Shingle bell rock

It's been a busy old time of late - hence the utter lack of blogs for December.

Not only has work hit a peak of frenzy, but general home life has too. 

There really has been no hope of resting, even though this is exactly what my MS team have been advising for a while.

They know they're right, I know they're right - and that rightness has now been proven in ANOTHER BOUT OF RUDDY SHINGLES.

Happy Christmas to me.

But I have now broken up from work and am going to try my very, very best to stop.

Not least because I don't want to face another disappointed phone call from my MS nurse.

Never mind Santa, it's her naughty list I really don't want to be on.

So festive greetings from me for a calm, restful, healthy and happy Christmas.

And a happy new year. Although goodness knows what it holds if the last two are anything to go by.

:: Jingle bell rock by Bobby Helms

Counting sheep

Bloody hell, MS.

What, what, what is the point in enforcing fatigue if you also insist on insomnia.

Grumbles to self. At 2am. And 3am. And, obviously, 4.

:: Counting sheep by Airhead

Love rollercoaster

Oh good grief, it appears that I am living in a medical Groundhog Day.

Lymphocytes won't shift in the right direction, so more blood tests booked, more stress, thereby exacerbating MS symptoms and more hanging on the ruddy phone.

And to top it all off, I have Fucking Shingles* for the second time this year.

Presumably a gift from the Cladribine fairy. Despite the fact I can't actually take the Cladribine because my lymphocytes are stubbornly refusing to rise.

It's all so unutterably tedious and, also, faintly unbelievable when it comes to describing the interactions between MS on its own, MS drugs, Covid  booster jab and flu vaccination.

1) I have MS and all the shit that entails.

2) To try and prevent the shit, I have to take the Cladribine.

3) The Cladribine smashes my immune system, leaving me open to varying nasties.

4) Examples of which are Fucking Shingles* and also Covid and flu. 

5) We have vaccines against these last two. But to get any use from these vaccines, my lymphocytes have to be at a decent level.

6) Which they aren't because I have to take Cladribine.

7) Which is meant to help my MS and all the shit that entails.

They're so reliant on each other that to an outsider it just sounds like utter gobbledegook.

To be honest, I'm beginning to despair ever getting out of the low-lympocyte-loop.

It's like being on the world's crappiest funfair ride and I feel very tempted to bang on the payment booth and demand a refund.

:: Love rollercoaster by Red Hot Chili Peppers

* Medical term

Supermassive black hole

It's MRI time on Friday.

Or at least I hope it is, last time I wrote about an upcoming appointment it got cancelled, so I may do better to be quieter.

Anyway, it's due at least.

As medical investigations go, I don't mind an MRI. It's not painful and if I'm lucky I'll get to listen to my choice of songs.

I have an MRI CD which, thanks to repeated forays into the tube, has enabled me to choose a song list of tunes that can compete with the metallic bangs and crunches.

Some even complement it. Or so I like to think while I'm lying there, supine and VERY VERY, still.

(Just thought, will I have to wear a mask this time? That'll be a new one to accommodate under the face cage. Better check my letter.)

Sometimes I'm quite optimistic going into an MRI. This time I am not. I have clearly deteriorated over the past two years and I feel quite knocked by a suspected sensory relapse from a couple of weeks ago.

So I'm:

1/ anticipating new lesions

2/ wondering what this will mean for my next round of Cladribine (which I currently can't take anyway as my lymphocytes are rudely refusing to elevate); and 

3/ contemplating the horror of the scan showing black hole(s), which in MS signify irreversible damage.

Although I like to try and be chirpy about these things, I also need to be realistic.

To be honest, I think the best I can hope for from the experience this time round is a bit of a lie down.

:: Supermassive black hole by Muse

You spin me round (like a record)

Anyone gripped by the cliffhanger of my last post (neuro appt shenanigans) will be thrilled to know it had a positive outcome.

Well, positive-ish.

The face-to-face meeting got rescheduled and I saw my neuro for 30 minutes last week.

Thirty minutes in two-and-a-half years. Worth the wait.

After the usual comedy tests (noticeably worse results than last time) I discussed my permanent MS Hug which is now driving me insane.

So I got prescribed some new drugs to try and manage the pain of the hug. Hospital pharmacy didn't have them in stock, so an order was placed.

All good. Except I then developed the worst flare of the hug I've had in some time. Really painful, really exhausting, so much so that I can't sit upright and have had to bow out of work for the past seven days.

