I mean, sure, he still gets man flu in the normal man flu way but he also goes the extra mile in areas you never expect. It started a little over 10 years ago when he headed to emergency, worried he might have whooping cough in the lead up to Kahlei’s birth. I don’t even remember if the whooping cough was addressed, what I recall is James being held for his dangerously high blood pressure.

Because he was 25 he was sent from one test to another. Months on months of questions and medication adjustments.

Then, there was the eye incident. Also, he has a cataract on that eye now, so there’s that.

Just as I was starting to freak out a little less whenever his eye was swollen or terribly blood shot after a day at work, a new issue arose.

As we headed to my dad’s birthday party, James got tingly in his arms and legs to the point where he could no longer drive. A sudden migraine came on, he couldn’t walk when I pulled up to an Emergency on the way.

We did make it to the party, but things have been weird ever since. A few days later, we spent much of Christmas Day in the local ED as it all happened again with a terrible stomach ache on top.

He has been tested for stroke numerous times, had an ECG, bloods, MRI. He’s been told they’re mostly sure it’s not MS. He’s been put on Beta blockers and referred to a neurologist, which will happen in April.

He’s still, for the most part, tingly and often numb in his arms and legs. The headaches don’t come on as strong or as often now and he is able to go about life. I hate not having answers, though.

He drives a lot for work and, while I try not to, I do worry what would happen if it was to get that bad again and he was off in some random place. I’m the type of person who wants a comprehensive answer with reasons and a full list of things to avoid or do to stop issues getting worse or to progress healing.

And, I’m pretty keen on a little less drama.

Still, I know we are so lucky. Knowing people who are struggling with so much worse, I find it hard to not feel terrible about focusing on where we are.

Linking up for #LifeThisWeek

Sometimes it can be hard and frustrating to accept that you still haven’t found the answers. That you’re still not where you want to be. Whether I admit it to myself or not, there’s a subconscious timeline for ‘being ok’. A timeline to ‘getting back to’ (to what? I don’t know, I’ve had depression since I was a teenager!). A timeline to step into more ‘living’ and less of the merely existing.

It sucks to feel like I’m starting all over again. It is exhausting to put in the work day in, day out, do all the things I’m told will ‘fix’ me, give it everything I’ve got, fight every second of the day to be ‘better’ and still end up back at square one.

I’m working on accepting that it’s a whole journey of it’s own. It can’t be forced. That it IS ok to not be ok, I’m not less because of this. And recovery taking it’s own sweet time isn’t a reflection on me… Maybe…

And, though I mostly don’t care about other people’s assumptions or thoughts about me, there is absolutely a niggle of no longer wanting to be seen of as worthless, useless, not contributing. I don’t want to be seen as ‘Depressed Becky’. Yes, It is affecting my everyday life currently and has been present for a long time in varying degrees but it’s not who I am. It doesn’t define me.

Through this, I have found myself immersed in Youtube. Vlogs about other people and their recovery, or not. I’ve searched for the raw and real to feel that I am not so alone in this season (also loving the mindless weird and wonderful stuff and ridiculous rabbit holes I find myself in).

I feel like sharing my story is an important part of my healing, though I don’t want to be seen as attention seeking with that sharing. So, I wanted to vlog my 7 days of reduction. Firstly, talking to the camera is soothing. Why? Nooooo idea. And, secondly, if one person stumbles upon it and feels like they have someone in their corner, my job is done. Maybe I can help someone who once didn’t understand. I don’t know.

I’m now day 4 of my new meds and BO-HOY are they kicking my butt even worse than the coming off did. Hopefully, in 6 to 8 weeks these horrible first few weeks will have been worth all the exhaustion, dizziness, hot flushes, cold shivers, aches, pains, vomiting, excessive shaking and all.

How are you going? I’d love to hear what you’re up to.

Linking up with Denyse for #LifeThisWeek

If you looked at my IG feed, you would have no idea what I’ve been up to other than finding tiny frogs and visiting beautiful trees. On Facebook, I’ve shared articles or funny things. You wouldn’t know that those beautiful trees were near the hospital we were visiting my nan in. Or how that little frog gave me a little lift after traveling home from a tough day at the hospital.

I haven’t known what to write. If I should or could. I’ve come to the realisation that you are my community. I haven’t spoken about all that’s been going on and I need to. I’m just going to write. It might be a mess. Make no sense. But it needs to be. The story behind the feed. 

It started with a fall. The third in a short space of time which led to my nan being taken to ICU. We were called to see her the Friday after (16th). Walking into her bedside that day, my breath caught in my chest. My heart stopped before galloping off. I knew, going in, things were not good but I wasn’t prepared. At all.

Family filtered in and out through the day, we hugged, cried, laughed together. We visited with nan, holding her hand, talking to her. I held her hand and smoothed her forehead as they inserted a PICC line, which managed to wake her. After the prodding, poking, ‘sharp scratches’ and readjustments led by ultrasound her eyes were open and she was the angriest I had ever seen her (which is saying something, because, really, I hadn’t ever seen her very mad at all). I was relieved to see her awake and so upset she had had to go through that. Telling her I was there, having her know me and look so delighted to see me was so overwhelming. I told her what the munchies were up to and her joy at each little tale was a gorgeous tug on my heart.

