Dec 8

 Still here. Not entirely sure how. Rough is not a good enough word for it.

I scraped the bottom hard.

It just so happens in the last couple of weeks I have stumbled over accounts of people nearly dying. Or those caring for others that die. One of them was an account from a doctor - usually on the other end of treatment - and her experience with basically dying. Losing 150% of her blood. The technical insights she had. The interesting realisations. It was fascinating because she understood every step along the way of where she was, because, as someone who was dealing with people in that same situation, she had an acute idea of how close they were to death. And the steps you would take. The escalations. The signs. And she saw it all, from the other side. And at the end had that final realisation as things became fuzzy, that this was death felt like, where everything started to shut down.

And the thing that comes across to me is how messy that line is. How loose and variable. How it can be hard in a moment to say one thing or another, but, give it a little time and it becomes obvious. And that it's a crescendo of things. A dozen things going wrong all at once. This fails. That fails. This leads to that. And that surprisingly, consciousness lasts a long time. Until the very last moment where everything shuts down, and you're done - a few minutes at most before you've gone too far and you have exited the building. And how sometimes intensive care can hold you at that knife edge. Catch you before you go too far. And sometimes the eventual outcome is surival, and sometimes its not. In some ways its very simple. Just. Are you losing too much blood. Has your blood pressure dropped to far. Has your heart finally given up from all the accumulated bullshit and had a cardiac arrest.

The thing that has resonated with me is that progression. I have experienced it first hand. When I feel like I am at the bottom of that spiral, when everything is seemingly shit and it feels like I am struggling to stay alive. Noe one thing. But many. Stacked on each other. Making each of the next worst. And you feel it. Not an ordinary run of the mill ill. Not your regular flu day. Something a whole lot more intense. None of this happens personally per se. But in some oddly impersonal way. A subconscious one. Something I can't influence and is happening to me and I am powerless one way or the other to influence. Your conscious mind can often float about it all. An observer to the fray. This weirdly detached perspective is exactly what the doctor described. Understanding each stage of her symptoms. Joking about it even - just a minute before crashing unconscious.

Reading the accounts has made that ephemeral, difficult to explain what it feels like, whats happening to me journey, suddenly fall into place with a, yeah, that's it exactly. It's also made me realise just how sloppy that progression is, the definition, there is no neat finish line. It's not something that can be timed to a beat, by the numbers like a computer program I am used to. It's analog. And fits and starts. And false highs, false dips, sudden falling into pits, with the conscious bit lagging way behind, like Wile E Coyote suspended in mid air before the inevitable fall.

In any case.

Yesterday was terrible. And so far. I haven't really been back to sleep again and braced myself for another descent. I have finally somewhat stabilised, come up a little, to a place where I can at least catch my breath. I am in no fit state. But for the short moment at least I am stable. And not in imminent danger of collapse. To say that I am leery of going back down is an understatement. I think I am toying with not waking up again. And not in a peaceful way. In a shitty, groggy, hit the floor, have a heartattack kind of way.

Eh. Meh.

Let's just. Close your eyes. Forget how shit you felt. Forget that any of that happened. And pretend like going forward from today, it will be fine.

I don't know why I felt so shit yesterday.

Perhaps it was the MOT the day before which pushed me to a limit. I said I had no energy for the following day, but had to find it.

I hardly did shit all yesterday. And it was excruciating.

I'll give an example.

I woke up after several hours of fitful sleep. Beyond tired. Super super insane tired. I could hardly wake up. But I knew I had to to be awake for the delivery. I could not get up. I kept sliding off back into a shitty sleep. Eventually after an hour of fucking around like this, and my delivery now being due, I got up. I immediately felt ill. Nauseous. Dizzy. I made my way downstairs. By the time I got to the kitchen I was panting. Gasping. Holy shit.

In a daze and feeling terribly ill I struggled to get lunch for Athena. Two scoops of food, a pop of pills, a little water. On floor. The task was screamingly hard. The world lurched more than once. I wanted to throw up. Crash to the floor. Gasp for breath.

I struggled to a chair and flopped. And had some water.

After a short while I got up, dragged myself upstairs, like walking up a mountain. Struggled to unplug the vacuum cleaner. Struggled. Pulling a plug out of a plug socket was so hard. All I wanted to do was sit. Flop. Lie down.

I did it. And traipsed slowly back down stairs. The world lurched, dizzy. Again in a daze I did a little hoovering. Did half the kitchen once over. It was ok. I felt like utter shit. But I did it. And flopped. Had to. No choice.

I rested again, not sure how long, dragged myself up again, so tired, exhausted. Erratic heart beat. Weird vague chest pain.

Got a mop. Filled up a bucket. I am not sure how I did this. Auto pilot feeling so ill. Just. Get on with it. Gritted teeth.