This situation is shit - suspect new lesion (lesions?) which may indicate Cladribine isn't working, it's incredibly painful and I'm having to deal with the self-employment panic of a) no pay and b) will they see this as the thin end of the wedge and just decide to get rid.

And the drugs prescribed? Did a bit of Googling at home so I knew how they'd work. During the course of which, I discovered they affect white blood cells.

Confirmed this with MS nurse so I can't bloody take them.

And this, despite the fact neuro and I had had a pretty lengthy discussion about battered lymphocytes and the importance of upping them to enable me to take Cladribine again. Currently they're not recovered enough to allow me to take the second year course.

All in all, not an overly positive experience. But! I have got an appointment through for an MRI. Which has also necessitated planning around my next raft of screening tests involving endless phone calls and near-begging to get a blood appt.

Good job I was forced into taking time off work to be able to deal with all the above, while strapping hot water bottles to my torso and back and lying on the floor.

Sometimes MS feels completely like spinning plates with one hand tied behind your back. In the dark.

:: You spin me round (like a record) by Dead or Alive

Doctor! Doctor!

It's been a while, and there's a reason - the utter mayhem of work which has led to a recent run of doing 13 out of 14 days.

This has, somewhat inevitably, led to neuropathic pain, spasms and crushing fatigue.

I have had to finish work halfway through today because I just can't do any more.

Ugh.

As it happens, I'm due to see my neurologist tomorrow. It'll be the first face-to-face appointment in more than two years.

I have, as usual, a host of questions. Not least about whether I need to be considering the words 'secondary' and 'progressive.'

But time isn't kind in MS and it might be that I don't want to hear the answers anyway.

*Update: appointment was cancelled, via text, night before I was due to go. Clearly the memo was missed on avoiding stress with MS. Back on the waiting list.*

:: Doctor! Doctor! by the Thompson Twins

Blowin' in the wind

I'm back in hospital tomorrow, having my next round of tests to see I can take my second course of Cladribine.

Almost unbelievable that a year has passed since that first appointment.

But time does indeed fly.

My lymphocytes need to have recovered enough to allow me to do this, to at least 0.8, I think, but I will get the details tomorrow as prescribing parameters may have changed over the past 12 months.

My last bloods in June put me at 0.73, so, assuming the 0.8 is still correct, we shall see if my poor body has managed to do what it needs to do to get over the line.

But even then, it's only the first hurdle in the wonderful world of MS drugs.

Can I take them is not the question. Really, the question is will they work?

And the answer to that is currently wafting on the breeze.

:: Blowin' in the wind by Bob Dylan

Army of me

Do you sometimes look back on a period of time and wonder how you had the hours in the day and the energy to get through all the things in it?

If so, you'll understand the slightly shell shocked feeling of having got to the other side.

Even more so if you have a body that insists on fighting you every step of the way.

It's been two weeks of non-stop work, requiring long hours, lengthy meetings, last-minute requests and constant demands.

And in the middle of it all, my friend's funeral. Which was a very touching event.

It has, in short, been exhausting. And one of those times my husband thinks I have an army of myself stashed away to be able to command to deal with all the tasks.

I don't. But I'm pretty sure we all wish we did on occasion - foot soldiers to pick up the slack and captains to make the decisions.

However, all the work got done (some of it in an eye patch due to insane temperatures flaring my existing eye damage) and I'm now on leave for two weeks.

Company, stand at ease.

:: Army of me by Bjork

Footnote for this week's artist - I once won a nightclub competition at university for looking like Bjork. Anyone reading who may know me in real life can judge whether that was a fair assessment, or if the dark of the club and the drunkenness of the crowd may have played into the decision. Either way, I won a pretty dreadful bottle of fizz and then spent quite a few months of being referred to as Bjork around campus. There are far worse comparisons to be had.

Sailing on the seven seas

Well, what a lovely week of weather.

Sadly, we've spent it inside working, but last night we were let loose and went out!

But not just anywhere - we went out to a FLOATING GIN PALACE!!

(Alright, our friends had hired a canal boat and were adventuring along the waterways near to where we live, but they had said booze on board, therefore the description stands.)

And it was lovely - not only to see friends in actual person - but also to be out in the glorious weather taking things very easy at a top speed of less-than-walking-pace.

