In an effort to get some training in for Peru, I joined two fellow trekkers for a walk in the Chilterns, an area of "outstanding natural beauty". It was rated as seven out of 10 in difficulty, about 20km and 5 hours of walking. No problem, I thought.
First the good news: I was not noticeably less fit than either of my counterparts. In parts after steep uphill climbs where I'd be feeling a little warm and out of breath, they seemed to mirror my own reactions -- and most importantly, it didn't take me long to recover. Heart and lungs seem to be in excellent working order.
Continuing the good news theme, my hiking boots are incredibly comfortable and there was not even a hint of a blister or rubbing all day. An excellent buy there, and I think we can safely say they are broken in.
The bad news is I am in incredible pain. Somewhere along the way the steep downhill descents must have proved too much for my knees -- and if you hadn't guessed by the fact I am updating in the middle of the day, I am home from work sick today as I can barely stand up. Completing the walk yesterday was very difficult and painful as my knee became stiffer and more unyielding. The doctor has told me today I have strained the ligaments, and I need to rest it. I can also put an ice pack on it twice a day and take anti-inflammatory drugs three times a day. It's a good job I have a stash of the latter in the cupboard.
My research on the internet tells me this kind of thing is quite common, and unsurprisingly associated with steep downhill descents. I was probably going too quickly. For Peru, if not before, I will need walking poles and a knee support -- and I think a small supply of medication in my luggage.
It's frustrating, I want to be out walking and training in the gym, and right now I can't do either. But I'll crawl the Inca trail on my hands and knees if I have to.
Showing posts with label health issues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health issues. Show all posts
Monday, 6 April 2009
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
Jupiter in space agencies' sights
I've been teh suck and not updated nearly enough recently. 
I can report that my recent foray into not taking medication has ended. That is, after relying instead on vigorous exercise and strength of character, I have given and gone back. I was beginning to feel decidedly shit and unable to cope at times, so I decided enough was enough. Since I have restarted I still have my moments: short spells of despair, almost sickening bouts of worry and anxiety, but overall I am much better off. We have to admit that there is "something wrong" with me, and really there's no getting around it. It's a little depressing in itself to have to admit it. It might well be a brain 'chemical' thing -- some people are diabetic, or anaemic, and reliant on certain supplements of whatever kind. Perhaps I have a defective brain in a similar sort of way. For the record, I have begun to wonder when I am not taking my medication if previous medical professional diagnoses of bipolar disorder might not have been too wide of the mark. But either way, it doesn't matter.
Also in the news here this week is that despite every intention of leaving my body to medical science -- albeit while I am still very much alive and kicking -- has also met with failure. I was invited to attend a screening for a trial that would have paid me about two grand for my time, trialling a drug for Alzheimer's and ADD. But the time they wanted was about two weeks, and there was no way I could take it off work. This week I discovered that I have no holiday left whatsoever to take this tax year, and only have 13 days available to me to take between April and October. This means most likely that the time I spend in Peru I am going to have to take as unpaid leave -- I can consider that my own charitable contribution.
The obvious drawback of not being able to take part in a clinical drug trial is it is going to be a lot harder to earn money quickly. Possibly less unpleasant, maybe even safer, but more difficult.
I'm still resentful of my car needing £700+ worth of repairs at Christmas. It's no use crying over spilled milk, but I would never have chosen to spend that money frivolously -- not that keeping my car on the road is frivolous. But sometimes I think "I could have bought a great big television with that money, but I wouldn't have" or I think how I could fly to Barcelona and back like 6 times for that amount. Sometimes I go into a record shop just to browse, and I will pause over a CD -- I don't buy myself things often, I'll think. But then the idea of spending the money for no reason makes me feel ill, and I put it back. Like I say -- crying over it (like I did at the time, to my shame) doesn't change a thing, and the girl and I need a car for a whole host of reasons, so it was important. But that doesn't stop me resenting it. Stupid to resent an inanimate object, I know.
