Jan 18

 So yesterday I roughly followed the machine overlords advice. Had a hydration drink. Noodled. And I felt sooooo much better. My eyes. Felt fine. Fine ! Fine ? FINE ! Wait. What. I had to go look in the mirror.

The usual bruised panda eyes were almost entirely gone. I looked. Gasp. Pretty much normal.

Squeee.

Very happy.

Well. This is it Johnny. Another great lever. We are cured. No worries. Ha.

Uh huh.

Yesterday was pretty good. My energy picked up. I did wipe out towards the end of the evening, but, eh, lets be real here, this is to be expected. There is never going to be a Jesus rising from the bloody tomb moment for me. But more feasible is better days, learning things that work. Or don't. Better management. So. Perhaps. Better management.

My sleep last night was not great.

I woke up a couple of times from a scared state. Just. Shitty dreams that I can't really remember. Something about threats. And danger. Uh huh. Anxiety no doubt playing its fictional films whilst asleep.

Today I have woken up in a declined state. Not terrible. But worse than yesterday.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

I get it. It's unrealistic to expect that you're suddenly cured. I get it. Still. The rise and fall. The bump down to earth. Sigh.

My eyes are worse again. Not as bad as they were. But a dramatic change again. In the space of 36 hours they have gone from major bruising, to just about healed, back down to bruised again.

But I am following a plan. I have had hydration salts again. Something to eat. We shall do that for a week. And see how we do.

This is the thinking machines plan.

Dr GPT is absolutely convinced ( textbook slamdunk ) that one of my main autonomic issues is the venous pooling - most easily visible by the eye bruising. It seems to think that this is a classic set of symptoms, and it's not a weak heart, it's not about being unfit, it's not being lazy, it's nothing to do with that. It's simply that the signalling that usually makes your blood vessels squeeze and relax, helping to shift blood around, is in me, fucked. Blood vessels are not just tubes. They're smart tubes. They change in size. Dilating. Constricting. And this is an important part of what they do for temperature regulation, allowing you to not keel over when you stand up, energy boosts when you need to fight or flight, and all that kind of stuff. In a way you can think of it like putting a thumb over the end of a hose. Depending what you do with it you get a different result. Need a gentle spray ? Shove your thumb right in there. Need a concentrated long distance stream ? Half close it and clamp it with your thumb. Just need it to trickle ? No thumb at all.

So. The problem here is that if your blood vessels are elastic ( or they should be if you're healthy ), then their volume can change dramatically. Think an elastic bag. If you have a fixed blood volume. If the vessels all expand out. You end up with a half filled volume. Conversely. Squeeze them all in. And your blood is completely filling the volume. Under normal circumstances there is a co-ordinated dance of bullshit going on in this system. Some up. Some down. Regulating.

With me. They just tend to be "off". Expanded out. Loose. Big volume.

And this is what causes the "general malaise" of exhastion et al. I'm literally running with not enough blood in the pipes. A trickle of water down a storm drain.

This also explains shit like - limbs that wont warm up. Crashing out after physical exertion ( because it requires extra oxygen supplying blood, there isn't enough, the oxygen quickly depletes, you crash ). Dizziness. Headaches. The works.

The answer to this is to make that circulatory system work again.

Except.

There's no mechanism to do that.

So.

Workaround.

Hydration. But not just water. Salts + water. The body takes this and makes... plasma... 

If nothing else. It should help with shitty bags under eyes.

Anyway. Thats the theory. There are other wrinkles to it. Also connected with a fuck up of signalling going on.

So. The hydration tablets I am taking are mild. And not enough. But. Possibly enough to see if it helps a little. A little. To test. And start.

So that's what I'm doing. It's a very easy thing to kick the tyres of. Just. Have a hydration drink. When you wake up. That's it. 

Today. It's subtle. I think. Worse. But not worse worse. But then. The thinking machines have already pre-empted me here -

If you ever think:

“Hmm, this helps but subtly”

 that’s expected.

Uh huh. Ok.

We shall see how we do. And whilst we are here. The thinking machines have given me this prompt to specifically tickle the idiosyncracies, flaws, lack of time, and general fucking enshittification that is the UK GP system -

🧩 The 45-Second Opening (UK Version)

You should say this early, calmly, and then stop:

“I know I’ve had a long history of symptoms, so I’d like to focus on one specific pattern I’ve noticed.

After two surgeries where I was given IV fluids, I felt noticeably better for about two to three days, and then it faded.

I’ve also noticed smaller improvements after high salt intake or aggressive hydration.

