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

Making your mind up

I read an astonishing statistic recently – apparently the average person makes more than 35,000 decisions per day.

THIRTY-FIVE THOUSAND.

A DAY.

Seriously? I can't think that's right. I can’t even work out how we would have time in the day to make that many decisions, never mind what on earth they could all be.

But according to the helpful techie updates I get at work that is the figure our brains are grappling with.

And, as anyone with MS knows, it’s not even a fully functioning brain that is trying to deal with these thousands of decisions to begin with.

It’s no wonder that we, more than most, can suffer from decision fatigue – a term coined by social psychologist Roy F. Baumeister.

Just like muscles tiring after a long workout, our brains are also a muscle that become exhausted.

And when our brain is tired, it conserves energy by making impulse decisions—or by making no decisions at all.

This explains a lot about my inability to decide, well, anything, after a day at work.

But there are a few things that can help:

• Stepping away from the chaos – some of our best decisions are made when we are relaxed and away from the demands of daily life. Giving my brain a break - lying in the bath, back-chatting the cats, zoning out on the settee infront of rubbish tv - can help
• Establishing daily routines that minimize decision making – my work clothes are chosen and put out the night before, I plan meals for the week on a Sunday, I make my office lunches the day before. Yes, I admit, if I suddenly don't fancy the outfit/food it's a bit limiting, but I can live with that
• One thing at a time – OK, not hugely successful at this one. I’m a bit scattergun. Too many emails open in one go, different household jobs begun at once, three part-started books by my bed. Surely it would be a lot less fatiguing to just do one thing at one time
• Setting a deadline on decisions – tell your brain when it needs to concentrate on making that decision, freeing it up to think about other decisions at other times
• Switching the phone off – we face an information tidal wave every day forcing stressed and speedy decision making. Having very little time to think is likely to lead to impulsive decisions. I definitely need to try and step away from technology for a bit to re-set the process
• Eating something healthy - hunger is scientifically linked to our desire to make impulsive decisions. (Actually, pre-MS this might explain some of my youthful fashion decisions. Or university flings)

It’s pretty clear with 35,000 of the little blighters waiting to be tackled every day, there’s no way to avoid making decisions.

And it’s not as if adhering to the above tips will work on those days when absolute brain paralysis hits and decision-making anxiety takes over.

But it’s a start and gives me a bit more confidence in my next big decision. Which is: tea – regular or large?*

:: Making your mind up by Bucks Fizz 

*Actually, I can do this one. Large tea. Always the large tea.

The incidentals

Ack. November. Without doubt the worst month of the year. It’s cold, grey, generally exhausting and thoroughly depressing.

November doesn’t have the lovely crisp goldenness of autumn, the tingly excitement of the Christmas countdown, the potential new start of January or the pancakes of February.

It also heralds the danger period for my relapses, all of which have fallen between November and February. 

So, as the traditional gatekeeper to MS crapness, I don’t tend to greet this month with much pleasure and instead try and conserve as much of my rapidly depleting energy as possible.

Therefore, to stave off the bleakness, I’ve made a list of ten things that I could do to cheer me through the month. 

My rule for drawing up the list was any activity must involve minimal effort but bring maximum joy.

1. Hot water bottles. Oh, could there be anything more lovely than strapping a few wobbly hugs of liquid love to your torso with a blanket?

2. Yes! Yes, there could; it’s having a stack of Marmite on toast within easy reaching distance of said hot water/blanket mound.

3. And also a pot of tea.

4. If I have to leave the marmitey cocoon (which actually doesn’t sound all that pleasant when it’s described as such) to go to work then at least I can read books on the train. Hurrah.

5. Putting on high heels.* Yes. Despite my shocking balance, I LOVE the heels. I have loads of pairs from my pre and early-MS days when I could still wear them without wondering where the nearest flower bed was to cushion my fall, but I still love them, the minxy dignity-killers. So I take them out now and again, dust them down and walk around the house in them. Can’t get far, can’t manage the swagger like it used to, but rather than making me sad for what I may have lost, they still fill me with joy for what I can still do – just for slightly more limited periods.

6. Humming to myself. Particularly shoobie-doobie-doo type refrains. And not just in private.

7. Making up songs about poo with my daughter; it’s not sophisticated but it’s very funny.

8. Radio Four Extra. Drama, comedy, comforting marvellousness.

9. Visitors. As long as I can be in pyjamas, they make their own drinks and don’t mind if I stare blankly at them. I’m sorry, blame November, it makes me a rubbish host.

10. Viz. And Bottom. I am a 13-year-old boy.

:: The incidentals by Alisha’s Attic

*In the past I have tried to convince a very dear friend that high heels work much better as a mood lifter than chocolate scoffing and are a far healthier alternative. She was never sold on the idea. However, I like to think she may now wear high heels to eat chocolate and I would class that as a partial success.