Monday, January 29, 2007

Are you a NANE?

Do you remember that saying, 'Never Apologise, Never Explain'? (NANE). I am not good at being a NANE. I feel like I should toughen up into being a NANE. I am one of these people who will explain that I am going to the kitchen or the bathroom, rather than just walking out of the room or saying 'back in a minute.'
I have been posting less on the blog - and here comes another explanation - as I am caught up in trying the highly controversial Mickle Therapy. I don't wish to dismantle it here on the blog. It is still very early days and there is heavy crossfire of opinion - both in my own head and on the web. I almost feel like a traitor to the cause for trying it. Sssh, stand tall, be a NANE! Dinny flatter yerself; the world can take it.
It is good to see a slight stretch in daylight hours: that extra hem of the day at 4.30pm.
-C

Saturday, January 27, 2007

Random Blog Fame - what are the chances?

I have never before met a complete stranger, talked to them for about 20 minutes and then see a light bulb come on over their heads and have them say, you've got ME and you write a blog, don't you? Cool! I was at the ever wonderful Celtic Connections Club and I was sitting, by chance, next to a man called Liam who said he'd found my blog after reading the Herald article. One of his close friends had ME so he read quite a lot of the blog. I told him that although I was out late, I had been in bed for most of the afternoon and he said a lovely thing. He said, you don't have to justify yourself to me - it's just good that you're out living a little bit of life. What a great thing to hear.
-C

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Rabbits in Hats


Hello again friends. I have been taking a break from frequent posts so I can try and get myself out more. I am still in the throws of that universal existential dilemma - Hope verses Doubt. Hope v's Doubt (with it's variant Hope/Denial v's Doubt) is particularly apt in ME.


Today I find two articles that exemplify this split: Click here for a study that finds 'cynical distrust' is highly correlated with inflammatory blood markers and can lead to increased risk of heart attack. Ah ha, I think...it's not just us who are being scrutinised by the mind/body school of health. Ah ha..., perhaps practising having a trustful, open mind will decrease inflammatory markers in most illness?


This cautious reasoning lasts until I read this comprehensive article from The Times about the state of knowledge on ME today.


Quote- (On CFS), Dr Klimas says that even its name belittles the extent to which it debilitates patients' lives. "If it were called chronic neuroinflammatory disease, then people would understand it," she says. "Until today nobody's been willing to change the name, but now there's proof that inflammation occurs in the brain and there's evidence that patients with this illness experience a level of disability that's equal to that of patients with late-stage Aids, patients undergoing chemotherapy, or patients with multiple sclerosis."


Yikes. Yet I know, as I was that severely affected aged 18-22 and in relapses since. And yet, I really want to believe that (in the absence of IL6 blockers or anti-viral drugs) some kind of mind/body jiggery-pokery could help me. If it could even help with outlook and management and make me more content? Call me car-azy, but I'm looking for rabbits in hats.
-C

Monday, January 15, 2007

Hey Ricky, you're so fine...?

Here is a link to Nice Man's blog where he prints Ricky Gervais's email with permission. They have exchanged a few emails and I think that Ricky may play the ME routine a bit differently in future shows, stating that ME is real, and perhaps using the clear irony that he gives other routines.
I think it's laudable of Ricky Gervais to enter into a one to one correspondence with someone who was offended by the routine. It is also a testament to Nice Man's diplomacy skills. I would not have expected Ricky (or anyone) to respond to a 'you are horrible and unfunny' type email. To arrive at this position feels like a kind of comedy Darwinism - various events coming together to morph the comedy into a more adaptable and viable creature. If it's truer, it'll be funnier.
I really wanted to give Ricky the benefit of the doubt. I said I might never feel warm to him again. And now I do. I can't help myself.
-C

