Open letter

You don't know me. We've never met, never corresponded. And I don't think we ever will. But I need to tell you about the wonderful gift you have been given. 

We went to choose just one puppy from the litter. 10 minutes later he had one tiny ball of fur asleep in the palm of his hand and I had another trying to suckle from my thumb. We were lost. We visited them every week until they could come home with us. They were both named for goddesses. Because to us they were divine.

Their first Christmas two of our guests had new cameras and they were the paparazzi to our babies' stars. All day they were photographed and videoed and generally spoiled and adored. 

I'm afraid the spoiling continued. We found a day care facility that had "quiet time" with doggy movies and classical music, visits from Santa and even dressing up for Halloween trick or treating!

2 years ago their middle age was interrupted by the arrival of a rescue pup. They didn't flinch, just snuggled her in. As her baby teeth started to go sh got a bit bitey but they were both really tolerant and only occasionally ran off or held her down with a maw or a paw. Now the three of them snuggle together in their bed or ours. And it's just lovely to see. 

Our lives have changed suddenly and dramatically and we talked over every possible option before coming to the devastating conclusion that we had to give them up. And that's where you come in. You will get to have two of the most amazing, loving, friendly dogs and you will get to look into those big brown eyes and know the world is better just for having them with you. I envy you that. But I'm glad that they will have you to take care of them and to love them as much as we did.

So here's the lowdown skinny. Juno is independent, preferring to sleep on her own or with her sister. She rarely comes for a cuddle but will play with a ball for hours. Dana is more soppy. She loves to sit on the sofa next to you with her head in your lap or on your feet. They will both do pretty much anything for a bicky. They love melon, carrots and ice. In fact Dana had been known to get so cold from eating snow and ice that she shivers! They aren't keen on brushing but they will tolerate it without argument. They will comfort you when you are sad and make you smile with their antics. They have both taken care of us for 8 years. They have been the best decisions we ever made and the most wonderful companions. We will miss them always. 

Thank you for choosing Dana & Juno. They deserve the very best. And that's you.   

Making friends

When I was a girl, I didn't have many friends. I was different, I said weird things or I was too loud or I didn't have the same boundaries. For whatever reason I was on my own a lot. Which was fine. As a teenager I had plenty of boyfriends. Again my behaviour was probably very attractive (as well as the norks; never underestimate the power of norks). But not loads of chums. Even at university, where other people meet their lifelong friends, I couldn't connect with many people. It wasn't til I was in my late 20s that I finally managed to make some proper friends. Not loads but some. 

But that feeling of being excluded is always with me. I am terrified of groups of people. What if they don't like me? What if I say something "stupid"? My condition means it's bloody likely I'm going to say something either weird or inappropriate. If I can I take Saga (my Jack Russell as a diversion. <Look at the cute dog! Ignore the mental woman!> Having her with me means I have someone to talk to if I can't join in.

 

Recently I was invited to a chum's birthday gathering. He and his lovely OH have a lot of friends from a different social circle so I knew I wouldn't know anyone there. Luckily the venue liked dogs so Saga and I set off. 

You know how hard it can be to break into new groups? Well these people weren't like that. I felt included straight away. I had tea. I even played a game and DIDNT lose. It was a truly lovely afternoon and I was so happy to be there. 

That afternoon has made me Brave. I just might try another meet up with people. You know, on the off chance I could get to like this socialising lark...

Not being "good", just being

I am fat. You can put all kinds of nice words around it "voluptuous", "curvy" or "cuddly" but the bottom line is I'm fat. I'm plus sized. I'm in the red zone on the doctors chart. According to my father I am "matronly". 

I have been steadily getting fatter over the last 10 -15 years. Having an underactive thyroid doesn't help but neither is it to blame. I eat too much of the wrong things. And I don't move about enough. That is all. 

I've been happyish about this, quietly changing clothes to have elasticised waists, investigating American websites for more interesting clothes in the multiple xes, all the while making sure I have an eclair within arms reach. And the Bear has been great, telling me he loves me whatever and that I was beautiful.

But three things happened in fairly quick succession. First of all a chum went from cute and cuddly to gorgeous and sexy and I do think that, were I to have such a thing, he would now be out of my league! This was not good for the old ego. 