Speaking of work and earning money... Dedicated readers who have read my old posts, or longer term followers who have been with me for longer, may remember a post last October when I gleefully announced having got a job. I opened the champagne for dinner with the girl -- a special bottle I had been saving for when I got what I considered a "proper" job, a job that I wanted and wasn't just a stopgap, and that I felt was advancing my career. It was a year's contract, but a bloody good opportunity just the same. We remember? Good.
On Tuesday a notice went out on email to all office staff that there would be a briefing from the MD at 1430 in the conference room. Nobody was sure what it was about, but we were under no illusions: it wasn't going to be good news. I did speculate that perhaps with all the budget cuts and general "credit crunch" doom and gloom they would be announcing that in order to try and cheer up staff and raise morale they would be buying us an office kitten. Shockingly, this was not what the announcement was. In the minutes before the meeting, word got out that there was to be a merger. Nobody was quite sure whether to believe it, or what the details were. I then got blind-copied into an emailed press release from my head of PR. The release was going out to all trade press, announcing the merging of my company and a neighbouring region's.
There was lots of words like cost savings and efficiencies and stream linings, but the important thing to those of us in the office -- and presumably the other region's offices -- is that there are going to be job losses. We expect a lot of the job losses will be higher up -- there will be duplication of various positions, but nobody feels they are safe. We don't know when cuts will be, and we don't even know where this new amalgamated company will be based.
I feel particularly unsettled as my position was only "interim" to begin with. I've had the uncertainty that if the girl whose job I am doing wants to come back after maternity leave, then I would have to find my own way. Now it's impossible to know what will happen to me or to my job, cue random bouts of despair and almost sickening spells of anxiety and worry. I felt very fortunate to get this job, I felt so many times I had been passed over or fallen at the last hurdle when applying for jobs I could do so well -- this to me represented so much. Now I'm afraid it's all going to disappear again.
Up until now, I hadn't been directly or personally too affected by the now-official recession. Fuel costs have fallen by 25%; this meant I had more spare money. VAT was cut: again, more money for me. I was still getting paid the same. But of course it couldn't last forever. I was never unaffected, for months my older brother has been on the brink of bankruptcy -- to the point where my parents have given him all of their savings and more to keep him afloat. Finally he has had to give up ownership of his business, but luckily has escaped bankruptcy. So I was never completely unaffected -- just the same, when it's suddenly your own company, and you and your own colleagues looking at possible redundancy, you feel the impact.
I don't know why I thought I would get away unscathed. I've friends who have been made redundant two or three times in recent years, my own Mum has been made redundant at least twice -- although she usually manages to come back brighter. Which isn't bad for someone with a history of depression themselves.
Anyway. Without ending the post with thoughts of doom, gloom or the like I am pleased to report that having the girl's love and support makes a world of difference, and the next post should really be about valentine's day...
P.S. You haven't missed anything, this post doesn't have anything to do with Jupiter. I was just stuck for a title so I used a news headline.
I can report that my recent foray into not taking medication has ended. That is, after relying instead on vigorous exercise and strength of character, I have given and gone back. I was beginning to feel decidedly shit and unable to cope at times, so I decided enough was enough. Since I have restarted I still have my moments: short spells of despair, almost sickening bouts of worry and anxiety, but overall I am much better off. We have to admit that there is "something wrong" with me, and really there's no getting around it. It's a little depressing in itself to have to admit it. It might well be a brain 'chemical' thing -- some people are diabetic, or anaemic, and reliant on certain supplements of whatever kind. Perhaps I have a defective brain in a similar sort of way. For the record, I have begun to wonder when I am not taking my medication if previous medical professional diagnoses of bipolar disorder might not have been too wide of the mark. But either way, it doesn't matter.
Also in the news here this week is that despite every intention of leaving my body to medical science -- albeit while I am still very much alive and kicking -- has also met with failure. I was invited to attend a screening for a trial that would have paid me about two grand for my time, trialling a drug for Alzheimer's and ADD. But the time they wanted was about two weeks, and there was no way I could take it off work. This week I discovered that I have no holiday left whatsoever to take this tax year, and only have 13 days available to me to take between April and October. This means most likely that the time I spend in Peru I am going to have to take as unpaid leave -- I can consider that my own charitable contribution.