Sunday, January 14, 2007

Ricky Gervais writes to Nice Man

I don't know what to think! Initially I am pleased. Readers will know from a previous post about Ricky's jokes on ME. Nice Man had written him an email saying the routine perpetuated a degree of misinformation and denigration that could only harm the ME cause, and that unlike Ricky's other illness comedy, it didn't come across as being ironic. I won't quote Ricky's email directly (nettiquette and all that) but generally he writes that it is never his intention to cause offence and his routines depend on the audience seeing him in 'ignorant bigot' persona (ie. exactly how I see him in the other routines).
Anyway, I know others may still be angry at him and I too will still be frustrated if the DVD of his gig fails to convey his intended irony and still gives the impression that ME is a any kind of choice. But....I do think the email he sent was personal and sincere. I always want to see the best in people. I'm glad he wrote. Maybe he'll try and approach the routine differently (?) maybe not, but he has obviously given it thought and taken the time to write a personal email. I never feel comfortable holding grudges. I was looking for a way to feel better about it all and his email has helped.
-C

Celtic Connections and 3am Haggis


My regular sleep times are roughly 3am to 10 or 11am (midday if I'm relapsey) and usually I'm okay this. My friends who have kids and careers all fall asleep about 10pm and get up at 6am or 7am. People ask, but what do you do at 2am?


In January, if I'm well enough, I love to go to the Celtic Connections club. It runs from midnight to 4 or 5am and it feels like an exotic secret. There may be three or four hundred people there, but they are mostly friendly people who can play fiddles, accordions and flutes, people who defy the conventions of sleep and eat haggis and chips at 3am and whoop along to an eightsome reel. For a few shiny hours, I am one of those people. I have no instrument, of course, but I am a valuable audience clapper. Nice Man introduces me to his folky friends. The atmosphere reminds me of the old days on Islay, when everyone knew each other. I feel Celticky at heart. I am glad to be out at 2am, even if I spend a couple of days recovering.

-C

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Ricky Gervais and ignorance

Dear Readers, I need you tonight, to vent my frustrations to. I am just back from the Ricky Gervais stand up show where he has a routine that suggests having ME is a work-shy indulgence as opposed to a serious illness. We will come to that shortly. First I shall say that I had read a preview of the show (briefly mentioning ME as one of his controversial topics) and I was in a two day long dilemma as to whether to go or not. In that time I wrote Ricky Gervais a letter telling of the severities of ME. Nice Man also wrote and thought we should sell the tickets. However, some of my family members and pals said it was hard to judge from a review and I might as well go and then defend or criticise. I considered it might be defeatist to avoid going. I reasoned I should face the supposed attack and then be in a position to give a report or opinion. So report I shall...
Firstly can I say that Gervais chose to be risky about illness and disability in general. There is a sketch about taking a neighbour's autistic kid to the casino instead of the zoo (a la Rain Man). Controversial, yes, but we all know that autism is 100% real and can be life-wrecking. Next Gervais was making gags about how he believed all obesity was self inflicted and not an illness. Then - my stomach tightened - he said how he'd seen someone collecting for ME recently. Quote -ME? Not MS - not the crippling wasting disease. No, the thing that makes you say 'I dont wanna go to work today' (here he adopted a self-pitying tone and mock lethargy). The audience guffawed and broke into spontaneous applause. He said that Africans wouldn't get ME because they have more serious concerns like getting food and water. Cue his sketch about one African asking another weakling ME African to go and get water from the well. More huge laughter. At one point Gervais did conceed that it was a 'cheap gag' but that a person with ME couldn't run after him and fight him.
I usually pride myself on being able to take a joke in any circumstances, but the horribleness of this is that Gervais is perpetuating the myth that ME is a choice. This man has sold five million DVDs worldwide. He will do this routine to thousands of people every night. He may sell another million of the follow-up DVD. I call on the ME charities to do something drastic, something effective. This disbelief has been going on for decades. There is hard scientific evidence out there that ME can be every bit as severe as MS. Where is the missing link? How can Ricky Gervais get an audience to support him in implying we're molly-coddled fakes?
I came out feeling like I'd been bullied in the playground. I loved The Office but I don't feel I can ever warm to Gervais again. Maybe Nice Man was right and we shouldn't have gone. Maybe it is important I was there to highlight how misinformed and harmful to the cause the routine was. I welcome anyone who wishes to write to Gervais c/o his company. I don't think there is any point in writing viscious and critical letters - just a short letter telling how your life has been affected by ME would do. If you were the African with ME and couldn't walk to get water from the well, you'd die, let's face it. Oh what a cheery night of comedy!
-C
PS. Permission to repost this anywhere.
PPS. I am told Ricky's agent is D Hayes , dhayes@pfd.co.uk. I don't want to harrass anyone - that would be counter productive, but there it is, if you feel strongly and want to send a short and civil email.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