Next my own beloved Bear started mentioning that I was looking a bit tubbier than usual and he had noticed I obviously wasn't happy - I definitely wasn't feeling like a sex kitten.... More a slovenly sloth! Without really noticing, I had moved from having a "bit of padding" into "carting around an entire mattress". Definitely not good!

The last straw was something I am not particularly proud of so I do not intend to confess it here. Suffice to say I reacted childishly and the upshot was I joined slimming world. 

Here I am 8 weeks later and a stone lighter which is encouraging. And I find slimming world's ethos works for me. I count my Syns. I try to avoid their over sweetened goodies and eat lots of fresh stuff. And I can get into my new trousers!

But some people don't half react very strangely "Ooh are you on a diet?" They say. "I'd better not offer you this Biscuit had I?" Um, I can have what I want.  "Have you been good this week?" Well, the other night I definitely had some impure thoughts about someone I shouldn't do - does that count as not being good?

Eating food isn't naughty or good - and a diet or a change of eating habits isn't supposed to be a punishment. it just is. I guess I'm saying I'm not dieting as such. I'm just trying to change the way I look at food and really notice what I eat. But I'm not being good. Trust me I'm never being "good".

I'm trying to change my habits. If I've had a bad day, I'll reach for the chocolate but a mini bag of buttons rather than a huge bar of fruit n nut. And I'll enjoy every one rather than shoving a whole handful in my gob. If I "deserve a treat" I'll buy myself a new lipstick rather than the fresh cream counter of Selfridges. 

Although I reserve the right to always have salted pretzels covered in toffee and chocolate in the house. Because they are scrummy!

Mental Health Awareness Week

As part of MHAW, I was asked to produce a short article on Bipolar Condition for the intranet. Below is the article.

An insight into bipolar disorder

11 May 2015

Lillekat explains how bipolar disorder affects her life, her colleagues and her work.

I was diagnosed informally as bipolar, or manic depressive as it was known, when I was about fourteen.  My mood swings went beyond the usual teenage tantrums, and I would veer from periods of depression to episodes of mania with barely a blink.

At various stages of my adult life I was treated for depression with drugs, cognitive behavioural therapy and counselling. Each treatment worked for a while, but then the roller-coaster would begin again. After a particularly bad episode, I was given a mood stabiliser to suppress the highs and lows of bipolar disorder. Whilst this is by no means a “cure” it limits the frequency of episodes and allows an almost normal life.

At previous employers I was very aware that I shouldn't talk about it, I’d rather take days off with ‘flu’, ‘migraine’ or ‘stomach problems’. Since arriving at my current employment, I have been open and honest about my condition. It is a part of me, like some people are asthmatic.

My communication style, my relationship with data and the way I view situations are all directly  affected by my condition, but  I see this as  a strength as well as a vulnerability. I have been fortunate that my managers have been extremely supportive, and colleagues are appreciative of my honesty as it relieves them from wondering and worrying about me. Being able to say “I'm feeling a bit bipolar today” is extraordinarily liberating and means I can still do my work without causing a problem. I am also getting better at recognising a dip or crash coming and I can take steps to deal with it – rather than trying to carry on until a full blown episode. I take a day or two to sleep, reboot and reset myself. This greatly reduces the likelihood of a full episode which would have consequences for me, my team and my work.

Living with a condition like bipolar can be a pain in the proverbial. The lows are scary, horrific and grim. The highs are also scary but thrilling and have a pretty nasty come down afterwards. But its effects are also creative, inspiring, and can give you a real appreciation for life and for the little ‘normal’ things. Having an employer like mine, who embrace the different and the creative, makes dealing with a difficult condition that much easier.

Out and proud, flying colours

After a Facebook chat with a chum who is also the parent of an autistic son, i started to think about how we can let people know we might be a bit different when we look just the same. This can be particularly problematic at work where one persons dashed off email is another's disastrous response that they will brood over for days.  

I decided to trial a signature on my work email. Had a chat with the wellbeing guys who thought it was a tip top idea. On Bipolar day I made the change and my emails now all proudly sport this:

It seemed especially poignant to be sporting my colours when the media was hammering mental health and work as a result of the tragic German plane crash. 

After a couple of days I put it in a different colour. That's right, people, I went all out. 

So far I've had one comment. From someone who knows me. 

But maybe just maybe I'll spark some conversation, a question or two and a little more understanding. 

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 Morris

’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"