it stems from a time last year where I put a fair bit of weight on. Being me, it went to one place and one place only. In my no doubt slightly skewed view, my arse was well into the realms where it could consider applying to have its own solar system with a more than reasonable chance of success.

I appreciate to some people that would be no bad thing. I however have always been very bad at accpeting changes in my shape as they don't occur very often. So infrequently in fact that I have no idea what to do save fly into a state of mild panic.

Hey, if you're going to overreact you may as well commit.

Now, I've lost all that weight and I'm about back to normal. You'd assume everything would be fine, but it isn't. I'm definitely still in "not good enough" mode. Now there's nothing wrong with wanting to improve a particular area, but it's more than a little unhealthy when your expectations become inflated and unrealistic, which mine certainly are verging on.

In doing a quick bit of internet research for this post, it astounds me just how many aids there are in feeling unsatisfactory within easy reach of a few taps of a keyboard. Weight calculators which take no account of muscle to fat ratio or general frame before they brand you morbidly obese. "Shape" calculators which are frankly nothing short of insulting unless your measurements result in "hourglass" - which we all know is the only valid shape if you're a woman and want to take up space on the planet. I'm a person and not a piece of fruit, thank you very much (I get "pear" shaped as often as not).

I think the point I'm circling around here is really one of just how insidious this sort of thing is. There is absolutely no such thing as "perfect" but it's surprisingly easy to become overwhelmed with the expectation to achieve it nonetheless. And do you realise what we do each time we buy into the instantaneous flawless skin, effortless weight loss and general impossible "glow" we're sold?

Yes, that's right. We reinforce the standard, each and every time.

I'm not sure if the same can be said of men, but women in particular are expected and encouraged to compete with each other instead of hold one another up. It's often difficult to make an innocent compliment without it being analysed for agenda and hidden intent for this reason. Said expectation not only leads to a lot needless unhappiness, but also to the idea that only one shape or size - the opposite of said standard is "allowed" to feel inadequate. We struggle to accept that everyone has "fat" days, and most people have some part of their body they like less than another and would be willing to change. It's an entirely human thing, and despite what advertising may suggest we are indeed all human.

We would do well to realise that we're all in the same boat. We would do better still to recognise that with a not insignificant personal effort, we can choose to ignore it too.

So, this is my late resolution. I'm going to kick this unhealthy line of thought and work hard at self-acceptance instead. I've managed it before, so I suppose I get the added bonus of having proof it's possible. I'm sure plenty of us have wasted years and years in pointless self-flagellation on this topic.

How about we be a bit kinder to ourselves? You might not always appreciate it, but there's nobody else in the world looks exactly like you - no matter what size, shape or weight you might be right now, because those three things will be fluid throughout your life.

We should maybe remember that this in itself is something worth celebrating.

(One this note, a new motto: "I have a Bridgeburners top, therefore I am by default mind-blowingly fabulous"
That should work.)

Don't mind me, I'm going back to swearing at Ebay in my attempts to find a new dress for Valentine's Day. Why I do this to myself I'll never know - I HATE shopping.

Anybody have any thoughts on this topic? I'd love to hear them. Did you make any similar resolutions?

Wishing you all many spoons xxx

"Don't read this or you'll go blind"

(For any Erikson fans who haven't tried these yet, I recommend you do. They're hilarious.)

 

The title above is the “warning to lifestyle fascists everywhere” which opens Steven Erikson ‘s novella The Healthy Dead, one of the Tales of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach. So, if you don’t like what you’re about to read and this results in loss of vision (whether temporary or permanent), I accept no responsibility whatsoever. I told you not to read it.

 

The Healthy Dead parodies modern society’s obsession with health and fitness and “what is good for you” with gleeful aplomb, hence I’m echoing the warning to start this post. There’s a reason for this.

 

I’m sick of being bombarded by what is (in someone else’s approximation) “good for me”. Aren’t you?

 

This week is my first week back at work post-surgery, and I’m virtually singing from the treetops in rapture. The novelty of being at home recovering had more than worn off.

 

Anyway, I set myself up for something of a fall in picking up the magazine left on the seat next to me on the train home one evening. I think it was Glamour, but in all honesty I can’t remember. You may not believe me, but faced with a choice between the denizens of the 17:52 to York or burying your head in any reading material to hand so they don’t talk to you, you’d read Glamour too.