And because we drove around an hour to meet them, because the weather was beautiful and because we were on the water, it felt almost like a mini holiday.

And now it's the weekend and the sun is still blazing so the paddling pool will be out.

Yes, we have bits of work to do, and yes, there's always a huge list of house jobs, but the floating gin palace vibe has set me up for the weekend and I intend to try and channel that spirit (pun intended) for the next couple of days.

:: Sailing on the seven seas by OMD

Titanium

It's Disability Pride Month this month.

I'll be honest, I wasn't aware disabled people had a month in which to be proud, and I've been one for 17 years.

Either this shows a staggering lack of awareness on my part, or a larger one in society.

I'll leave that thought hanging.

But I also discovered we disabled people have our own pride flag, and I rather like it.

It's a little bit superhero, it's a little bit 80s retro, it's very slightly Bridget Riley. And all those are good things.

The meaning behind the design, by Ann Magill, is broken down into these parts:

Black background - a colour of mourning, to represent those who have suffered from Abelist violence, also a colour of rebellion and protest.

Zigzag/lightening bolt - how disabled people must navigate barriers and the creativity in doing so.

The five colours - the variety of needs and disabilities (mental, intellectual & developmental, invisible & undiagnosed, physical and sensory.)

The parallel stripes - solidarity and difference within the disability community.

So, now I know. And I shall fly the flag (metaphorically, I suspect, not literally.)

And I shall also take a moment to recognise that we should have a month of our own. A month to recognise and celebrate what we live with - every single day.

Because disability is with us for life. And that is nothing to be ashamed of. 

The ways in which we continue to live our lives - despite the hell our bodies throw at us and the varying and vastly misunderstood restrictions we face - is absolutely something to be proud of. 

:: Titanium by David Guetta ft Sia

We are all made of stars

A good few years ago, I went to a fatigue management course for my MS.

I didn't come away with any great insights, but I did come away with a new friend.

We continued to meet up after the course ended, and shared the frustrations of MS, the ups and downs in our lives and quite a lot of tea and cake.

This week I learned that she had suddenly died. She was just 45.

While she had MS, she had also been later diagnosed with epilepsy. As if one of those things wasn't enough to cope with.

And it was a large seizure that took her. 

The only thing I can hope is that it was quick and she is now somewhere at peace. Surrounded by her family and the cats, cakes and flowers that she had loved.

:: We are all made of stars by Moby

Stay

We've just had a sunny few days in Stratford, a place we absolutely love.

Usually it's just hubby and me making a day trip of it. Occasionally we'll manage an overnighter with theatre thrown in.

But this time it was a couple of nights with our daughter too, so slightly fewer tea shops and slightly more buying of near-teenage must haves.

It was a lovely chance to spend some time together that wasn't disturbed by work worry or house faff or general tedious admin. There was a lot of laughing.

The last time we went was just before the pandemic really took hold and the first lockdown came into force.

Back then I was reflecting on how my MS had moved on and, among the laughter and activity, this trip brought similar comparisons.

I know I'm progressing. I can tell by the amount of streets I can manage without a break, by the number of Tudor museum steps I can climb easily and by the help I now need to mount the huge Ferris wheel which offers spectacular views of Stratford.

What I don't want though, is for one of my favourite places to become the yardstick by which I track my deterioration.

However, rather than avoid it, we will continue going to Stratford, continue drinking ludicrous amounts of tea in its many cafes and continue making my way through its familiar streets.

MS won't stop, I know this. But if I can help Stratford stay as one of my happy places, then I will concentrate my limited energy on doing that.

:: Stay by Shakespeare's Sister

My silver lining

I'm having one of those horrible periods of worrying about a work thing.

Made somehow worse because I'm actually on leave this week and I'd really been looking forward to the break after being unwell with UTI-Covid-jab-reaction-shingles triple whammy.

But instead, I'm worrying.

I can quite easily get suckered down a wormhole of worry when it comes to work, despite my husband patiently talking me through why I perhaps don't need to.

But worry I do. I always have.

And I worry about work in a way that I don't when it comes to MS.

I will obsess about work - should I have done this, should I not have done that. What impact will my decisions have, what reaction will it cause. What if, what if, what if.

I obsess much less about MS.

I have often pondered about this difference - after all, of the two, it's MS that's with me longer and will hit me harder.

Perhaps that's the crux of it, perhaps it's almost too big to deal with and so out of my control, that worrying seems almost pointless.