The obvious drawback of not being able to take part in a clinical drug trial is it is going to be a lot harder to earn money quickly. Possibly less unpleasant, maybe even safer, but more difficult.
I'm still resentful of my car needing £700+ worth of repairs at Christmas. It's no use crying over spilled milk, but I would never have chosen to spend that money frivolously -- not that keeping my car on the road is frivolous. But sometimes I think "I could have bought a great big television with that money, but I wouldn't have" or I think how I could fly to Barcelona and back like 6 times for that amount. Sometimes I go into a record shop just to browse, and I will pause over a CD -- I don't buy myself things often, I'll think. But then the idea of spending the money for no reason makes me feel ill, and I put it back. Like I say -- crying over it (like I did at the time, to my shame) doesn't change a thing, and the girl and I need a car for a whole host of reasons, so it was important. But that doesn't stop me resenting it. Stupid to resent an inanimate object, I know.
Speaking of work and earning money... Dedicated readers who have read my old posts, or longer term followers who have been with me for longer, may remember a post last October when I gleefully announced having got a job. I opened the champagne for dinner with the girl -- a special bottle I had been saving for when I got what I considered a "proper" job, a job that I wanted and wasn't just a stopgap, and that I felt was advancing my career. It was a year's contract, but a bloody good opportunity just the same. We remember? Good.
On Tuesday a notice went out on email to all office staff that there would be a briefing from the MD at 1430 in the conference room. Nobody was sure what it was about, but we were under no illusions: it wasn't going to be good news. I did speculate that perhaps with all the budget cuts and general "credit crunch" doom and gloom they would be announcing that in order to try and cheer up staff and raise morale they would be buying us an office kitten. Shockingly, this was not what the announcement was. In the minutes before the meeting, word got out that there was to be a merger. Nobody was quite sure whether to believe it, or what the details were. I then got blind-copied into an emailed press release from my head of PR. The release was going out to all trade press, announcing the merging of my company and a neighbouring region's.
There was lots of words like cost savings and efficiencies and stream linings, but the important thing to those of us in the office -- and presumably the other region's offices -- is that there are going to be job losses. We expect a lot of the job losses will be higher up -- there will be duplication of various positions, but nobody feels they are safe. We don't know when cuts will be, and we don't even know where this new amalgamated company will be based.
I feel particularly unsettled as my position was only "interim" to begin with. I've had the uncertainty that if the girl whose job I am doing wants to come back after maternity leave, then I would have to find my own way. Now it's impossible to know what will happen to me or to my job, cue random bouts of despair and almost sickening spells of anxiety and worry. I felt very fortunate to get this job, I felt so many times I had been passed over or fallen at the last hurdle when applying for jobs I could do so well -- this to me represented so much. Now I'm afraid it's all going to disappear again.
Up until now, I hadn't been directly or personally too affected by the now-official recession. Fuel costs have fallen by 25%; this meant I had more spare money. VAT was cut: again, more money for me. I was still getting paid the same. But of course it couldn't last forever. I was never unaffected, for months my older brother has been on the brink of bankruptcy -- to the point where my parents have given him all of their savings and more to keep him afloat. Finally he has had to give up ownership of his business, but luckily has escaped bankruptcy. So I was never completely unaffected -- just the same, when it's suddenly your own company, and you and your own colleagues looking at possible redundancy, you feel the impact.
I don't know why I thought I would get away unscathed. I've friends who have been made redundant two or three times in recent years, my own Mum has been made redundant at least twice -- although she usually manages to come back brighter. Which isn't bad for someone with a history of depression themselves.
Anyway. Without ending the post with thoughts of doom, gloom or the like I am pleased to report that having the girl's love and support makes a world of difference, and the next post should really be about valentine's day...
P.S. You haven't missed anything, this post doesn't have anything to do with Jupiter. I was just stuck for a title so I used a news headline.
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
On doctors
You know what I hate about going to the doctor's? Lots of things, actually.