 

One thing that should probably always be borne in mind with magazines like this is that whatever you’re doing is not enough. However fit you are, there’s always an extra spinning class you could take (I still don’t know what spinning is), and however happy you are there’s always another yoga session to be completed. I think I mentioned buying a yoga DVD some time ago. It’s still at the bottom of one of the moving boxes, probably breeding weird yoga-doing dust bunnies by now. In short, you should always bear in mind that YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

 

So, don’t read those sorts of things and that solves the problem. Right? Right...?

 

Sadly not, because in my experience you never have to go far to find someone who has taken this ideal to heart and now thinks it’s their life’s mission to fix everyone else. By fix, I mean make sure they do things their way. Deviation is not tolerated and individual thought is most certainly not required.

 

On a basic level, we all know eating well and exercising are good things. I’m not here to argue with that. However, I am endlessly irritated by the idea that only one person’s preferred form of exercise is valid, or that their lifestyle is eminently superior. I can’t quite decide whether I think these one-size-fits-all people are just excessively narrow-minded or in actual fact not that bright – because you don’t have to apply many brain cells at all to realise the idea is utterly ludicrous.

 

For a personal example, the next person who comments to me about my lifestyle in relation to chronic illness is going to regret it instantaneously. Hell hath no fury like a small lady whose had enough of your nonsense.

 

If I want your opinion, I will ask for it. Otherwise, the likelihood is you don’t know nearly enough to make what you’re about to say remotely informed. So here’s a refreshing new idea for you: just shut up.

 

I know what my body can cope with given that it has Petunia in tow, and I also know that it can cope with far more now, three years on, than it could when I was diagnosed. I’m probably as fit as I’ve ever been right now – despite the fact I’m not exercising every day or attending a gym.

(Yes, but I've developed an unreasonable dislike for turning right, so sod you.)

 

“Never get anywhere with that attitude”, will I? Just watch me.

 

Something that commenters of this ilk seem to wilfully forget is that Fibromyalgia (or indeed any chronic illness) is not a bad habit. It’s not a singular health-impacting issue like for example drinking too much or not eating enough. It’s an illness, and it’s here to stay. Therefore, I can’t stop drinking, eat more, start running or take up any other one-step solutions and expect the problem to be solved.

 

You know, I might even brand that on to the next offending individual’s forehead. This is going to require a very small typeface indeed.  

 

Since I started with the fitness point, I may as well tell you what I get up to on this front. I do Pilates several times a week (I’ve a couple of DVD routines memorised now, which is nice), and I do basic things like squats and sit-ups just about every day. I’m planning to try a jive class and return to horse riding as mentioned previously. I also really need to crack the dancersize DVDs out again, but since we moved to the Upside Down house it’s a case of needing to rearrange the furniture each time I want to do so and that makes me lazy.

 

There, I said it, the diabolical L word. I’m inside right now but I can’t see any fire raining down. Lightning has yet to strike the building in response to my presumption, and the lynch mob have yet to appear to confirm what a terrible person I am.

 

If being lazy is indeed such a terrible thing, then after my three and a bit weeks of recovery from my operation I have definitely become firmly entrenched in the ranks of the hopeless. I did very little, mostly because I had a sewn-up hole in my head which protested if I did anything more. Joffrey was horrible, but the surgical site that was Not-Joffrey-Anymore certainly made up for it in being grumpy about any sort of activity at all. However, I also did very little because I could.

 

For a short time, it was glorious. I soon grew bored of it, but that short period of total “laziness” (otherwise called relaxation and recovery in this case) was very good for me. I wasn’t doing any of the usual things that were “good for me” (including eating properly, but neither would you if you could feel the stitches pull with every bite) but, oddly, it didn’t kill me. Rumours of my resulting demise have been greatly exaggerated.

 

I appreciate it’s the time of year when the lifestyle change idea is firmly set at fever pitch, but what you really should be thinking about is what *you* want to change for *you*. One size does not, despite rumours to the contrary, fit all. If you want to get fit, find an exercise you enjoy which suits you, no matter anybody else’s sneering or know-better attitude. You won’t continue with something unless you enjoy it, so that should be your foremost criteria of selection.

 

If you want to make changes to your lifestyle, be guided by what makes you feel good. If it isn’t yoga, for instance, then I promise you that’s absolutely fine. I realise I keep bashing yoga, but while I’m certainly not against retrieving my DVD from the mutant dust bunnies and giving it a try at some point, it’s probably the “fix-it” suggestion I grow most weary of hearing. 

 

In short, in fitness as with all things in life, do what suits you and makes you happy. Sod everyone else.

