2017 has so far not been the healthiest year for us here. Piano Man rushed home from his New Year’s Eve gig, threw up and spent the rest of the day in bed. I knew there was a problem when I encountered my salad bowl in the downstairs loo at 7am the next morning. TMI? Sorry.
I am writing this post in the quiet of a house plagued with sick children. Max went to bed at 6.30 last night after having ‘done a sick’ and is still there now, 15 hours later. Sam is currently going through something yucky. It might be teething, a peak in his reflux or just general horrid grot that is part of the 7-month old territory. He was delighted to be put down for his 9am nap (at 8.35).
As for me, I’m properly ill. It’s ok, I’m totally functioning. I’m still able to do the night feeds and be up at 6 for a quick carpet workout (that’s not a euphemism) before the daily grind begins again. But I’m doing it all through the yellow-tinged pallour of someone who is very much not at their best.
I was diagnosed with an overactive thyroid at the start of the year after visiting the doctor twice complaining of feeling, well, really shit. Imagine week 9 of pregnancy where you’re knackered and feeling sick yet needing to eat quavers and cheese sandwiches every hour. That was me. But I wasn’t 9 weeks pregnant (or any weeks pregnant, I finally resolved after peeing on 7 sticks). If that wasn’t enough to contend with, my eyes took on a strange googliness (that’s a word, right?) which I have since learned is a classic symptom for graves disease. Great!
At this point Piano Man stepped in and we used his work medical insurance to secure me an appointment with an endocrinologist (my NHS appointment was still over 2 months away). It was when my husband then took a day off work to come with me to the hospital that I knew I was Not Well.
It’s kind of ok now. I am on medication, and not wanting to simultaneously eat my arm and fall asleep on it. My eyes are less googly though still sore. Make up is sadly a no go so there is little chance of hiding my jaded skin and bags-on-top-of-the bags.
The medication and knowledge that I am being ‘dealt with’ (I have follow up appointments booked in for a month’s time) are keeping me going. Day to day, I’m fine.
But for a few days at the start of the year I wasn’t. And when you’re parenting young children, that is tough. I was lucky, Piano Man was able to take off a day of work when I was really at my worst, I begged, borrowed and stole a couple of extra nursery days and my dad came up to help out. Some parents don’t have these back up plans, there is no reserve when they fall, wounded on the pitch.
If that’s you, soldiering on through rivers of snot, a banging head, waves of nausea or whatever your ailment may be. Keep going. You’re needed because you’re loved. And love is a pretty decent medicine (as is gin).