Ups and downs, ins and outs...

I've had problems with my tummy for as long as I can remember. As a child I had a "nervous stomach", which meant that any excitement caused a rush to the loo. I was told I'd grow out of it. I didn't.

So, I gave up milk, bread, fibrous foods, tinned food in turn, all to no avail. I had cameras down my throat and up my posterior, drank umpteen glasses of water, swallowed anti emetics and liquid barium and was scanned this way, that way and the other way. Nothing. Finally the docs gave up, diagnosed Irritable Bowel and sent me away.

I have been taking the IBS meds for IBS for some years now, not noticing any change and in fact the last year has gotten worse. Not only am I running to the loo several times a day (and with very little notice), but since nothing was staying in very long, my other meds weren't working as well as they should. In fact I take extra meds to try and balance the ins and outs. I was also exhausted all the time. I spend weekends asleep because I don't have the energy to go on otherwise.

So back to the doctor. Another round of bloods, scans and such frolics until I met Him. Professor S. He was the lucky doctor who got to pop a camera where no camera should go. He recognised my symptoms and he thought he knew what it was. I started to cry, and not just because of the probe. Pretty much my whole adult life has been spent making sure I know where the loos are and that I have immodium to hand.

I have had to wait for appointments to become available - It has taken several months but this week I finally took part one of the test which Prof S thinks will clinch the deal. It involves radioactive tablet and a scan or two. Alas no super powers yet, but I am glowing a little more than usual. Next week the second scan and then back to Prof at the end of the month.

I am terrified. What if it isn't what he thought and therefore the tests are only just beginning? He said this was the most likely option but there are others... What if it is this and the prescribed meds don't work? What if they do? The last 30 years have been pretty grim for me and any poor soul who wanted to use the facilities when I'm around! But it's all I know. What if I take the meds but I'm STILL exhausted?  I have been blaming my tiredness on this condition. But what if I'm just a wimp or 'delicate'? What if I will never be able to have late nights or active weekends without booking holiday first?

I'm frightened, I'm tired and my bottom hurts. Also I think gas & air is marvellous, the NHS is wondrous and I just might have a half-life. So it's not all bad...

Tis the season.... Hark! Is that the tinkle of bells?

Dead Poem of Santa Zee ​​

Katya Whittaker

’Twas the night before Xmas

And all through the house

Not a creature was stirring,

Not even a mouse.

Alas this is no tale of festive delight

For Christmas has changed since that poet did write.

No candy canes, tinsel or marzipan mice

He doesn’t care if you’re naughty or nice.

The undead have risen - you’d better believe -

They’re coming to your town on this Christmas Eve.

Entrails are hung on the mantel with care,

A pigs head and trotters are placed on a chair.

Glistening viscera drip on the floor.

Carcasses wrapped up with bows on the doors.

Gifts for the undead who come to this town -

The night before Christmas is turned upside down.

The children were huddled all safe in their beds,

With duvets and pillows thrown over their heads.

Stay tucked up in bed, pull the covers quite tight.

There shouldn’t be anyone up on this night.

No sugar plums dancing in this sleepy head,

They’re hoping that morning will not see them dead.

The skitter of footsteps, the tinkle of bells

Signify Santa Zed’s zombified elves.

They peer from the garlands,

They drop from the tree,

Searching out offerings for Santa Zee.

A thud from the rooftop -

The reindeer arrive.

At least one has managed to look quite alive.

Eight reindeer are famous for pulling the sleigh;

These abattoir rejects want taking away.

Their antlers are glistening with blood and with gore

And bits that the cemetery needed no more.

Eight reindeer stand stamping their hooves on the snow

Spattering droplets of blood as they go

And eight heads on eight necks are covered in goo

But just 13 eyes stare back, glaring at you.

Reindeer are pulling this beast of a sleigh

Bound up with the tendons from earlier affray.

No sledge lined in fur, no sacks brimming with toys.

No shiny gifts wrapped up for girls nor for boys.

These sacks undulating are made of raw hide.

They ooze and they drip from the presents inside.

The driver is missing from this gruesome sight -

He’s lurching along to the chimney tonight.

His tattered red coat snags and tears on the reins;

His black boots are spattered with mucus and brains.

Kris Kringle arrives and he looks round your home;

So rotten in places he’s nothing but bone.

Portly and jolly, once his claims to fame.

Now putrid and stinking and calling for “Braaaaaiiinnss!”

He moans at the elves once inside of the house,

A trickle of pus oozing out of his mouth.

Elves bring to their master the best of the bunch:

Kids’ livers and kidneys to have for his lunch.

Not content to make do with these gory wares,

Santa Zed sends all of his elves up the stairs.

His zombelves search dutifully under your bed.