I mopped half the kitchen floor. By the end of 5 minutes I was panting hard. I stopped and leaned over the mop wheezing, head spinning.

I finished. Dragged myself back up stairs - wanting a drink too tired and scattered to actually do it. And flopped onto bed. Exhausted. Dehydrated.

Some time later the delivery guys came. I couldn't stand up. I had to sit down. I slumped half watching them. They came in and out and did their thing. I must have looked like shit, they talked to me like I was an old geezer struggling. Which no doubt, is exactly me. An old geezer struggling. They were nice.

Once they had gone I retreated to bed. Feeling awful.

I slept. And felt more awful. And slept. And slept.

Got up. Instantly felt even more awful. The world pitched, dizzy, chest hurt, shitty breathing.

It took me all my energy and focus to gather a few clothes up, stick them in the washing machine and try it out. Honest to god. Just putting the detergent in the machine. The liquid in the machine was almost too much for me.

It's so bizarre.

How that shit is suddenly such a titanic battle. Everything is so heavy. So ill feeling. All you want to do is collapse. And the dizziness, the erratic heart, and at times you feel like you're going to tip over and pass out.

I did that.

Went back to bed. But it didn't make me feel better. I didn't recover. I just lay there, feeling like shit. Circling the drain.

After a long rest, sleep. Now midnight. I had the tiniest reserve of energy. I got up. Made a cup of tea. Slightly nauseous. Decided to play a game. Might take my mind off it. I managed an hour before I felt like utter crap again.

I went back to bed.

I don't know.

Something has very obviously got worse in me. A lot worse. Aside from the bounce up post surgery, this last month or so has been bad. And today it was its worst.

I honestly don't know how much lower I can go with this.

Perhaps it was pushing it for two days straight. Taking the piss with the CFS. And the CFS bit super hard back. If true. Its teeth are getting sharper.

The whole bounce up after surgery is now even more frustratingly inexplicable. What happened. What magic fucking button was switched that gave me hardcore relief for 24 hours, and some measure of relief probably for a week. For the love of everything please tell me. So I can do it again. Oxygen ? Painkillers ?? Fluids ?? Or just a fucky immune system that suddenly had more to worry about post surgery than making me feel shit.

Meh.

Lingering.

The fucking lingering.

I can neither get better nicely. Or just fuck it and die cleanly.

No no.

There is fuckery and suffering to be had.

So for the moment I am still here.

I have right at this moment in time stabilised again. Everything is barely the right side of a shitty line. I can think. I am not going to die right now.

I am very conscious of the whole peaks and troughs thing. Up and down. Rise and fall. The peaks are not the problem. It's when you slide down the other side. At my peak I am in so many ways shit. If I play to my strengths. Don't push it. Don't do shit. Sit. Chill. Chat to people. I can pass as normal. In that very very narrow set of things I can do.

But when I am in a trough. I am shaking hands with the goddamn reaper everytime. Its bad. When simply moving 20 feet from one room to another leaves you gasping for air and in danger of passing out. You're fucked.

Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh well.

What the fuck can I do.

Linger more. Hope shit turns around. Keep trying a range of things to see if something, anything, helps in the tiniest way.

Today I will try and get out with Athena. See how the frail lady does. Take her somewhere green, see if she improves a little. I am going to do my absolute heroic best to have a better day. I will not be ill. I will feel better.

A single positive stupid note for today. Utterly, utterly stupid. But its nice.

At midnight. The washing had finished. The new machine also drying it all. I grabbed it out of the machine. It was wonderfully warm and fresh and lovely. I hugged it to myself and felt the warmth trickle through my body. It was awesome. It has been a stupidly long time since I have had a dryer. Getting on for 25 years. Never had one growing up. And when I did get round to getting one, I only had one for a short time before me and that washing machine went in different directions.

It's a trivial thing. Unimportant. But jeez. It feels nice to have a dryer again so that sometimes I can toasty a t shirt or two.

It made me feel better about getting it. It made me feel better about the utter stupidity of me dragging my sorry dying ass around just to take delivery of it. Perhaps in the long run, it will be worth it after all. It will make my life that tiny bit easier. Which. I need every angle I can get my hands on these days.

Fuck me my life is hard. In many ways I live a privileged life, I have money, I have a home, I can afford food and necessities. And in some awful super important ways, I live an awful misery of a life. I have no life, I can't do shit, I live in a state of some quasi ill bullshit for a lot of the time, and for some of the time I skirt the drain of oblivion.

Tomorrow will be a better day.

I am sure I will feel much better.

I am trying to think of ways to manage this. Perhaps I should go spend some time with people. As a distraction if nothing else. I need to be careful with Athena. She needs what little attention I have.

Arses.

I am going to try triply hard to look after myself. Eat sensibly. At sensible times. Fruit juice. Rest. Very very careful of sleep. Socialise. Try to avoid any kind of shitty stress. I don't know. Christ.