As I sat with my a towel over my head breathing in steam laced with Olbas oil I thought “this wasn’t in the plan”.
The plan was; last Thursday would be Noo’s last day at school. School had treats planned and a goodbye card. There was Christmas event after school, it would be a nice ending. Meanwhile at home the house would be emptied by removal people. We would camp out in the empty house and on Friday morning drive South to meet the removal van at the new house. The next few days would be a mixture of unpacking and exploring our new city. Finding new places to interest Noo with the aim of creating a sense of excitement about our new home. That was the plan.
As it turned out. Noo woke up on Thursday morning with a temperature and clearly wasn’t able to go to school. We popped him in a corner with a laptop and some DVD’s. Some of the plan went as it should. Emptying the house and driving Southwards. Except instead of an excited little boy we had a sleepy little boy in a ridiculously over stuffed car. Stuffed with items I felt too ‘special’ or too ‘essential’ to trust to the removal van. So I travelled 150 miles with a large box filled with contents of our fridge on my knees, the only place left in the car for it. On Saturday I woke up feeling awful and since then Noo and I have largely lived in our pj’s watching endless DVD’s. Hacking coughs and runny noses.
At the moment it feels as if we are living in a holiday cottage, except with our things. Our things mostly in boxes. It’s all a bit overwhelming.
The exploring has been to a supermarket for more Capol and Lemsips. Yesterday, we had a family trip to a Hospital Walk in Service, a slightly emotional me presented a listless little boy and explained we have no GP. We are now in possession of antibiotics and the hope that things will improve from here and we can get back to the plan. I’ll keep you posted.
I am a knackered carcass, a husk of my normal self, a hollow without the gram. My battery is on red. I’m poorly ill and feeling sorry for myself. Can you tell?
Firstly, I have to admit that despite feeling ‘a bit ill’, I did dose myself up on lemsip and go out on Saturday evening. Social opportunities are few and far between and I wasn’t prepared miss cocktails, food and friends. When I woke on Sunday, I knew I wasn’t hung over. I was ill and I felt enormously sorry for myself.
My illness isn’t something that would interest a GP. It isn’t life threatening, but it’s enough to keep be in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering about all the things I could be doing if I had the energy. I’m improving and I can now watch day time TV and use the laptop. I have a ‘bad’ chest and a cough, my energy is all gone.
The thing is, I find that when I am ill no one feels as sorry for me as I do. I want validation of my condition. A sympathetic affirmation of my obvious illness. There is an element of care from other people in the house, obviously, but not to the depths of my preference. My care here is more practical; preparation of hot drinks and food. My son did sing me a two-line song composed by himself along the lines of “Get well soon Mummy”. “I hope you are better” (there wasn’t much of a tune but it was very sweet). Mr Noo has been expertly making me lemsips, until he had to go to work, then I had to make my own.
It’s not enough. I want someone to nod sympathetically and be nice, extra nice. To furrow their brow in concern. Pat my knee and say “poor you” and “oh dear” – that sort of thing. With time on my hands, I’ve been thinking. This sort of support is needed. Particularly for mothers who regularly provide such service and yet when their time of need comes there is a significant gap in sympathy.
I’m calling on the Government to act. The perfect person for the role would be someone withy sympathy associated skills. Someone who already knits or has the ability to bake. I’m not sure it is ideal for unemployed teenagers. I appreciate in times of austerity a fleet of nation wide “sympathy officers” (I’m still working on a job title) might not been seen as a priority. I can’t guarantee it will save the NHS money, it probably won’t but it would make me feel better. Woe is me.
When I start my on-line petition will you sign?
Hello it’s Gemma! I feel as if I’ve been gone from here for ages, but possibly that is just a reaction to blogging everyday for a month and any hour not consumed with blogging now feels wrong. I did at one bleak hour pledge that after NaBloPoMo I would retire to a dark room with a candle and a book and shun all modern technology. How attractive that now seems, except forget the book and the candle. I am back; blogging, guilt ridden and slightly knackered.
Noo developed another ear infection last week, it was only a virus the GP assured me, take Capol and go home. Hooray for Capol. We set up to ride it out. When child sickness breaks out here we quickly fall into ritual behaviour. One parent is sent to the shops for supplies of things a sick child might be tempted to eat and back-up Capol. I know the health guidelines but you never have enough back-up Capol and we like to move it from room to room along with the child. Watching TV; just pop the Capol on the side. Bedtime; nice beside display of Neurofen and standard Capol with spoons and a bit of paper to note the time of various doses. There is a comfort in having Capol to hand. As parents we seem to become a bit self neglecting; PJ’s all day, getting dressed seemed pointless. I ate a lot of chocolate rather than proper food and drank a lot of tea. Noo barely slept and neither did we. When Noo is ill he sleeps in our bed, the other parent disappears to the spare room upstairs. Once my small child lays down to sleep in a standard size double bed he takes on the portions of an American Football player and fills the space. I cling to the very edge of the bed and nurture a resentment for the parent in the attic. The night circles begin, settling child, eventually settling self. Being woken by crying child, administrating Capol, soothing the child and waiting for the Capol to kick in, settling the child. Experiencing the phenomena of being wide awake and yet exhausted. Settling self. Being woken by crying child….