The first is that you're usually sick when you go. Unless you're feeling hale and hearty and are just asking to have your passport application signed or something like that, it stands to reason you're probably going to be ill. But conversely, what I really hate about going to the doctor is the way that my symptoms seem to have an annoying habit of going into hiding when I actually get in there.
Lately, I have been coughing something ferocious. A couple of weeks back when I saw my brother and his family, my sister in law was complaining of an ear infection. I seem to have almost no resistance to Portsmouth germs, as when they're sick I usually follow a few days later. And sure enough, I noticed a familiar pain, right on time. I ignored it, like I do most things, and after a while it became a sort of sore throat too, along with the customary blocked nose.
Still, nothing I can't pretend isn't really there. I'm quite skilled at that, pretending. Then came the cough. Which has led to coughing fits in the middle of the night where you wonder if they are going to end before your oesophagus splits, and that taste in your mouth almost as bad as caffeine-free diet coke.
Grudgingly, I accepted that if left alone a chest infection was more likely to develop into something nasty as it was to magically clear up all its own. So I booked an appointment.
I might complain about the NHS, but I am wholly against the idea that the wealthy should get a better standard of health care. I am also glad that I can call in the middle of the day and get an appointment to see a doctor after work the following night -- and have a choice of appointment times. I am also glad that I don't have to pay to see a doctor.
Naturally, I have been finding it hard to sleep and continued coughing all day -- except today I was slightly glad that I wouldn't feel like I was wasting the doctor's time. Walking down the corridor to the doctor's office, I fought the urge to cough (I worried it would seem like I was doing it for attention, or laying it on a bit thick "oh, I'm so ill>"). Once in the office, the need to cough has gone. I explain my symptoms, the doctor listens to my back in various places, listens to my chest, asks me to cough while listening to my chest, and eventually concludes that she might be able to hear something, so I could have a chest infection.
Where the relentless, choking, racking, coughing fits are when you need them, I don't know -- but they certainly weren't in that office, and she probably just thought I was a hypochondriac and gave me a prescription just to get me out of the door.
I expect the doctors earn commission on prescriptions.
The first is that you're usually sick when you go. Unless you're feeling hale and hearty and are just asking to have your passport application signed or something like that, it stands to reason you're probably going to be ill. But conversely, what I really hate about going to the doctor is the way that my symptoms seem to have an annoying habit of going into hiding when I actually get in there.
Lately, I have been coughing something ferocious. A couple of weeks back when I saw my brother and his family, my sister in law was complaining of an ear infection. I seem to have almost no resistance to Portsmouth germs, as when they're sick I usually follow a few days later. And sure enough, I noticed a familiar pain, right on time. I ignored it, like I do most things, and after a while it became a sort of sore throat too, along with the customary blocked nose.
Still, nothing I can't pretend isn't really there. I'm quite skilled at that, pretending. Then came the cough. Which has led to coughing fits in the middle of the night where you wonder if they are going to end before your oesophagus splits, and that taste in your mouth almost as bad as caffeine-free diet coke.
Grudgingly, I accepted that if left alone a chest infection was more likely to develop into something nasty as it was to magically clear up all its own. So I booked an appointment.
I might complain about the NHS, but I am wholly against the idea that the wealthy should get a better standard of health care. I am also glad that I can call in the middle of the day and get an appointment to see a doctor after work the following night -- and have a choice of appointment times. I am also glad that I don't have to pay to see a doctor.
Naturally, I have been finding it hard to sleep and continued coughing all day -- except today I was slightly glad that I wouldn't feel like I was wasting the doctor's time. Walking down the corridor to the doctor's office, I fought the urge to cough (I worried it would seem like I was doing it for attention, or laying it on a bit thick "oh, I'm so ill>"). Once in the office, the need to cough has gone. I explain my symptoms, the doctor listens to my back in various places, listens to my chest, asks me to cough while listening to my chest, and eventually concludes that she might be able to hear something, so I could have a chest infection.
Where the relentless, choking, racking, coughing fits are when you need them, I don't know -- but they certainly weren't in that office, and she probably just thought I was a hypochondriac and gave me a prescription just to get me out of the door.
I expect the doctors earn commission on prescriptions.
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