I left not knowing if that would be the last time.

The next day we all went up for the weekend. Nan was awake. She was sassy, laughing, holding court and enjoying every second of having her family surrounding her. I gave her a stern talking to about appropriate ways to get visits and she chortled. We heard stories we had never heard before about playing in steal boxes provided by the railway.

I spent that first weekend and the next visiting, loving and cherishing every second with her. Holding tight with those around me, taking that breath but too scared to exhale. When she was awake we chatted. I reminded her of one time, when I lived with them, we were standing at the kitchen bench, she was preparing meat into meal portions for the fridge and freezer. I told her I would never do that for anyone, ever (I was a Vegetarian at the time) and she replied that, one day, I would. Ever so matter-of-fact. She told me that one day, I would love someone and do things like this. Things I didn’t love. Things which made me uncomfortable. Purely because I loved them. And that I would do it for our children.

That’s how I knew she was wrong, you see, even though she was saying it was such annoying certainty. Marriage and babies weren’t for me.

I reminded her of that conversation and told her how glad I was that she had been so annoyingly right.

None of it was what I expected, really.

The joy and laughter as we remembered and shared with nan or amongst ourselves intertwined with the collective held breath, tears and aching heart was magical and painful all at once. I saw the strengthening bond between siblings and their spouses, gorgeous moments of protecting and sharing, bracing and softening.

I spent a lot of time wondering if I was saying ‘I love you’ enough. If I had told her enough just how much of an amazing role model she was, always showing grace and kindness with an open heart and door. Now, especially I can recognise that beautiful grace she showed me as a teenager suffering from school and social phobia. Taking me in to live there and making sure I worked toward recovery no matter how hard or how much I resisted. Did I say ‘thank you’ enough? And did I convey just how much those years meant to me? How much those years taught me and made me realise I could fight these illnesses.

Last weekend while I was there, she asked me to sew her three skirts. She would pick the fabric soon, she said. I told her I couldn’t sew and her shocked look was so gloriously delightful, I don’t even know why. We had so many moments of pure happiness in such a dire place. When I left on the Sunday she opened her eyes after not being awake much, looked me in the eye and said ‘You are so special to us. Thank you for coming.’ like I would have chosen to be anywhere else. I told her she was so special to me, too.

I took Felix home (the rest of the family had stayed home the second weekend). It felt different.

On Tuesday evening, we got the call that my beloved nan had passed away, she was finally at peace. No longer in pain. I don’t think it has really sunk in for me, yet. Even having been there. Seeing how exhausted she was and knowing how things were progressing.

This doesn’t seem enough. There’s so much to say. It feels like there’s too much to say and too little words in which to say it. How can you ever capture and share the essence of one of the most amazing beings? How can you impart the lessons and reveal all the moments which made up a life. Or show how hearts have been cracked open because of the love she gave us all.

I hope she knows.

That she was one of my absolute favourites. An integral part of me becoming me. That I love her with everything I have. That I am beyond grateful. That her being such an important part of my munchies life has been the best thing.

So, in August, I went for it. Ready for our Pink concert and with a push from my apparent mid life crisis, I thought I would go all out.

9 weeks later, I have just done a totally new dye job but loved the pink for those two months. As I washed, I enjoyed how the tones changes as the dye washed out. While I don’t love to be noticed while out, I did enjoy people smiling and happily telling me how much they loved my hair and the shocked look when I said I did it myself.

And, there’s no pick me up like catching a glimpse of your bright hair in the mirror when you’re feeling exhausted, run down or overwhelmed. My face might look like the walking dead but it’s easier not to focus on that when your hair is so happy!

What’s surprised me most, has been how many people have lamented to me, wishing they had the guts to do it or the ‘skill’. How they wish they could be ‘that brave’. It makes me feel weird. I’m not brave. Sometimes, in fact, I feel reckless. Lazy (because I obviously do not have a sensible job, otherwise how could I do it?). At least, that’s how some people make me feel. I don’t really care if they’re judging me as an unfit parent but I also kind of do. But, mostly I don’t because it’s fabulous (literal statement from a lovely young man at Katy Perry) and that’s how it makes me feel. That’s how I wish these people could feel, just throw caution to the wind and do it because it’s their hair – why shouldn’t you do what you want?

I made a video when I did the dye, sometimes I just set the camera up but things don’t end up being edit worthy but, after so many comments and questions I decided to share, just incase it encourages one lovely person to embrace their desires and just give it a go.

Let me know what you think. I’ve videoed the newest dye job (obviously) and will share if anyone is interested.

Linking up with #LifeThisWeek

I thought for a minute and answered, “Always.” She looked at me in surprise before her brow furrowed in worry as she repeated my statement.

Her reaction came back to me later that night, it seemed strange to me. Wasn’t every woman my age the same? Hasn’t my generation always questioned themselves, been too hard on themselves, allowed self-talk which we would never even consider speaking to another – not even our worst enemy? Was it really a surprise that I have always been inclined to judge myself more harshly than I would another?