I don't know. Perhaps the worrying about work is actually a really helpful distraction from the worrying about a cruel and relentless disease from which there is currently no escape.

Ugh.

So when put like that, perhaps I should view this current work worry as actually a (still quite rubbish) type of shiny silver lining, deflecting my attention from what is actually the much bigger issue.

:: My silver lining by First Aid Kit

Linger

In between last entry and this, I have managed to develop a UTI, swiftly followed by flipping shingles.

This is not my happy place.

The UTI was (hopefully) dealt with by antibiotics because, as anyone with MS knows, the two really do not mix.

The shingles though? GAH.

I knew that starting Cladribine meant they were likely to be a risk. And, when finishing work on Monday and getting ready for bed, I found a suspicious-looking rash across my stomach, this was my first thought.

So, next morning photos emailed to GP and neurologist have resulted in a diagnosis and antivirals.

Due to MS plus Cladribine, my neurologist has recommended a double course of antivirals so I'm currently swallowing what appear to be horse pills five times a day for fourteen days.

Feeling generally rubbish, as might be expected, as well as in a fair bit of pain. Although, weirdly, quite familiar pain as it's all the burney-stingy-sitting-on-nerves pain that MS has prepared me for so well. And so bloody thoroughly.

My main concern during this has been work and letting people down.

While what should be my main concern during this (as work has pointed out) is my health.

But it is so very, very hard to deal with this because every bit of time off work (and I had a few days recently when reacting to the Covid jab) means increased fear of being viewed as a burden, or not worthy of employing - which I already worry about as a disabled worker.

Added to which, I am currently a contractor, so don't have the security of other employees.

But panicking about all the above is not, the rational part of me knows, the best way to help myself feel better.

So for now it's a case of chugging down the (massive) tablets and hoping that neither the guilt, nor the nerve pain, lingers longer than I can face.

Pictured are the far more pleasant memorial shingles on Dobby's beach in Freshwater East. Fans of Harry Potter will know this is where the loyal elf took his final breath. We visited last summer - strangely emotional for a fictional character.

:: Linger by The Cranberries

Wrapped up in books

Yes! Friday off!

Spending it with endless pots of tea and piles of comforting books, dressed in a deeply appropriate t-shirt.

Oh, the absolute joy.

 

:: Wrapped up in books by Belle and Sebastian

I know him so well

It's been MS Awareness week in the UK, so time to share again my own hugely sophisticated diagram of how it affects me.

I haven't had time to update it, but if I had, would be including a permanent MS hug and a reduced ability to walk.

Sigh.

Also, despite this week's song choice, I don't see my MS as a 'him' - or indeed a 'her.'

Just as some sort of malevolent creature hell bent on wreaking as much havoc as possible.

And, unfortunately, I do know it so well.

:: I know him so well by Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson

Smokers outside the hospital doors

It's been an eventful couple of weeks.

My reaction to the vaccine continued, until last Thursday I was advised by my GP to go to A&E.

Turns out my symptoms (persistent headache, weakness, off-balance, nausea) were close enough to the warning signs of a rare blood clot that they didn't want to take any chances.

So, with sandwiches, water and mask dutifully packed, I was dropped at the doors.

Eight hours and a series of quite wonderful doctors and nurses later, I was discharged.

Bloods had been taken, cannula inserted (and removed) and CT had been done. Everything looked fine.

I'd been given the double check of a scan as although my bloods looked ok, the other symptoms gave the doctor pause for thought.

In the end, as the CT was clear, it was put down to MS symptoms.

I had to let everyone know my medical history and this was greeted with varying responses by medical staff - nonchalance, sympathy, interest and the obligatory 'you look well.' 

Which was actually unexpected on this occasion, considering I was being wheeled to a CT scanner with a rapidly bruising cannula insertion in my hand at the time.

When all was done and dusted, I made my way to the entrance, waiting for my lift home.

Once there, peering out the window at those souls brave/desperate enough to go out in the chilly evening air for a cigarette, I was joined (at the required social distance) by an older chap.

A few pleasantries exchanged as we waited for our respective lifts before he asked me if I was likely to need to come back.

This, in turn, led onto a health history exchange, and the discovery that he appeared to know a surprising amount of people with MS.

Some were doing 'very well', some were 'struggling' and one was 'dead within three years.'