If they find you they’ll take you to strap to his sled.

A bell then rings out - Dong! The clock has struck one!

More houses to visit before we are done.

Clawed hands reaching out for one last intestine

As Santa Zed drags his zombelves from the scene.

Then up to the sky all the reindeer do shoot.

Hunks of flesh ripping inside Santa’s suit.

And I’m sure you will hear as he flies out of sight

"Braaaaaaaaiiiinssssssss to all…

And to all a good night"

Autistic adjacent

Things we already know (for a given value of ‘know’)

 

1.     I have never been diagnosed with autism

2.     I have never been diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome

3.     I do have a mood disorder – Bipolar

4.     People who have an AQ (Autism-spectrum quotient) of 32 or more indicate “clinically significant levels of autistic traits”

5.     I have an AQ of 42

 

What can this mean? Well for a start it means that I tend to show significant symptoms that you might associate with Autism Spectrum Disorder. But, that this is likely attributed to the bipolar disorder. And when under stress, these symptoms or traits become even more pronounced. For starters, it means that I am bothered by people as I don't always read them correctly and I don't have all the right filters that make me understand why one might not say something or why someone might become offended by what I say. Don't look at me funny. I don't get it, and it will have to be explained to me. Then I feel terrible. So I try to apologise. And usually make it worse.

I also really like routines and plans. And I can become seriously discombobulated by upset to my routine. Those of you who have attempted to spring surprises on me, know how well I take to change. If you want me to enjoy a spontaneous event, please give me a run up! A couple of days could do at a pinch. A week for preference!

Recently my routine has been severely rocked by the arrival of a teeny tiny jack russell named Saga. Neither house, nor crate, trained and teething, she could not be left in the house alone. Which meant that my morning routine of swimming with the Bear and then getting the bus to work had to be scrapped for a while. Similarly there could be no slump in from of the telly of an evening - Saga needs to be watched while we get her used to piddling outside and not eating the rugs...the result was a decidedly unhappy lillekat. Luckily the Bear is aware of my foibles and has arranged a couple of  afternoons/evenings when it's just me and the beagles. This way I can get myself back on track. It will all work out. It just takes me a little longer is all.

Now you might look at this and think "just get over it" and I wish I could. I wish it really was that simple. I know I don't behave like the stereotypical autistic or Asperger's person but if it helps, remember that my condition is not a million miles away and we share a lot of common ground. 

I do not love you - a valentines po-hum

I do not love you

Because you smell

Your farts are like

The bowels of hell

I do not love you

For your stash of cash

Every penny we earn

Is gone in a flash

I do not love you

sometimes I hate you

You always get to

The last chocolate, oo

You wrap your strong arms

Around me at night

And for that I do love you

The nightmares take flight

But you're hot and uncomfy

I long to be free

I'm itchy n sweaty and

I need a wee

I do not love you

You drive me insane

But I do not want anyone

Else as my swain

You annoy and frustrate me

In every way

And yet I do love you

Happy Valentines Day

Ah, Didsbury.... Yes.... Sit down, we need to talk

I am a big fan of the Sunday roast. The succulent meat, crispy roast potatoes and creamy mash and roast parsnips are a necessity. I'm flexible on the veg, but it should include carrots and something green and leafy. Yorkshire puddings are of course essential whatever the meat, as is gravy. I have to say I do a mighty fine roast myself and, perhaps therein lies the problem.

Whilst the Bear and I love to cook, we also do like to eat out and there is something truly decadent about having a Sunday Roast in a restaurant, before strolling home for a snooze. We were lucky that close to our previous abode, there was a pub that excelled in the Sunday carvery, and we would stroll over to partake of their fare fairly often.

Now we have moved, but to an area brimming with restaurants, pubs, bars and eateries. My Just-Eat options alone number in the hundreds and one cannot walk more than 10 minutes I'm any direction without finding a niche cafe with mismatched chairs and home made cake. I decided to embrace my new environment by trying out their Sunday offerings.

And this is why we need to talk, Didsbury. Not about Sunday roasts per se, but about roast beef. I think it's important to be absolutely clear on this. Roast beef should not be grey, it should not be crispy, it should not sit like a Burnt offering on the plate. Roast beef should be pink and juicy and melt in the mouth. The gravy should just be for fun, not a moistener! Twice now the Bear and I have turned up at one of your establishments and ordered the roast beef. And twice have we been disappointed with the meat. You have the accoutrements down pat. Dauphinoise potatoes are not easy to do, trust me I've tried! And such huge Yorkshire puddings! Yummy. But the beef darling, the beef was overcooked, dry and dull and frankly, when we were the first diners, that's quite hard to do.