Yes, I am and have been aware of this for many years and have tried to ‘ be kind’ and aware of my thoughts. I can’t say I’ve ever been great at that, though.

I don’t say these negative thoughts out loud. But, I also haven’t been actively fighting them of late. With my most recent diagnosis, my severe depression, anxiety, agoraphobia (haven’t blogged about that one, yet) I feel like I am on a round-a-bout of negative thoughts. I feel pathetic. I feel useless. And just overwhelmed.

But, my psychologist has said I need to go gently, forgive where I’m falling short (ugh) and show myself compassion.

So, I wanted to remind you guys of the same, today. Go gently. Show compassion to yourself.

Linking up for #LifeThisWeek.

When the missus is grumpy!

Baby Silvery Gibbon. SO cute

Found a monkey with the Gibbons

Linking up for #LifeThisWeek

I eventually remembered to mention to my doctor that my cycles were way off (202 days late – I know, I should have mentioned it WAY before). Some blood tests were ordered and came back showing a low functioning thyroid and a suggestion of PCOS. I saw the look of relief on my doctor’s face – so many things could be explained and, hopefully, cleared up. He ordered more blood tests which confirmed hypothyroidism and got me started on a low dose of a synthetic thyroid hormone.

As a hypochondriac, I have a ban on googling health issues so got James to look up my diagnosis and his reply was basically “This makes so much sense.”

He sent me a list of signs you’re not making enough thyroid hormone (my symptoms are bolded);

• fatigue and low energy levels
• depression
• slow heart rate
• unexplained weight gain/struggles losing weight
• intolerance to cold temperatures
• body fatigue, muscle aches
• dry, coarse skin
• puffy face
• hair loss
• constipation
• problems with concentration
• goitre (enlarged thyroid gland)
• elevated blood cholesterol level
• changes in the menstrual cycle
• carpal tunnel syndrome

and I felt a mixture of relief, hope and frustration at another new issue to work out and fight.

I am now three weeks into the new treatment and the only thing that has changed so far is that I now feel nauseous every night. I know it can and will take a while to start working and even then there might be adjustments to dosage. Some days I am super positive about it all, grateful that we have discovered this and have started treatment.

Some days I feel so exhausted and frustrated and impatient for things to kick in so we can know if adjustment is needed. Some days I feel so overwhelmed at my lack of energy I just want to curl up and cry. Most days, though, I do what I have to do; making choices along the way. Will I have enough energy left to take the girls to Physie if I wash and hang two loads of washing? Most days, I don’t have the strength to make my own lunch, I know the things which are essential and that need my energy like keeping my family fed, in clean clothes, at their activities and with clean dishes and that’s what I focus on. I have little to no appetite since doubling my antidepressants so that doesn’t seem like a huge deal.

So, that’s where I’m at. How are YOU?

Linking up with Life This Week  , #MondayMusings and Open Slather

 
ETA: I shared a vlog on youtube with some of the points I felt I had missed here. Some will overlap, thanks for watching if you do

This is a video I put together of our Katy Perry weekend (our Pink trip was ridiculously rushed).

Linking up for Life this Week

Pondering : what happened to the warmer weather we were enjoying
Buying : make up for Halloween
Watching : The Block
Hoping : for a good night’s sleep
Marvelling : at the attitude of our new bunny
Cringing : at Sara winning this week after her tanty last week
Needing : sleep
Wearing : a blanket
Noticing : just how different each Munchie’s sense of humour is to the others
Thinking : James should stop shouting out to me from the bedroom, I can’t hear him and my body is not ready to move yet
Listening: to my body more (well, trying to)
Sorting : socks
Giggling : at lame dad jokes
Feeling : exhausted
Hearing : possible sniffles … ugh

Linking up with Denyse for #Lifethisweek

I definitely think it was mumma who was most nervous as the door closed between us. I knew he would be alright, he has a love of people and a way of being around them that is beautiful. But, there’s always that worry in the back of your mind. Will he accidentally bite a child because he’s pretending to be a zombie and forgets not to close his teeth? (Or is it NOT an accident when that happens to Jasper…?) Will he be able to share with children who are smaller than him and not forcing him to do so like his siblings? Will he miss me? What if he doesn’t?

The day was quiet and I kept finding myself worried he was up to mischief or napping too long before realising the house was quite because he was not here.

When we went to pick him up he said to me “You not here, mum!” He wasn’t ready to go and wanted to pretend I wasn’t there so he could keep playing. All reports from the day were positive and, when he took my hand and told me he missed me I felt better.

Deep down, I knew he was ready and so keen to be making friends and doing things without me but it was squashed down under tonnes of anxiety and overwhelm.

This morning, for his second day, he was extra excited as his BFF was going to be there, too. He took extra time to make sure he was looking spiffy, put deodorant under his arms AND under his feet and combed his hair for what seemed like hours. Honestly, it was so funny – I hope she thinks he’s looking good today after all the effort!

For now, I am looking after my mental health on these days. Day care was doctor ordered and I do need to get it all sorted. I’m toying with some type of job or course one day a week maybe and concentrating on blogging, writing that novel I always think about.

What has changed in your life recently?