Blessed

 

It's been so long, I've forgotten how to blog. I was hiding from the internet.  Now it's Christmas time, I thought I could risk a wee post. 

I went to see my old pals, Belle and Sebastian play at Paisley Town Hall. Christmas lights floated gaily above the River Cart. It was unexpectedly pretty. I'm not much of a photographer, but you get the gist. 

It was funny to hover at the merch table and see people buying T-shirts with my face on.

One family came in, and the Dad and two teenage daughters were ALL wearing the 'Sinister' T-shirt with my face on. It would have been amiss not to say hello. 

The show itself was firing on all cylinders. Even The Simpsons approved. 

Marisa Privitera, Stuart's lovely wife, is never one to miss a selfie. 

Me and my goofy glasses. Doh! Marisa's is a very talented photographer and has a lovely website here.  

Teenage Fanclub finished their long and happy European Tour.  The dog only had to wait six weeks for her postcard.

Anyway, I've no big philosphical insights to claw after in this seasonal post. I can leave all my climate change campaigning for next year. 

When I post a petition on Facebook to Phase Out Fossil Fuels, I'M lucky if I get two likes. If I posted our dog in a Santa jumper, it might get two hundred. 

Did Trump get a hold of that algorithm? 

So yeah, this is just a few words to wish you a peaceful Christmas time. 

Every day that I'm well and content, with a healthy family is a luxurious miracle and something I never take for granted. 

There's no need to dress that up in fancy phrasing. It speaks for itself and, in this crazy world,  there's no bigger gift. 

The Migraine Misery of Toots Mania - A Call for Help

 

For years, my daughter Tess has been calling me 'Toots'.

'What ya up to, Toots?'

'Is Toots feeling okay?'

Recently, on witnessing yet another of my middle-age mum foibles, she simply exclaims, 

'Toots Mania?!' 

...as if 'mania' is cover-all proclamation for any form of 'goofy' mother behaviour such as:

losing my keys for the third time in an hour; or accidently teaming a Kagoule with a chunky necklace, or my swift regret after eating too much almond and raspberry tray-bake.

"Toots Mania's gonna regret that.' 

 My 13 year old girl is all-seeing and mostly all-correct. 

But, if this is a story of desired corrections - the misery of my ongoing Migraines is Top of The List. You thought I was well, didn't you?

After the miracle of overcoming decades of terrible ME/CFS and a headache that lasted four years, how have I fallen back to battling the beast of migraine without any success? 

Defeated shrug emoji. 

Oh, Toots Mania. What will we do with you?

So this could be a reader-participation post. If you've struggled with migraines and gotten better, feel free to share your secrets with me. Please share your secrets with me.

I've tried -

Virtually all painkillers. Triptans take away the pain, but clobber me (like an anaesthetic) and all I can do is sleep. I love triptans. They are a furry blanket in a howling gale. The only drug that has ever helped the searing pain.

BUT, there is now growing opinion that the more you use triptans, the more 'trigger happy' your brain gets and ultimately, you can end up with more headaches. Doh. I am desperately trying NOT to take too many. 

Otherwise, I've tried - acupuncture, chiropractor, going on HRT for 2 years, coming off HRT, meditation, zero alcohol, epilepsy drugs, proprananol, etc. Lots of drugs I forget how to spell.  I try to deal with stress as best I can, while realising everybody has some stress. 

Lately, I found a website/podcast bold enough to call itself The Migraine Miracle. It claims that an 'ancestral' diet is the cure. That is, no grains or sugar. No almond bakes or chocolate croissants, for you Toots!

Nothing processed or out of a package. Nothing that our caveman ancestors couldn't find, walking around with spears - just meat and fish and 'low carb' veg. 

I was so desperate, I gave it a go. After 10 days, I felt like Ewan McGregor detoxing in Trainspotting. Carb-Queen 'Toots Mania' was in dire straits. Look away now. 

We were due to go on holiday, so I abandoned the diet, at least for the holiday. Cue normal holiday photos (minus migraine)-

I was barely home a day, and....wham...off the cliff into another two days of near-agony and incapacity, with the kids coming to the end of my bed like tentative sad dogs, checking when normal service might resume.

So, here I am, risen again, post-Easter, until the next time. I might try to go back to the diet, maybe in a less severe form, (sneaking in the odd oatcake). I'm wise enough to know that spikes and falls in blood sugar ain't good for the brain. Would a low Glycemic Index diet be enough?

I asked to see a neurologist on the NHS, but this requires me to try a 3 month trial of a strong epilepsy drug called Topiramate. A casual Google throws up medical papers telling me it can cause kidney stones in over 10% of patients. 

Fabby do! Spin the wheel...or maybe not. 

Ach well, time to get the laundry on the line. Normal service is slowly resuming. You'll see me body-swerving the pastry section, for this week at least. Onwards, fellow migraineurs. My hand in yours...our heads knocked thi'gither. 

Wednesday Newly Weds

When we told the kids we were getting a civil partnership, they didn't really understand the concept. Who can blame them? We've only been together 25 years and the kids are now 14 and 12. 

'It's like a wedding really, but it suits non-religious people, and it's easier, and it has all the same legal stuff as marriage does.' 

We thought the easiest way would be small scale. Just us, two witnesses and the weans.

The weans were unsure about it.

'It might be cringe-y. We're not sure if we want to come to your 'legal partner' thing.'

Slowly, they came round. They'd get a day off school and French toast and maple syrup at Cafe Gandolfi. 

On the day itself, Tess commented, 'Mum, we should have had a HEN NIGHT with the dog! We could have worn rose-gold sashes and yours could have said, 'Civil Partner To Be'.

Hugh chimed in - 'Yeah, we should tie cans to the car that say, 'JUST civil-partnered!''

When the marriage celebrant accidently called me 'Cara', I had to jump in and correct her politely. She was lovely, really. 

'Whoops, I nearly married the wrong woman,' commented Francis. 

(Hey, it doesn't feel natural unless someone mispronounces my name at least once a week). 

I read out a beautiful poem by Wendy Cope -

The Vow, by Wendy Cope

I cannot promise never to be angry;
I cannot promise always to be kind.
You know what you are taking on, my darling –
It’s only at the start that love is blind.
And yet I’m still the one you want to be with
And you’re the one for me – of that I’m sure.
You are my closest friend, my favourite person,
The lover and the home I’ve waited for.
I cannot promise that I will deserve you
From this day on. I hope to pass that test.
I love you and I want to make you happy.
I promise I will do my very best.

My Mum and Dad, now in their eighties, were witnesses to the signing of the papers.

Francis played a recording of his late Mum singing a beautiful gaelic song. 

My Dad read my favourite Raymond Carver Poem -

Late Fragment

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

Then we went to Cafe Gandolfi and tore into the French Toast. 

Afterwards, we headed home to walk the dog. I told some other dog-walking strangers that we just got married this morning. It's not something you can say every day. It felt strangely satisfying to utter the words. 

Thanks to Bernard and Madeline (nee McGuckin!) for the meal. 

Here's to Newly-Weds, Cara..., I mean Ciara and Frankie Boy. 

And to Hugh and Tess, who are, of course, the finest consequence of our chance meeting at a Belle and Sebastian gig, many moons ago.