Lucky Break

Happy New Year to all. I'm still enjoying the after-glow of the fantastic time on Islay with friends. I got lucky and managed to sustain enough health to have a few great days. The winds reached 85 mph and we watched spectacular waves crashing on Machir bay and uninterrupted rainbows arching over miles of peat lands. We played poker and listened to Willie Nelson. We had a candlelit power cut, brief enough to be exciting, conveniently ended by dinner time. Our garden backed on to a sandy beach - thank you Tom for generously lending us your great home. I was happy and brimming with gratitude. I can't really say more than that. I'll post photos when I get them.

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Island Hogmanay

I am booked to fly to Islay later today (the small Scottish island where I grew up as a teenager). Nice Man is driving down to The Mull of Kintyre (oh, mist rollin' in from the sea, my desire...) with two of our friends on Saturday to get the ferry across. The BBC weather people have already deployed the phrase severe weather warning in association with the word Hogmanay. Hoots man. I could easily figure out a way to make it all my fault if I apply myself. Instead I found this painting of Islay storm clouds by Ian Gray .
When I lived on the island I remember people having bizarre nicknames. There was a guy who used to drive up and down main street in his car with added spotlights. He was referred to as Beyotnay Beans on Toast. I was sometimes called Paddy (my Irish origin) which was marginally better than Ki-Ki, for which there was no excuse.
-C

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Life's Gambles

My family have a gambling habit at Christmas. I was upset today as I was too ill to visit Nice Man's family gathering in Edinburgh. Most of my day was a write-off until I joined my own family at our dining table for a few rounds of poker. My sister's man brought us a table-top game board complete with green baize and a plastic inset for each person's chips. He kept dealing cards and saying things like Bronski beat (two queens) a side salad of fours, and a pair of bullets.
I went from exhausted apathy to unpoker-faced enthusiasm. Stuart joined in and hustled my brother John out of a big win by doing that don't mind me, unassuming politeness thing and playing dumb, the shark. When we cashed in our chips my £10 became £19.60. John said I'd be logging on to Vegas-mental.com all through the night.
-C

Monday, December 25, 2006

Excuse...

my template issues, I'm having a few hitches with layout, paragraphing and updating. Ho hum.

-C

Doubt, Faith and Dogged Hope

Will I ever cease to be embarrassed at being ill? It's Christmas day and I am grateful for many things - family, friends, food, shelter - but I am also embarrassed, even ashamed (in a way that I don't fully understand) that yet another Christmas sees me confined to bed for most of the day. I still shudder to think that people might think it is just tiredness and I am baby-ing myself. If you could give these symptoms to a 'healthy' for just five minutes, they would understand immediately. It's an overwhelming feeling - like asthma of the cells, or being on the verge of collapse, or even some kind of blood poisoning. I'm sad that my family have to see me like this on a day when everyone wants to be joyful.
I've been reading more of the whole mind/body theories on Reverse therapy/ Mickle therapy and I confess, it is throwing me into great pockets of doubt and guilt. Of course I'd love to believe that a new mental scaffold of psychological or emotional adjustments could suddenly sustain my physical function and lead the way to better health. I long for this to be true - long, long, long!
Yet, my little 3 year old niece was ill this week with a kiddy-cold. Everyone sympathised and supported her, as it should be. When I looked at her limp and sniffling on the sofa, I didn't think, Hmm, is her inner child troubled? Has she got unresolved issues manifesting as sick-role behaviour? No, she was being the only host she could be for any micro pathogens hitching a ride.
If I think that about myself - ie. I am doing the best I can - then the RT/MT/mind-body improvement path self-combusts and I'm back at the cul-de-sac of square one. Square one is reality and today it's winning. Whatever or wherever square two is, I don't know. In my conflicted confusion, I've got to practise giving myself the acceptance that flowed so easily for my niece.
So, on this Christmas day, as every Christmas, I think of you PWME all over the country in all your hidden struggles. May hope and faith remain.
-C