 

If the lifestyle fascists don’t like it, stick copies of The Healthy Dead everywhere in eye line. As Mr Erikson was good enough to warn them, they might indeed go blind.  

 

Settling down with more Tales of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach, and wishing you all many spoons xxx





My kingdom for a hoverboard

(backtothefuture.wikia.com)

As we start 2015 TRB is nearly two, and rather a lot has happened in the last year! 

Recently I've been writing about something other than Fibromyalgia and Interstitial Cystitis, which was a bit of a surprise and not something I ever expected. Sitting down with a purpose for this blog when I set it up, I never thought to have to deal with (and thereby write about) health concerns which didn't touch on either of those conditions. Fate, as Bernard Cornwell's Merlin was wont to say in The Warlord Chronicles, is inexorable. 

It's the first of January, and I'm now two weeks post-surgery. I'm healing up surprisingly quickly (mad skills, clearly) and I'm looking at the week after next to hopefully return to work. This gives me another week to get over the lingering tiredness - I'm still sleeping a lot and I'm easily wiped out, although improving every day. 

I've been off the painkillers for a whole three days now too! That isn't to say the scar isn't still aching and painful, but it's at a level where I feel able to cope with it by myself. I wasn't expecting to get here so quickly if I'm honest, but I'm certainly not complaining. 

It's traditional to make resolutions at the turn of the new year to focus on in the coming months. These are usually concerned with self-improvement in one fashion or another. 

I don't usually make them, but then my late November and December don't usually involve close brushes with "life's too short" either, so my outlook is somewhat different this year. For a week and a half before Christmas I (and everyone around me) thought I had cancer. Looking back now with a benign diagnosis, it's difficult to put into words what an earth shattering concept that is to wrap the brain around. There's nothing to prepare you, and no getting away from it. I was very lucky indeed that, thanks to Joffrey being highly unusual (unique in fact), this turned out to not be so.  

So, this year I'm going to try and do more - including hopefully a welcome return to a former love. 

When I was 17 I gave up horse riding after ten years to learn to drive - money simply wouldn't stretch to everything. Just as I was getting ready to look into going back to it I started with the Fibromyalgia symptoms and therefore wrote it off as a bad job. 

However, in the last few months since moving into the Upside Down house, my health has been significantly better (Joffrey notwithstanding). Despite it being winter, the usual joint pain and stiffness has been noticeably less limiting than in previous years. It would appear (touch wood) that things are improving. With that in mind, I think it's time to give horse riding another go. I've found a nearby centre which looks very promising and have arranged to go for a visit tomorrow to see the horses and talk about the set up they have. I'm picky on several fronts with riding schools, and won't go just anywhere for the sake of price or convenience. 

Yes, there's the risk of falling and jarring my aforementioned grumpy joints, but here's where my sort-of resolution comes in. I think it's time I was more willing to attempt things, rather than holding back and going "Oh, but x, y and z might happen!" and therefore giving up before I've begun. 

(It's winter in the UK. That's excuse enough for me for a picture of a stunning horse running through snow. Image from rgbmag.com)

It was only when I went nosying on the website of the centre I'm visiting that I realised just how much I missed it. I love horses, they're unique and wonderful animals and spending time with them is incredibly rewarding. Also, if you'll permit me to blow my own trumpet for a moment, I was pretty good. I'd been at it for years and I worked hard to improve. It was a genuine skill, and I miss the comfort of the knowledge that there was a challenging sport I excelled in. As much as I'll be rusty at first, I'd love to get back to that level.

So, watch this space!

Continuing in this vein, I've agreed to let a friend take me to jive classes to try it out. This is likely to be hilarious for everyone except me. I've always liked the idea of being able to dance, but have been too shy to give dance classes a go up to press as I never had the typical classes as a little girl and see myself as largely uncoordinated and clumsy. However, in the spirit of "life's too short" I shall put myself to the hazard and risk some giggling for the sake of trying something new. 

Something far more subtle seems to have already begun before the new year, but I hope to keep it going and see where it takes me. There's been something of a shift in the way I look at myself and my body. 

As much as I can declaim at length about the fact our society is far too concerned with the concepts of beauty and perfection, I'm just as prone as everyone else to succumb from time to time in terms of fretting about this blemish or that weight gain or loss. I know it's silly, but bad days occur nonetheless. 