The days passed in a blur of sick child. Cbeebies and bedroom walls being the visual stimulation. Noo cried most of the day and most of night. I began to think he may turn pink from excessive consumption of Capol. I returned to the GP a shell of my former self and I almost cried when I tried to explain things, 4 nights of little or no sleep and days filled with a sobbing child. I didn’t think it was a bloody virus. Apparently, it’s an infection, hooray for antibiotics.
We should have gone South to see my parents, I blogged about it here On Friday I stared mirror at the blanked eyed wreck of my reflection and looked at the skinny, pale and unusually quiet small boy beside me and realised that none of us had the stamina for it. My Dad is so disappointed. I am now shovelling guilt for England and wondering why there are so few days before Christmas in which to shoe horn in another trip. Changes in Mr Noo’s working pattern now force some weekend working. My child is about to turn 4 and a party organsied. In the meantime I am furiously on-line Christmas and birthday shopping which further prevents leaving the house in case a delivery arrives. I may keel over from lack of sunlight and all I want for Christmas is new PJ’s.
What is it with this year’s winter bugs, are they more virulent or is it me? I’ve been ill now for 5 weeks, first with flu and then with the never-ending cold and ear ache. It feels like day 107 in the Big Brother House, series 2 when everyone was a bit dull and nothing much happened, endlessly. Everyday the same, wake up, feel rubbish (boring) go to bed.
It’s the lack of energy and so enthusiasm that’s getting ‘on my nerves’ (which is the polite term I’ve chosen to use here) . I am becoming ready meal Queen as that’s all the half-arse-ed effort I can make. I meet with friends and I am not fully engaged. I am struggling through work with half the effort. I am ducking out of interaction, I’ve been largely absent from twitter in the last few days as I just don’t feel like I’ve got anything interesting to contribute. The worst bit is I feel like I am half parenting, just not fully there.
I know it’s boring to moan, I’m very bored with moaning. But hey, this is my blog and might as well channel it somewhere.
In the meantime, I’m propping myself up with packets and packets of biscuits for sugar rush and ‘cheer me ups’.
Spring – where are you?
Me and Noo caught the overnight ferry to Sickville at the weekend. Anyone unfamiliar; Sickville is the capital of Sick Island. We’ve been marooned here all week, mostly hanging out on the Beach of the Weak where there is a sofa and a telly to stare at. The telly appears to be stuck on Cbeebies, despite my protests that ‘This Morning’ would really help me. The weather is rubbish, food doesn’t taste good and we would like to go home.
On the upside Mr Noo came along for the ride, despite feeling fine, and has been the perfect Man Friday, and when I’ve got fed up on the Beach I’ve been able to spent time with my laptop.
The downside (aside from illness) is that Nursery had to be cancelled (to read the whole sorry sage click here and here), which I am hoping will not be a set back….. (but I may be hallucinating on that one as the immortal line; I don’t want to… has been uttered more than once).
Lemsip is this weeks tipple of choice. Be pleased you are not here. Hope to be home soon. Love, Helloitsgemma x
Unusually, we are at a playgroup. Little Noo attends several playgroups with his Childminder but me and him tend to do different stuff. He’s a veteran and he makes straight for a big box of toys and settles himself next to a child. The child in question is consumed with cold, his eyes are red, his nose is running, his mouth is slightly a jar, he’s coughing and spluttering and whining. I’m taking this in, subtly I think, but probably not that subtly; ”He’s miserable and full of cold” his mummy announces. I nod sympathetically and smile a bit weakly, but actually I am looking for an exit. Little Noo and the child are eyeing each other up, they are each holding a toy, the poorly child begins sucking his toy. I don’t see the child, I see a huge bottle of Capol. I close my eyes and there’s a dark vision; it’s the middle of the night, everyone’s very tired, no one is sleeping, there’s coughing and sniffling and Capol…. it’s horrible. I admonish myself. Shake my head and open my eyes. The toys have been swapped. “The toys have been swapped” I almost shreik. Poorly child is now sucking the toy Little Noo was holding. There is a flicker of interest in Little Noos face, I can see he is considering the sucking option, he looks down at the toy he’s now holding. I am about to grab the toy but to my relief he is distracted by the wrestling match that has now developed between mummy and poorly child. She’s brandishing a tissue, he’s leaning his head back and pushing her hand away, “Noooooo” screeches the child. I decide this is an opportune moment to remind Little Noo he may need a wee. In the toilet a vigorous hand washing session begins. I catch sight of myself in the mirror above the basin, I am a bit ashamed. A figure appears on my shoulder it’s not a devil and it’s not an angel, it looks suspiciously like my mother “you can’t escape colds, all children get colds, you have to expose them to build their immune systems” it creaks in my ear. “Yes, but not now” I flap my hand about and it’s gone.
Returning the to playgroup, the mummy and poorly child are now in pitch battle the child is all flapping arms and legs, voices are raised, the whining at a high pitch, the child is being hauled out of the room.
Little Noo is stood slightly behind me we are both slightly awe-struck by the exit, as are most people, try as you might you can never ignore these kind of exits, it’s that ‘there for the Grace of God go I’ moment.
Little Noo sneezes, my head spins round in a slightly satanic manner, he sneezes again. We are doomed.