Ticketty boo

Well what can I tell you?

I have kinda hit a wall this week. After two months of coughing I finally succumbed to my mother’s nagging and went to the doctor. Turns out I have bronchitis which was ‘almost’ pneumonia. Now look, I am glad it wasn’t pneumonia but then, maybe some pneumonia would have been ok, particularly if it involved some sort of respite in a private, beautifully executed hospital come respite for weary souls. I’m on antibiotics which make me feel faintly nauseous, have given me some rather spectacular rough guts and mean I can’t drink. Pfft, I thought these modern medicine constructs were meant to make you feel better.

Further to the bronchitis I queried our fabulous GP about my constantly aching big toes. I get little sympathy from Chef who dropped a whole frozen duck on his foot a few months back and apparently it’s never been the same.

It appears I have the early signs of arthritis. Isn’t that awesome! ArthFUCKINGritis. I’m only 37 for fuck’s sake.

To be perfectly honest it has kind of thrown me off course. I could go and see a specialist and get some orthotics and relearn how to walk. I could go to a specialty shoe store and get some hideously expensive footwear which would probably be sneakers as they offer the best support. I need to keep up my exercise and oh yeah, LOSE WEIGHT. Oh for fuck’s sake.

I’m kind of pissed off and hideously depressed all at the same time. I have never been one of those women worried about getting old or getting grey hair or acquiring wrinkles. In fact, I look on those things as badges of honour, a life well lived if you will.

But arthritis?

Suddenly those wiry grey hairs sprouting on my head are really ugly, those bloody hairs on my chin seem to grow faster than I can pluck them, the dry papery skin repulsive and I’m having those, ‘oh what is it all for’ kind of thoughts.

Yes people, it appears I, with four children, no money and an ever-expanding waistline despite my best attempts to make it go the other way is in the midst of a mid-life crisis.

Probably lucky we don’t have any money, can’t go and buy the red sports car.
Probably lucky I don’t have any free time, can’t go and have a regrettable and destructive fling.
Probably lucky I’m on these blasted antibiotics, can’t drink myself into a hole.

OH, I totally forgot! Which is probably some early alzheimers. BUT, after this news about arthritis (curiously, my brother whom I am not blood related to has a rare form of arthritis that also affects his feet. I always hated him stealing the limelight.) I was channel flicking and landed on this, Stress: Portrait of a Killer *. It happened that I landed just as the show was talking about telomeres and the research Elizabeth Blackburn and how stress destroys your telomeres and how bad that is for you. Then of course they point out that research has shown the most stressed cohort in the population are mothers of children with special needs and that their rate of telomere breakdown due to stress is something in the order of for every year you care for a child with special needs you age at six times that of the rest of the population.  Holy crap dudes, it was simultaneously extremely validating and horrifying. They then went on to say there are ways to minimise that (like getting together and talking about it – well derrrr) but man, watching that show about stress just made me even more stressed.


* That link is apparently valid for 2 weeks. The bit about mothers is