I'm pretty hardened to this stuff now, but good lord, why would you share this example with someone? 

Do people not notice, not associate, not care?

Or do they just start down one road, realise with horror what they're about to say, but be utterly unable to stop their mouths forming the words?

I don't know. Maybe I should have asked him. But it's a bit awkward isn't it?

Moments later his lift turned up and off he went.

Leaving me slightly nonplussed but reflecting that if you're going to be casually reminded of your mortality, is there anywhere more appropriate than at the doors of a hospital?

:: Smokers outside the hospital doors by Editors

Coming around again

Had the Covid jab.

Felt mildly hungover for a day, tired the next then BAM!! full-on side effects which felt suspiciously like a relapse for five full days.

If there's anything people with MS don't need, it's a reminder of just how shit a relapse feels when they are simply taking something that is meant to be helping.

Crushing fatigue, completely off-balance, pain flare. And bloody MS hug which has never really buggered off, but came back with avengence.

I was forced to give in and take time off work.

Reported my reaction to my MS team. They'd had similar feedback from a few patients. Others had been fine - would be fascinated to see if there are any patterns to this.

But in the meantime, it was back to the well-practised relapse protocol of bed, limited movement and Radio 4 Extra to see me through the days.

Obviously not looking forward to my second jab, but, equally obviously, will be having it.

At least I had my two fuzzy nursemaids watching over me.

Coming around again by Carly Simon

Hit me with your best shot

It's been a manic fortnight - work has been 8-7, five-days a week. I've been called for jury service, I've done a randomised Covid test and I've got a vaccine slot booked.

Plus admin appears to be coming out of our ears for daughter's school needs and extra-curricular planning.

I've not worked at this intensity for quite some time and I am absolutely feeling the effects.

It's a straight-up fight between being so exhausted I want to weep and being proud of the fact I've got through things.

Not necessarily a healthy balance.

I've pulled on almost every reserve of energy I have during the week and then had to dredge further at the weekend for all the other stuff.

At the minute I'm keeping fingers crossed that my request to defer jury service is upheld. Just don't fancy risking my ropey health in a pandemic courtroom, much as I would like to fulfill my 12 Angry Men duty.

Other things taking my energy are the carrying out of a randomised Covid test, sent through the post and couriered back. Not a massive deal really, just yet more organisation. 

And then there's the good news of a jab - but not without the inevitable MS admin of double checking with nurse (off sick) and having to therefore relay questions to busy neurologist.

Checking views on how useful it may or may not be with depleted lymphocyte levels and then weighing that up against risk of not having the jab - on both personal protection and general vaccine supply levels.

In the end, I've decided to have it at this juncture, even if my lymphocytes may not be in tip top condition. And, all being well, it will happen next week.

Hoping for a (relatively) effective outcome of the best shot we have to get our lives back to some kind of normal.

:: Hit me with your best shot by ADONA (I know Pat Benatar's is the original, but I really like this version.)

Distant sun

Oh thank goodness. A bit of warmth and sun.

And with it a bit of hope that the Covid tide might be turning.

Awaiting news on my jab - want it, but Cladribine impact means I may need to hang on until my immune system has reconstituted to a useful level.

In the meantime I shall get myself into the sunlight that this weekend is promising and drink in the Vitamin D.

:: Distant sun by Crowded House

(Song for my) sugar spun sister

Yummy, it's Pancake Day.

Or, as I like to think of it, Edible MRI Day.

:: (Song for my) sugar spun sister by The Stone Roses

Sandstorm

Since Christmas it feels like my husband and I have been living under a suffocating volume of work.

Not able to see a clear way ahead because there's just too much on top of us.

While I'm obviously grateful to be in work, the current situation, combined with the awfulness of the past 12 months, is really starting to take its toll.

I'm in quite a lot of daily pain and on occasion struggle to think and/or talk.

My husband who is usually an astonishingly calm and patient man is starting to fray at the edges.

I'm not sure how much longer we can keep this up and I have no doubt we are not alone.

We're neither of us frontline staff, so heaven knows how they are coping, but we're just about getting to the end of our joint tethers.

Unsure what the answer is really.

Although it's possibly in one of the online well-being workshops our employees are running. That we haven't got time to attend.

Sigh. 

Thanks for that little vent. Better out than in.

:: Sandstorm by Cast

Everybody hurts

Received my shielding letter last week.