Since the surgery though, I've really felt a profound shift into thinking about the amazing things my body can do. We'll call Joffrey and Petunia blips - we all have those, right? - but blips aside, my body is incredible. I had invasive facial surgery two weeks ago, and I'm already up and about, the scar is healing incredibly neatly, I'm regaining the weight lost through stress and inability to eat properly and the severely damaged nerve controlling the right side of my lower lip is showing small signs of recovery already.

Think about that for a moment. That nerve was rather battered and bruised during the operation as it was wrapped around the tumour, so had to be peeled away. In my surgeon's words it looked "extremely sorry for itself" when they'd finished. Full recovery was considered unlikely, but my team were hopeful for some improvement over the next few months. In two weeks, it's already taking baby steps towards getting better! I'm guilty of a little bias since it's my nerve, but that surely deserves full marks for effort? The swift healing process thus far really has left me taken aback at what a brilliant machine the human body is. 

To further highlight how silly the preoccupation with how things look is, I've had several negative reactions from people whilst out and about when I've tied my hair up to get it out of the way, and thus revealed the scar on my neck. Initially I was incensed with this, but given how well the scar is healing it just further illustrates the lack of perspective involved. Rather than it being considered something ugly or disfiguring, to me with the knowledge of just how quickly and tidily it has healed it's something really impressive. It's a battle scar, and I'm proud of it. I'm proud of what my body has achieved in such a short space of time. 

Also, I smiled almost normally for the first time today. It appears this tired the nerve out completely as it's not really responded much since, but if that isn't evidence of how hard my body is working I don't know what is. 

(Me. Nearly there!)

So, a very Happy New Year to you all. I hope 2015 brings plenty of health and happiness. 

Oh, the title? That's not a resolution, more of a request. 

It's 2015. Where's my hoverboard? 

Do you have any New Year's resolutions concerning your health or anything else? I'd love to hear about them!

Wishing you all many spoons xxx

Uprising

They will not force us.

They will stop degrading us.

They will not control us.

We will be victorious.

Muse - Uprising

And victorious we were! Those following my escapades in hopsital recently will be happy to know the Purple Wedding Surgery went very well indeed. The kin- er, tumour is dead!

I've now been home from hospital ten days, and my stitches came out four days ago. When I went in for the stitches to be removed I received the best news ever in time for Christmas - Joffrey wasn't a cancer. Plenty of people jumped straight to the conclusion that my hospital mucked up, so I'm not going to beat about the bush in their defense. None of my clinical team had ever seen a benign tumour behave in the way mine did, so they would have been in very dodgy territory indeed to have assumed to leave it alone. As it is, the news is tremendous and the hospital now have my signature to keep Joffrey for research - I like to think they're going to poke him with sharp things many, many times. Serves him right. 

The healing process has been relatively uneventful. The scar itself is knitting very neatly and aside from one day when the pain level was tremendous (as in, waking up and pretty much screaming the house down level of pain) it's been nowhere near as unpleasant as I expected. I managed to drive a short way yesterday for the first time and have been out and about a couple of times. I still tire ridiculously easily however. 

(There you go. It's nowhere near as angry as I was expecting, and it looks neater every day.)

There are some other side effects - my body can't quite figure out balancing saliva levels at the moment. My throat is permanently dry, so I'm drinking water as if it's going out of fashion and that makes the level bounce. I'm constantly alternating between a dry throat and a runny nose. It is already better than it was thought and will only improve. 

There was some fairly hefty damage to the nerve controlling my lower lip on my right side. I've seom exercises to do, but at the moment it doesn't really work properly. However, that also will hopefully improve over the first six months (although according to my surgeon full recovery is unlikely). I can live with that!

Luckily, most of the scar will be under my hair anyway so you will be unable to tell, and from a distance the portion that is clearly visible already looks like just a fold in the skin. I really can't fault my surgeon at all, he's done an incredible job. 

I'm still mildly surprised by what a shock something like this is to random passers-by though. I threw my hair up to try a dress on in a shop yesterday and the look the changing room assistant gave me suggested I'd brandished the Dark Mark and commanded her subservience. I mean, I haven't done anything to that photo above - that's what it looks like. Surely that's not that offensive to look at is it?

I understand it's something a little unusual and unexpected, but I think some of the horror-struck reactions are far from reasonable. Maybe it's swearing at people when I'm not looking or something. 

I could be on my own in this (not that such a concept has ever bothered me over much) but I'm quite resolutely not hiding the changes to my appearance. For the first couple of days out of hospital I was a little shy about smiling and laughing, because that's when you can really tell the right side of my lower lip isn't moving at all, and the muscles and nerve grew tired after only a little talking and so the change was more noticeable. 