You need to pull your socks up, Didsbury. I'm thinking of cooking my own beef next week and none of us want that. To recap: pink, juicy, rare and succulent. These are the words you're seeking. If I may, dig out your Delia: She is the goddess of all things culinary and you need her help. Ok, Didsbury, I'll let you catch your breath and I'll see you in a week or two. 

Coming out of the frog box

I went back to work today after 3 1/2 months off with a major depressive episode. As part of my rehabilitation, I have had meetings with my manager and a rep from Human Resources. During these meetings I told them all about bipolar disorder, ibs and hypothyroidism, gave them documents printed from MIND and even showed them my dosset box to illustrate what it's like living with a mental illness. They were rather shocked at the pile of pills, which amused me no end! As I say, "I take all these just to appear normal!"

Rather sweetly, I thought, my manager referred to my openness in his summary letter, thanking me and saying that he really appreciated my willingness to discuss my illness.

I have always been open about my conditions. It is what makes me, me and I am not ashamed of it. I have always known there was something 'wrong' with me, so to have the diagnosis and validation was more of a relief!

When I was a teenager, my parents would say I was "manic depressive" and "just like your aunt / grandmother". But of course in the early 80s there was no Internet to look things up and mental health wasn't discussed. My father's distrust of psychiatrists meant that I never saw a doctor. Later on I attempted to self medicate as many others do. I was treated for my depressive episodes with anti depressants, but my manic episodes were never 'reported' since I was having too much fun! It wasn't until Stephen Fry 'came out' as bipolar that I started to investigate the illness and found myself resonating with the description. Then, some 7 years ago now, I finally plucked up the courage to tell my doctor about the ups and downs. And the rest, as they say, is history. 

There is no shame in having a mental quirk. Its part if what makes you an individual. And whilst it may debilitate you from time to time, it also is responsible for your openness to new ideas, your empathy and creativity. And that's pretty cool. How can we expect people not up be afraid or confused by our behaviour, if we are not willing to discuss it? If we want to be accepted, don't we need to accept ourselves?

Why, there's a wench! Sex and violence, Bard style

I love going to the theatre. I love the thrill when the lights go down and the curtain rises. And I'm lost in another world. I laugh, I cry, I gasp in horror. I can go through so many emotions I am exhausted by the time the play is over, and it's time to race back to the car, only to talk of nothing but what we've seen for days.

Sometimes, you're lucky enough to see a groundbreaking or life changing performance. It might be a single actor giving his or her all to the role. Or it might be an ensemble that works so well together, you lose yourself entirely in their make believe. And that's what happened when we went to see The Propeller company perform Twelfth Night and Taming of the Shrew. 

The Propeller theatre company are an all male troupe, who 'do' Shakespeare as it was done in Shakespeare's time. And, it turns out, do it very very well.

We first saw Twelfth Night, a comedy of mistaken identities, drunken cavorting and unrequited love. Plenty of laughs, often involving the debauched activities of Sir Toby Belch, his chum, his floozy and his fool.  The scene in the garden is just hysterical! Chris Myles' Malvolio is a sight to be seen having taken 'cross gartering' to a new level... This is then balanced against the touching scenes between Viola/Cesario and Duke Orsino and the Countess Olivia and Viola/Cesario. As the lovelorn Viola, Joseph Chance broke my heart and I wanted it never to end. 

The music is provided by the ensemble themselves, and becomes part of the action on stage rather than something separate. Wearing white masks, the ensemble are musicians, statues, props and in my mind somewhat similar to the chorus in Ancient Greek plays.

We left that night, delighted that we were to return the next for the Taming.

Like perhaps a lot of people, my experience of Taming of the Shrew was a mix of Kiss Me Kate and 10 Things I Hate About You. So I was quite unprepared for the drama.

Vince Leigh went from the piteous drunk, Sir Toby Belch, to conniving suitor Petruchio overnight. And never have I been so appalled by and attracted to a man at the same time. His violence and cruelty to Katherine made the audience squirm, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one getting pretty hot around the décolletage whenever he was on stage.

There are laughs a plenty too - the bard is the king of farce and these boys were definitely up for it as well. Arthur Wilson gave a fabulously trashy performance as favourite younger daughter Bianca, flirting away with her 'tutors'.

But for me the relationship between the feisty Katherine and Petruchio stole the show. Dan Wheeler gave us a gothic Kate, intelligent and angry, who is driven to despair by her ruthless husband. To watch her lose her will and defiance and bow to her 'lord' was uncomfortable for the audience. It affected me deeply - so deeply that it inspired me to write this blog.

The Propeller Theatre are currently touring with Twelfth Night and Taming of the Shrew. If they are coming anywhere near you, I heartily recommend that you go. You will not be disappointed.

http://propeller.org.uk/