It's the first one I've had, as during Lockdown 1.0 neither the severity of my MS nor my Tecfidera taking saw me classed in the clinically extremely vulnerable category.

This time round, Cladribine plus very low lymphocyte levels, have put me there.

It's a not altogether pleasant experience to be classed as officially extremely vulnerable.

But then I think the pandemic has put us all at risk to one degree or another.

Certainly within my friendship group we have seen job losses, deteriorating mental and physical health, relationship breakdowns and high levels of guilt and stress.

And I'm sure it's a story repeated everywhere.

There is no easy answer and there is going to be no quick fix. The repercussions of the past year (and the months to come) are going to be with us for a long time.

There are glimmers of hope - the vaccine roll-out is underway and we're heading towards the spring, a change of season which is always welcome.

But in the meantime there's nothing we can do apart from be a voice on the end of a phone line, a sender of letters, emails texts and the sharer of stupid GIFs.

We're all going through something unprecedented and actually, we're all extremely vulnerable.

Support is available at Mind and via the MS Society's wellbeing hub.

:: Everybody hurts by REM

Opus 17 (Don't you worry 'bout me)

Seventeen years with MS this week, seven things I've learned:

* persevere

* but know when to rest

* swearing is good

* but laughter is better

* be realistic

* but never lose hope

* high heels are safest when seated

:: Opus 17 (Don't you worry 'bout me) by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons

Don't let me be misunderstood

Well this is an odd one.

I received a message the other morning from the mum of one of my daughter's old school friends.

No hello, no how are things, no context whatsoever, just a link to this article.

It's a first-person piece about a woman with MS worrying that her partner will end up being her carer.

That he won't see her in the same way and may feel stuck in the relationship. He reassures her on this of course.

It's a good article, very readable.

But bearing in mind that although this mum knows I have MS, I have never discussed it in-depth with her and certainly not this aspect of it.

I was honestly so taken aback at the fact that she would have seen it and just pinged it on with no kind of explanatory message, that I just laughed.

And then showed my husband who pulled one of those emoji-esque quizzical faces.

But really, what was she thinking?

Maybe she thought it would reassure me in case I was worrying about this? However, given the fact we've never discussed it, for all she knows, what this article sharing might have done is actually now put the thought in my head.

Did she think it was showing understanding of my MS and she was letting me know she was thinking of me? In which case, chocolates not random links, surely.

Did she mean to write some kind of contextualising message that would explain this random sharing? But like everyone, stuff got in the way and she never got round to it?

Or is this how she sees poor little me and my trapped husband? 

I can only presume she thought it would be useful, but without any explanation I have decided to file it under the long list of unsolicited 'help and advice' I have received from people over the years.

I didn't message back because just a ?? didn't seem to quite cover all my thoughts.

Maybe I'll just send her a link to this instead.

:: Don't let me be misunderstood by Nina Simone

Emotion

In a desperate attempt to a) do some exercise and b) stop fretting, I asked for a yoga DVD* for Christmas.

Santa duly responded and I now have 90 minutes of beginners workouts which promise a healthier body and mind.

I have done them a couple of times so far and firstly, good lord I'm weedy if these are for beginners and secondly, I've realised what a gigantic bundle of stress and worry I really am.

To be fair, I think I was aware of both of these things, but I was astonished how it took just five minutes of a nice lady in lycra telling me it was okay if I couldn't do it all and it was okay to congratulate myself on what I could manage before it hit me.

I was even more astonished to find I shed a few tears.

Now, I am the first to admit that I am hugely emotional and apt to weep at anything even vaguely approaching sadness/joy/achievement/bravery/sacrifice/betrayal. Or, in fact, particularly touching adverts.

Set any of these to a soundtrack of stirring music and there's no hope.

But generally the waterworks are on someone else's behalf.

However, a few words from someone telling me that actually it's okay to just be gentle with myself was all it took for a few tears.

Not loads, not enough to drench the towel masquerading as a yoga mat, not enough to drip on the cat unhelpfully trying to get in the way of the downward dog.

But enough to make me realise I really need to look after myself. And that maybe I am worth a few minutes of kindness. 

But most importantly that kindness has to come from me. With or without lycra.

:: Emotion by Helen Reddy

* Yes, we still have a DVD player. We still have some cassette tapes too. Although admittedly nothing to play them on. A sentimental case full of them is in the loft.