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Lock up your Spammers

I now get about 12 spam e-mails to every real email in my outlook express. I tried to download free anti-spam software but it asks for your e-mail address and I wondered if this just as risky....like the scene in a cop thriller when the police chief turns out to be the top baddie.
Every day I spend ages pressing 'block sender' or making up mail preference rules that are supposed to block e-mails with the word viagra or unbeatable and then I get five e-mails offering me unbeatable prices on viagra. My favourite law in Scotland is the No Smoking law. My second favourite law would lock spammers in jail for 90 days, feed them tinned spam and make them delete hottest offer e-mails until they were hallucinating. Come on governments - get it sorted. In the meantime, can anyone recommend any safe free spamware?
PS. I still haven't figured out how to work these beta labels.
-C

Goodwill Hunting

While flicking TV channels I accidentally lingered too long on the HITS channel's Christmas songs. Ricky Tomlinson's Christmas, my arse song made me want to stick kitchen knives in my arm just to relieve the pain of watching it. Consequently, George Michael's hair in the Last Christmas video came as a blessed relief.
I found a disability activist website where the posters wrote Happy Cripmas to each other. Fair do's.
I had a back massage today from my massage girl. I think of her as having the skill of a neuro-surgeon and the artistry of Michelangelo. Perhaps I exaggerate, but she's damn good. I gave her a bouquet of Lillies and some gift tokens for Christmas and she looked all pleased and surprised and gave me a hug. Don't be so soppy, I said. Naw, only kidding - it's the season of goodwill to all masseurs.
-C

Monday, December 18, 2006

What's that, Life?

When I sleep poorly, I wake up feeling as if mice have nibbled away the coating round my nerves and intra-venous Calamine lotion starts to seem like a good idea.
A lot of PWME get very few colds as their immune systems are underactive on some axes and over active on others. Every winter I hope I won't get some cold or flu-bug on top of the ME. Yet each time I foster this hope, I feel as if I am being cheeky to Life in its grand scheme of things. I expect Life to turn round and dish me out a bug, precisely because I am arrogant enough to petition my case for not having one. I'll decide what goes on here, Life might say in a boomy voice, well within his remit. Is posting this a double bluff? You see Life, I understand your position...now, about that cold you mentioned...
I went to see Nice Man do a few songs at a charity gig last night. I was pleased we got the sofa to sit on. Attic Lights were good too - lovely harmonies.
The other day in M&S, I asked Stuart whether I should buy a jumper dress. He said, I don't have jurisdiction on the jumper dress, Ciara. Useless for the shopper as indecisive as me. They didn't have my size anyway.
-C

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Camp in the Campsies

Myself and Stu boy at sunset. Photo taken by Marisa, after I killed the endangered Scottish wild cat and fashioned my hat from its hide. No but, yeah but, no but. Certainly not but.
-C

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

How's about that, Shep?

If I do one thing a day, my life feels hectic. If I'm in an iller phase, I feel overwhelmed, in a better phase I like it. By 'thing' I mean a hair cut, dentist appointment, night class, local supermarket shop, cafe. These are the building bricks of my life. (What about art? You should write more! Shoosh, alter ego, I'm writing this blog, amn't I ?)
I'm a lover of countryside and in winter I'm almost gasping to get out from the greyness of the city. Recently Stuart drove myself and Marisa halfway up the Campsies (our nearest hills) and it was glorious to sit on a wooden bench looking back over the sun-lit fields to Glasgow. You can see half way to Edinburgh too. My body always relaxes slightly when I can look out to a view. I feel it go aahh. We saw sheepdogs herding sheep and Stuart tried to explain to Marisa the conditions under which One man and his dog was prime time viewing on BBC2. It was the seventies. We had 3 channels. They put it on at the weekend. Eight million people watched Shep chasing sheep into a square pen. Rule rural Britannia.
Later we were the only customers in a small country cafe, except for a hand-crafted Santa doll, and classical Christmas tunes coming through speakers. Stuart said they probably had a dj in the kitchen.
I collected some berried branches (with jaggy thorns) and they are still in the boot of my car, days later. My Christmas cactus is in full bloom. I'm holding off on my plastic tree til I really have to.
-C