After this though I shook myself and decided to get on with it - I refuse to be embarrassed about it or feel the need to try and mask it in some way.

We already have an unhealthy relationship with the idea of perfection as a society, but I do think it's a little sad if this idea has grown so unchecked that people can't handle the sight of a scar, or a slightly altered facial expression. Spending a week and a half processing the idea that you have cancer (although thankfully not the case) is a sobering reminder that there are so very many more important things to be concerned with. 

So, another photo. This was taken the day my stitches came out and I found out I definitely did not have cancer. I should probably be grinning like a maniac, but I'm taking baby steps with the damaged nerve. Slow and steady wins the race. 

It's not a perfect face, but it's mine and I'm quite fond of it. 

(Crooked smiles and accompanying new dimples are very this season, I hear *snigger*)

Hoping you all had a lovely Christmas, and wishing everyone a very happy new year (and many spoons!) xxx

The Retired Bridgeburner: The C Word

Hi all!

TRB will be a little quiet in coming months as I will be focusing on a new companion blog - The Retired Bridgeburner: The C Word.

As you may have gathered from the title, the lump documented in my last couple of posts has been diagnosed as cancerous. If you would like to follow my adventures in teaching cancer to behave itself, please head over to the new blog! I will continue to alert everyone via Facebook and Twitter when there are new posts.

I am hoping to not abandon TRB entirely, but as stated things will be a little quieter.

Wishing everyone many spoons xxx

How To Train Your Health Scare

(Given the choice, I'd have much rather had a dragon. Image from fanpop.com)

I wasn’t initially going to write about this, but I think I might be able to turn it into something useful and possibly entertaining, so I think it’s worth a try.

Essentially, the lump I’ve been talking about got quite a bit scarier after my consultation and tests this week. We know nothing for certain yet (test results next week) but it’s almost certainly a tumour and currently being classed as “indeterminate” as it has features of both benign and malignant masses. And so, we wait.

There are definitely both good and bad ways to go about handling the intervening period between tests and results. Here are some ideas:

Talk

Let’s be brutally honest – you’re going to drive yourself completely bananas worrying about the problem until you get a definitive answer. This is normal and expected. However, it can be made at least a little bit easier having someone to talk to. They can’t fix it, but they can let you bounce your thoughts off them and just be there for support, which we all need from time to time. Bottling it all up will not make the situation any easier or less unpleasant.

If nothing else, talk at your pet. I say “at”, because I have a cat and we all know they don’t deign to talk “with” mere mortals. Fiddler’s contribution to proceedings so far has been to try and sit on my face and yell at me this morning. Truer words than “there is no snooze setting on a kitten who wants his breakfast” were never spoken.

A word about Google

Rule One – Don’t Google it.

Rule Two – Don’t Google it.

Rule Three – Why aren’t you listening? See Rules 1 and 2.

In all seriousness, it won’t help. It will only make you worry more and add to the confusion. Spare yourself at least some anxiety and don’t go look it up. If you really feel you must, do so with a championship ski slope’s worth of salt and a very critical eye.

Keep busy

This doesn’t have to mean tearing around at ninety miles per hour, but mostly it’s about keeping your mind occupied so you don’t dwell and end up, as mentioned, driving yourself up the wall. For me this meant going back to work, where I can’t help but be occupied because I’m a secretary to seven people (who are proving once again they are in fact some of the nicest people in the world). My friends took me to the pub on the day of the hospital visit, and I’ve a few things planned between now and next week’s results. One of those things is putting together a three door wardrobe whilst trying to keep Fiddler’s “allen key = toy” confusion at bay.

This leads nicely into….

Look after you

You’re allowed, after all. Do whatever you need to do to feel calm and content (or as close to that as you can get). If needs be, spoil yourself a bit. Do all the things you would usually do when you want to feel better. For me at the moment that’s tearing through my Springsteen collection and devoting rather a lot of time to my latest re-read of the Malazan series (me, fangirl? Perish the thought), and watching some really rubbish telly of an evening after work to help switch my brain off.

Also tea and cake, because I’m British and why not?

Most importantly though, make yourself the most important thing for the time being. You’re allowed the break from everything else, and those who matter will understand. I don’t think it’s possible to be worrying about a health scare and lots of other things at once without spontaneously combusting, but we shouldn’t really test that theory.

