I will survive

Oh dear.
Oh dear, oh dear.
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Just three more days of civilisation before I embark on a short* camping trip.

My friends have been encouraging me to join them in this so-called tenting joy for a few years and I have, until now, managed to point blank refuse politely decline.

The reasons I have declined are manifold. They're not all strictly MS related, although there's a fair bit of that. They are:

• no sleep. Which to most people would just be a bit of a downer, but for me means trouble speaking and thinking. I don't want to be a incoherent quivering mass under the canvas.
• pain. The chronic stuff that you can sort of live with because that's just how it is, but which is likely to swing into full-on performance action after a night on a blow-up mattress.
• the cold. Yes, I am aware we are on track for the hottest summer SINCE RECORDS BEGAN but this doesn't cater for sleeping outside under a thin covering of fabric.
• grumpiness leading to lack of friends. Grrrrr, I'm not happy when I'm tired, cold and pained. I am concerned that my friends are about to see the worst of me.
• the bugs. Don't mind creepy crawlies generally speaking, just don't want to share my pyjamas with them.
• no sleep. Again. (We're aiming to go for two nights. For some insane reason.)
• just general MS faff. You know, the eating around meds thing, the timing of the meds while somewhere out of your comfort zone thing, the remembering the meds in the first place thing. The lack of familiarity leading to cogfog blundering, the anxiety of forgetting stuff - pants, blankets, husband, the random spasmy nonsense that lands from nowhere and might result in one of those tin dish things (or whatever people eat from when they're camping) being accidentally thrown at nearby children.
• toilets. I'm concerned.

However, and I am repeating this like it's an emotional lifebelt, it might be fine.

I could be a camping convert; it's a possibility. I am slightly excited by the fact we're borrowing my in-laws' tent which hasn't been used since 90s and has curtains and little windows in it.

The friends who invited me have pointed out that I'll have cute melamine cups and plates to play with and a little camping stove to make tea on. They know my weaknesses.

But mainly it's for my daughter who has never been camping and who really, really wants to go. She'll be able to play with her friends and have a little taste of the (almost) wild.

So, for her sake, I'm packing up duvets and painkillers and hot water bottles and repeating to myself: It might be fine. It might be fine. It might be fine.

And if it's not, we're then heading up to the glorious Lake District two days after, which is acting as the water-filled light at the end of the earthy camping tunnel.

:: I will survive by Gloria Gaynor

*but really, not quite short enough