Monday, December 11, 2006

Elf Yourself

Got precious minutes to squander? Broadband to burn? Make yourself dance like an elf here... I'll go first, shall I? No, I don't feel silly at all.
-C

Thursday, December 07, 2006

The Herald article - Invisible ME

As you know, this blog is meant to be a mixture of observations on living with ME and living in general. It's been a bit ME-heavy recently and I hope to write about other topics soon, but for the record, here is the recent article from The Herald newspaper.
The Herald (Glasgow), December 4

The invisible sufferers of ME by Alison Chiesa
Awakening to the sharp winter sunshine of December 6, 1986, a young university student believed she had a future filled with potential. Apart from a touch of flu, Ciara MacLaverty, at just 18, was confident in her ability to realise her dreams. Perhaps she would become a writer, taking after her father, Bernard, the Irish author who moved to Scotland in 1975 and has since held university posts in Aberdeen and Glasgow. If not a writer, maybe a teacher, a psychologist, or a dancer. She would then marry, she thought, and have three children.
Time passed and the intervening years brought changing governments, scientific discoveries, and medical breakthroughs. But Ciara never recovered from "the flu". Today, at 38, she has yet to make any of her dreams a reality. Although unaware of its grim significance at the time, that date in December marked the start of a war with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis - a continuing struggle that has left Ciara largely bed-bound for two decades. "I'd never even heard of ME before then," she said, as she lay on the sofa of her home in the west end of Glasgow, "But it has robbed me of what I could have been."
As the inauspicious anniversary approaches, the decision to speak out by Ciara and her mother, Madeleine, her primary carer, is political. It is fuelled by fury at the "gross injustice" being done to the ME community. "I am very ambivalent about having my life exposed," said Ciara, "but I feel I must speak out to highlight a situation that hasn't changed in the last 20 years. Biomedical research into our condition is still being ignored by the medical establishment. We are being made to feel invisible."
Her comments coincide, and have been galvanised by, the recent publication of a new independent report, the Gibson inquiry, which calls on the government to "invest massively" into researching a physical cause for ME. Released by a committee of MPs, and led by Dr Ian Gibson, a Scot, the inquiry took nearly a year to complete and found that many of the estimated 250,000 people in the UK with ME are written off as neurotic because a minority have been misdiagnosed. It also concluded that the medical establishment's belief that ME is "all in the mind" has biased research against investigating a physical cause for the condition. Most funded research studies have been directed at psychosocial management strategies, such as pacing energy levels and coping with limitations. "This is a bit like using carrot juice or exercise to treat cancer, or talking therapy to treat Parkinson's disease," believes Ciara, who spent the earlier years of her illness with a constant migraine-type headache, so severe that she would bang her head against the wall above her bed in a futile bid to relieve the pain.
Although currently slipping into a relapse phase of her fluctuating condition, her determination not to be portrayed as a victim is firm. She dressed, washed her hair, and put on make-up before being interviewed, even though this exhausted her to the extent that she had to retreat to bed for the rest of the day. Like many sufferers, who feel their whole system is "poisoned", she finds demeaning the popular term used to describe her condition - Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Welcoming the inquiry's findings that scientific research into ME may lead to a proper diagnostic test for the condition, she said: "It is as much about extreme tiredness as Alzheimer's is about extreme forgetfulness. ME should be recognised as on a par with end-stage MS or cancer." Having renamed her condition the "Living Death Syndrome" it leaves her, at its worst, in constant severe pain, unable to sit upright because her brain feels like it is "slopping about in a solution" in her skull. She has also gone through periods of being unable to see properly, chat, or hold a knife and fork. Her mother, Madeleine, whom Ciara admits "bears the brunt" of her battle, has had to cut up her food for her, and even wash her hair, while she has lain pained and exhausted.
On better days, however, she can venture out of bed for around three hours. If she feels well enough to step outside, she must travel even short distances by car. She also wears earplugs in public places. Her sensitivity to noise is so extreme, that even the sound of a hand dryer causes "wincing pain" through her skull. No conventional coping treatment has helped. Neither has the £15,000 worth of complementary therapies she has paid for in her desperation to lead some semblance of a "normal" life. "You clutch at anything," she said. "What you're really clutching at is hope. But there must now be definitive scientific research done. I want someone to be paid to look through a microscope."
Her mother could barely contain her frustration when asked to sum up how she felt about seeing her daughter's potential drain away. "I have had to watch Ciara suffer over the years and she's as ill now as she was 20 years ago," said Madeleine. "She has missed out on so much. I've gone beyond being sad about it. Now I'm just so angry because nothing is being done. This does a gross injustice to ME sufferers. I've been so frustrated I've even considered lying outside the doors of the medical research councils in protest." She added: "While not wishing to take away from other causes, I get angry when thinking about how much money is put into researching something like bird flu…Yet, here are all these people with ME being ignored. Some are being drip-fed, others are reaching the age of 20 without ever having gone to secondary school."
Around 25,000 children are thought to have the illness in the UK. According to the ME Association, it is the biggest cause of long-term sickness absence in schools. On the MPs' report, which also finds the UK is falling "way behind" other countries on ME research, Dr Charles Shepherd, medical adviser to the ME Association, said: "Those who have been named and shamed in this report can no longer ignore its very powerful messages."
One of the few charities worldwide that is privately funding biomedical research into its root causes is Perth-based ME Research UK (MERGE) which last year uncovered biochemical abnormalities in the circulation of adult ME patients, suggesting a persistent infection that keeps the immune system working overtime. Dr Neil Abbot, its director of operations, welcomed the report's assertion that "the origins and causes of the whole ME problem will only be found through further scientific research". He added: "This is a vital step. It is marvellous that the inquiry has recognised psychology cannot be the answer to the illness, and that the 'UK precedence [that] has been given to psychological research' should cease." Ciara believes a cure can be found in her lifetime only if policy-makers pay heed to the report. While she waits, she is at pains to achieve "bite-sized" pieces of past dreams. Spending time with her younger sister's children is a great source of joy. She has also published her first collection of poetry. It was written largely while bed-bound, from where she could look into a townhouse used by the medical research department of Glasgow University. Her collection, Seats for Landing, contains a poem called Overlooked, which she hopes best describes her "incarceration". "I try not to think too much about the future," she said. "I live one day at a time, appreciate the smallest things, and take nothing for granted."
-C

