Wednesday 20th Feb
Its been two weeks since going down to the House of Lords to pick up yet another national award, recognition for the Sheffield BBN scheme, we were on a roll, truth be told after being recognised for the past three years running, it wasn’t expected, but was gratefully received.
Its been a week today since the launch of the 10th year of BBN, the run-up to organizing had been both exciting and stressful and whilst I was really looking forward to the awards night, the ceremony, catching up with colleagues, friends, being able to have a few sherbets at the end of the evening to unwind, but what I was most looking forward to, was the two days annual leave days I had treated myself too. Two whole
The sore throat started to show itself on the afternoon of the awards, we had been busy prepping tables, going through the running order, I had no time to feel shit, I
I woke up in a haze the Thursday morning and was relieved to have slept in until 10.30am and
Saturday evening soon came around, but during the afternoon my nose had started streaming snot, with the occasional sneeze here and there, but I was ok and whilst I wasn’t looking forward to having get dressed and go out at 7.30pm, (which is far too late for me nowadays, its around this time I’d be in me
So armed with sheets of kitchen roll and me non-alcoholic beers, (just in case the pub didn’t stock em) we arrived at our destination. Everyone was in high spirits, the atmosphere was nice, the only let down was that I felt like fucking shit! I was going through kitchen roll faster than an Andrex puppy and the guy on the TV ads is a f***ing liar — ‘one sheet is not plenty!’ I ended up making umpteen visits to the ladies to restock on dry tissues, my face was starting to feel and look like a baboons ass and I am convinced that I was oozing snot from my eyes too, it was f***ing everywhere. After another visit to the ladies, I also found that I had come on my period too “F***ing Great”! My evening couldn’t be going better!
But it got worse -Later
Sunday morning came and rather than feeling better, I actually felt worse, my throat felt like it was covered in ulcers and was sore, I was contemplating the walkin
Monday morning came and the thought of work filled me with dread, I didn’t feel any better, this felt more that just a cold and after four days of taking Ibruphen and paracetamol, that only seemed to take the pain off for a couple of couple of hours, opposed to lasting the prescribed four, so I decided I would take me sen off to the doctors, convinced that it might be a mild case of tonsillitis.
But even the thought of that, filled me with dread! The fear of going and being told my diagnosis was that I was just being a mardy bastard wasn’t appealing, after 38 attempts at getting through to the GP I was informed that were no doctors appointments available so I had to make do with the Nurse, but I double checked that nurses could prescribe antibiotics, otherwise what would be the actual point! I wasn’t walking to the doctors so ordered a taxi, feeling ashamed of the short journey and found myself apologising and assuring the taxi driver I would make it worth his while. I was dreading seeing someone who I might have known in the waiting room, cos I looked like absolute shit! But was lucky to be called after only 10 minutes wait.
How come when you call the docs, they say they are fully booked but when you get to the surgery there are only about 5 people sat there and they don’t seem pulled out with it at all? – just saying
The nurse was nice, she asked me about my symptoms and started to check me vitals, temperature ok, blood pressure ok, she then checked me throat and concluded that looked ok? “Fucking great” I thought “I am just a hypochondriac mardy bastard after all” she then inspected my ears and immediately concluded I had a nasty ear infection! Halla fucking hula! I knew it, I fucking knew it I hadn’t been making it up, I wasn’t being a mardy bastard, I would have never thought it was me ears though, after all apart from feeling tender I just put it down to my sore throat! I couldn’t wait to tell pat or any other fucker who thought that I was “just being a mardy bastard” that I was actually ILL.
Vindicated and armed with me antibiotics I took my sorry ass home, I called work explained my diagnosis and agreed with the prediction from my manager that I ought to be feeling better by the Wednesday after the antibiotics have kicked in to return to work.
Alas, its Wednesday and I am still not back at work, I called in this morning and explained I still wasn’t right, I hated letting work down, in the back of my mind imagined the disappointment from my manager that I still wasn’t coming back to work!
I agreed that it would be easier for me to cancel the two appointments scheduled in my diary for today. The only one that concerned me was a meeting where I had agreed to brief a group of volunteers from the Red Cross about SPICE use and the Help us Help. However before I could make contact to rearrange I got a call from one of the managers asking more about the training for later that day because the guy had been on the phone double checking I was still on for it. There was confusion with my calendar because there were two meetings scheduled in, one tentatively (put in by me) and another that said I was training until 10pm that evening, transpires that this was actually a calendar invite from the Red Cross that hadn’t been accepted yet.
Helen my manager explained that she would cover the session on my behalf, but just needed to know more about what I had agreed to cover. Knowing how busy she already was, realising from the calendar invitation that the session didn’t start until 7 AND wasn’t being held in the city centre as I thought it was, made me feel like absolute SHIT! It wasn’t bad enough that I wasn’t in work, now someone had to pick up my shit too on top of their own too! I don’t know whats worse, the physical symptom’s of being unwell or the physiological turmoil, mental torture and torment my brain goes through when I’m not able to deliver on a commitment I had committed too.
Hence today’s offload, I know I’m not good mentally when I’m feeling physically ill, in fact, I can turn into one of life’s biggest victims. I don’t like this about myself, one of the things that I have learned from writing the book and my early childhood is that I do have an underlying fear of letting people down, including myself. There is no one other person that could beat
So today is the first time in three days that I have actually taken some time out and spent it reflecting on me #Havingawordwimesen talking myself down like I would a good friend who might be feeling low. So after a couple of weeks of riding the high, cruising on the crest of an amazing wave, I finally crashed and burned AGAIN. The saying is true“ what goes up must come down” AND I know this to be true, but I also know that when you are entrenched in pity mode, some days its harder to pull yourself out more than others. This time its taken me over three days of self-pity, to then look in the mirror and have a serious f***ing word wi me sen.
Q. Is it just me? – A. no its not, you are not well
Q. Do I over think? – A. you might have a tendancy to! but at least you do think?
Q. Do I care to much? – A. yes, but is that a bad thing?
Q. Do I expect too much of myself? – A. possibly but at least you are working on it!
So that’s enough of the self-berating and self-pity shit it only serves to make you feel even worse, so my next dilemma is to focus on being nicer to myself and taking time to look after me for a change… So on that note, I am going to download myself a new memoir to read, to help inspire and take my mind off being a mardy cow and stop