(Metaphors amuse me, I make no apologies. Image from bbc.co.uk)

Be the Rhineland

I am a demilitarised zone, you are not Germany.

Drama is right out with something like this. It really is important not to get embroiled in the sort of silliness everyone encounters at some point, because in a lot of ways people (all of us) are a bit stupid. We get upset about silly things and we let those things grow out of proportion, and in doing so we make angry phone calls or send ill-thought out bitchy Facebook messages, then the receiving party does the same and it all gets rather messy.

Now is not the time to be involved in those sorts of things. Look after you, ignore everything you need to and everyone else can go have a World War somewhere else. Be antisocial when you need to be, and this sort of thing qualifies.

Mind you, I live in a village in the middle of nowhere in the deepest darkest North, where people think might not have discovered fire yet. It’s really easy for me to be antisocial when I want to.

Be kind to yourself

You’re allowed to be upset, and you’re allowed to be frightened. It’s completely normal. No beating yourself up for being a human being is allowed at this juncture.

Be human- it’s what most of the rest of us are, and to be honest it’s alright.

Have you had a health scare? What did you do while you waited for clarification? I’d love to hear others experiences of this sort of thing as (happily) it’s completely new to me.

Wishing you all many spoons xxx

The Art of Being Polite II

In which Hannah seriously considers never cutting or tying up her hair ever again.

 

I mentioned in my last post that I was having some problems with a swollen lymph node in my neck. Annoyingly, it’s still here. Blood tests showed no sign of current infection and as there is no history of recent infection or virus that I’m aware of, I’m off to see an Ear Nose and Throat consultant in the near future to sort out a biopsy.

 

Bang went my hopes of it just being something you could stick something sharp in, drain and have done with!

 

(www.patient.co.uk)

 

The point of this post however is to discuss other people’s reactions to it thus far, which today in particular became quite interesting. Usually I wear my hair down and so you can’t see the lump at all, but today I needed the mane out of the way and decided to stop being silly about it. It’s a lump at the end of my bottom jaw which is about two inches long by an inch in length. It’s not as if there’s a football growing out of my face.

 

Or, so I thought…

 

“What’s that on your face?"

 

My ear , given where you’re vaguely pointing. Oh, you mean that fairly small unobtrusive lump that really isn’t the major event you’re pretending it is? That? It’s a baby monster that if you don’t stop pointing at it will jump out and eat you, Alien style.

 

 

“You’ve got a lump on your face. Why?”

 

Well spotted. If I knew why, I doubt I’d be a legal secretary.

 

 

“I can’t stop looking at it!”

 

You have a approximately 160 degrees within which you can turn your head. I humbly suggest you pick a degree my face isn’t currently occupying. Also, it’s really not that alarming. Face on you can’t see it at all.

 

 

“Aren’t you worried about what it might be?”

 

No, not at the moment. As a society we’ve learnt to run around panicking at the first sign of an unexpected lump of any kind (and I agree you should always get a lump checked out by a doctor to be on the safe side) but the chances of a swollen lymph node (even without the obvious presence of infection) being something sinister are actually really, really slim.  The most likely scenario at this point is that the biopsy will reveal a benign growth or cyst of some kind, or that there is in fact some sort of underlying virus I’m unaware of that said lymph node is arguing with. Either way, I don’t really think there’s any point working myself up about it at this stage.

 

 

“Would it hurt if I poked it?”

 

No, but *you’ll* hurt if you poke it.

 

 

“Shouldn’t you be covering it up?”

 

Oh for goodness sake.  It’s completely unobtrusive. It’s not lit up like a Christmas tree or declaiming in Dova. Are people really that freaked out by anything that’s just ever so slightly off-kilter?

 

 

 

“You know, you look a bit peaky as well…"

 

Say it with me: “pale complexion”. Yes? Good. I realise that’s tetchy of me, but I do get tired of being told I look ill when it is in fact just my normal skin tone. When I’m actually ill, I look like a one of the Drowned Dead  from Dungeons and Dragons. Believe me, you’ll know the difference if you see it.

 

 

 

And so we learn “normal” sick is actually no different from invisible illness in terms of the propensity for silly questions. And no, I didn’t actually say any of this, merely thought it all pointedly.

 

Also, in the midst of all this, I feel slightly mean for not congratulating my body for circumventing Petunia and actually managing to be sick all by itself. It’s not actually managed this since she made herself at home until now. I feel like a bizarrely proud parent.

 

Gold star, body. Now pack it in.

 

 

Wishing you all many spoons xxx