So Monday arrives and having ended up in hospital the day before I was determined to have a quiet week. I still had the virus from hell and have learnt that if I have any sort of bug, the fistula gets worse. I awoke Monday morning to hubby checking his messages and his watch as the builder was late. Nothing new there but not only was he late, there was no sign of the brickie. Builder eventually turns up and says rather sheepishly brickie had been offered a bigger job and had taken it. So now we were brickieless and hubby was bouncing. Being devils advocate, I suggest a friend of ours who is a really good brickie and off hubby trots to try and find him, thankfully he found him and he agreed to help us out.
I spent the week trying to rest and de stress but it’s difficult with the builders in. Endless cups of tea to make and scared to go the loo incase one of them walks in 😩 Plus the noise and mess and the husband from hell who is getting more demented by the day. The builder continues to be very elusive and basically what he says just does not always happen but me being me do feel quite sorry for him because when he is here, he works flat out. On Sunday I went to bed exhausted and woke up at 4 am in pain, a deep horrible pain that wasn’t going away. I got up and made warm milk and Mauka honey – I sat in the front room and wrapped myself in a blanket having a pity party for one. The pain killers slowly took the edge off and at my lowest point I emailed my consultant and told him things I hadn’t told him before. The thing is with most people with a chronic condition, we put on a face – when we are asked how we are, we say fine because quite honestly most people aren’t that interested and if they do care about you, you don’t want to upset them by saying the truth. Same with my consultant – he has been looking after me for nearly 10 years now and we have a good relationship. But enough is enough and I said how I struggled with the pain and having to pop pills just to function . Before this happened I had loads of energy and cared for my mother, ran two houses, cooked & cleaned for my family’s and did anything else that was required. Now I can barely hang the clothes out without needing a rest, yet because I look well I’m sure some people don’t believe me. The curse of the invisible illness – if I had a broken leg it would be different I’m sure. But you don’t get better from this and I find it hard to accept. I have good days when I feel almost normal and I’m a different person but then other days I just feel horrible, shaky and just plain exhausted. I crawl back into bed and go into a deep sleep for a few hours. I awake ready for another week of builders and stress.