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tamaranthit must be spring: I am wearing a Frock.
Haven't updated here for a while, so ..
After all the panic, it looks as though my father has successfully pulled through another medical crisis. It's difficult to be sure, as the hospital won't tell me very much over the 'phone, and my sister - who visits most days - has much else on her mind. I'll believe it when I see it, really: and can't help wondering, in a horribly objective way, whether this is really for the best if what survives has so little quality of life.
Last Friday I had my long-awaited hospital appointment, the aim being to solve my ongoing 'acute pain' issue. (Apparently it is acute if it keeps you awake at night). I thought it was a muscle problem: my GP thought it was early-onset arthritis (noooooooooo!). Have been Russian-rouletting on various drugs - most lately Volterol, typical arthritis treatment, at a fairly high dose (3 times what my brother-in-law, who does have arthritis, is on) which still doesn't really work.
The consultant tested my joints (by wiggling them around and hitting me with a hammer) and declared that I was very flexible, considering. (This will amuse my yoga teacher mightily). He doesn't think it's a joint problem, and he recommends I stop taking the Volterol which is an anti-inflammatory, so not really much use if my joints (or whatever) are not inflamed.
He thinks it's calcium deficiency.
Which has the ring of truth about it, because drinking milk makes me sick, and I'm trying to avoid nearly all dairy products on that basis. (Except pizza. Pizza doesn't count).
So: Volterol in the bin, economy-size Absorbable Calcium with Vitamin D ("take as much as you like, you'll just excrete what you don't need") and ...ah.
Turns out the Volterol did work, a bit, after all. At least, everything hurt a lot once I'd cut the dose. But it is amazing what you can get done in those wakeful hours.
Was pretty much crippled for most of Sunday, which I did intially blame on Picocon's cheap Guinness: but persistence of symptoms indicates I should get off the sofa and go find Paracetamol. After which I should be able to write a con report.
Rest of life ticks along. Sun is shining. Hyacinths are blooming. 'To do' list is burgeoning. Shall prune it.
Haven't updated here for a while, so ..
After all the panic, it looks as though my father has successfully pulled through another medical crisis. It's difficult to be sure, as the hospital won't tell me very much over the 'phone, and my sister - who visits most days - has much else on her mind. I'll believe it when I see it, really: and can't help wondering, in a horribly objective way, whether this is really for the best if what survives has so little quality of life.
Last Friday I had my long-awaited hospital appointment, the aim being to solve my ongoing 'acute pain' issue. (Apparently it is acute if it keeps you awake at night). I thought it was a muscle problem: my GP thought it was early-onset arthritis (noooooooooo!). Have been Russian-rouletting on various drugs - most lately Volterol, typical arthritis treatment, at a fairly high dose (3 times what my brother-in-law, who does have arthritis, is on) which still doesn't really work.
The consultant tested my joints (by wiggling them around and hitting me with a hammer) and declared that I was very flexible, considering. (This will amuse my yoga teacher mightily). He doesn't think it's a joint problem, and he recommends I stop taking the Volterol which is an anti-inflammatory, so not really much use if my joints (or whatever) are not inflamed.
He thinks it's calcium deficiency.
Which has the ring of truth about it, because drinking milk makes me sick, and I'm trying to avoid nearly all dairy products on that basis. (Except pizza. Pizza doesn't count).
So: Volterol in the bin, economy-size Absorbable Calcium with Vitamin D ("take as much as you like, you'll just excrete what you don't need") and ...ah.
Turns out the Volterol did work, a bit, after all. At least, everything hurt a lot once I'd cut the dose. But it is amazing what you can get done in those wakeful hours.
Was pretty much crippled for most of Sunday, which I did intially blame on Picocon's cheap Guinness: but persistence of symptoms indicates I should get off the sofa and go find Paracetamol. After which I should be able to write a con report.
Rest of life ticks along. Sun is shining. Hyacinths are blooming. 'To do' list is burgeoning. Shall prune it.