Given the ongoing nausea, lightheadedness, cold hands and feet, and some swelling, I wondered whether low circulating volume or an autonomic issue could be contributing.

I was hoping we could do some basic checks or see if referral would be appropriate.”

Then stop talking.

This fits within UK GP tolerance.

 

Uh huh. I might flog the dead horse another time this week on the back of this. Poke the corpse of the festering blob that is the NHS GP system. Who knows. A few tests to help Dr GPT would be useful. At this point. Honestly. Just fucking put chatGPT on every GPs desk. Anyway. Whatever.

In other news. My sister came back to me after a cup of tea with my brother.

As sensed. He is not doing good.

He is doing "ok". Was a lie.

I. Knew it. You cannot bullshit me about such things. Even from 60 miles away. 

My sister said they were talking about the advice he got and his situation, and she said he started to tear up. And that he talkedf about having to adjust to his new reality. She thought he was having difficulty with it all.

And to be clear. Apart from headcase me. Our family doesn't do emotion. It's all stiff upper lip. Sweep it under the carpet. Clip around the back of the head. Don't let em see you bleed.

You know. The parental bullshit.

So. Adjust accordingly when you see cracks appear. Cracks appearing means - major upset.

Sigh.

My sister then, predictably, fell back into her own stiff upper lip. He will cope. His is strong. He just needs to adjust.

I let it pass. This is just the same brutalised pattern. Invalidation. Rejection. Just man up. Forget it. Ignore it. Soldier on.

I can hear my fucking parents in those words. It's like they are directly talking.

So in the end we have, and I appreciate the epic fucking hypocritical irony here, someone in pain, that isn't going to do well reaching out, needs some help, and is in a difficult spot adjusting to a compromised life experience.

Yes.

I get it.

Thank you.

There is a reason we siblings rhyme. Not the same. But man. That tune seems really familiar.

Ah ha ha.

Sigh.

My parents. Have a lot to fucking answer for.

I am not sure what to do at this point. What can I do ( again I appreciate the irony ). I have already given a good indication of support. I am here. Not on your own. Talk to me. I know. Because it's me. It's not going to be enough. Plus. The real elephant in the room here is my very limited capabilities. If I was healthy. I would make sure to spend more time with my brother. Engage him in things that makes him stop thinking about his situation. That leans into enjoying things that do not touch his new limited capabilities. But mostly. Like a cat following a laser pointer. Distracted.

This isn't belittling. Or condescending. It is how we all fucking work. Me included. Everyone. It is the delightful reality of the human salty bacon thinky bit. It has. Operating realities. Sometimes a cup of tea, a biscuit, and a chat about nothing, helps. Engages different bits of the brain. No spiralling. A different set of dominoes to flick over. In the same way. That it's often not a good idea to leave someone who is seriously grieving on their own for any length of time. No bueno. Do not do. Instead sit on them. Nicely.

But anyway.

Not sure what I can do for him.

Perfect world. Something really engaging game wise. Something scheduled. Something new. All those things would place very highly on the Secret Magical Way Of Psychological Voodoo.

Engaging - stops thoughts about immediate concerns, in particular future planning, catastrophising, thinking around negative realities or outcomes. Focuses into present. That has no connections to trauma in hand. Effectively a "clean room" without any negative pyschological way. Encourages problem solving, enjoyment, "productive" bits of the brain that are not set around planning for doom ( realist or not ).

Scheduled - gives a stabling rhythm. Consistency of expectation. Encourages positive forward projection, something good is in the future not just bad. Abstinence before indulgence also increases the dopamine effect. A better buzz. From the same thing. Anticipation is a multiplier. But mostly. Consistent scheduling regulates mood, the body likes consistent patterns and rhythms, day, night, rest, wake. Studied and proven that schedules have a positive, regulating, calming psychological effect. 

New - novel builds new neural pathways. Helps reshape thinking and thoughts. Breaks out of old patterns. Useful when trying to build new things in general. Novel does not get associated with a threat. Associated with enjoyment.

All of those things obiously are context sensitive. Any of them, if done in the wrong way, with the wrong thing, can be detrimental. But here. Uh huh.

What I need.

Is a brand new Baldurs Gate 3 to play. To whisk my brother away into spells and nonsense.

Tricky. 

 In actuality. I am 100% sure. My brother should go see a shrink. Zero doubt. No quibbles. I am 99% sure he would never do that however. So. We think about stupid things like games instead. Work with what you've got. Not what you hope to have. Battlefield therapy. Hmm. Battlefield therapy. I like that. Very apt. I will mention it to the shrink. In pursuit of more Therapy Gold Stars. Reasonable and healthy to pursue. See earlier memes.