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Not the Spotlight of Malady!

I did an interview for The Herald this week re my 20 year anniversary of ME (the night a virus came to live in my brain!) and the recent Gibson report that calls for more biomedical research into the dastardly causes. I confess I do these articles with a heavy heart, always wishing someone else would do them instead. Get thee away, oh spotlight of malady. But the responses and thanks I've had via e mail have been consoling and heart-warming. A difficult aspect of ME is feeling you can't help others as much as you'd like, so it was good to feel that the article expressed other people's feelings too. If the copyright thingy allows me, I'll post the article later.
-C

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Best Scottish Poems 2006


I am honoured to be picked along side these great poets (names, sweetie, names!) as part of the Best Scottish Poems 2006 selection, as chosen by Janice Galloway. Janice The Trick is to Keep Breathing Galloway! I thank you kindly.
PS. For those, like my parents, who know not where to click and say, but we couldn't find your poem, click here .
-C

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Late at night, mystery bike

I'm definitely batting below average. I find myself avoiding phoning people when I have no news to report other than being horizontal for days. Reading is a struggle to concentrate after ten minutes. I feel like I've been accidentally doped - until 3am and then I'm ready to chat about the existential dilemmas of life and the world is asleep. Can I just be a tormented bohemian who is above the conventions of night and day?

I went to visit Nice Man last night. We watched Mighty Boosh episodes on DVD with Nice Man flatmate, Eugene Eugenius. We all lie on separate sofas with the lights off. It is cosy.

When I left to drive 3 streets home again, I found a mountain bike abandoned on the pavement. The back brakes had locked (or broken?) so I couldn't push it far. I couldn't fit it into my wee car. I left it propped against a lamp post, oh mystery bike.

I need more photos in my blog. Here is one of Nice Man on his recent trip to Japan. He doesn't always read my blog so I might get away with it before he says, Aww, no, don't..... I like it though.

-C



Sunday, November 26, 2006

Summary of Cheney Lecture

Hmm. After another stuck-in-bed weekend, I will try to summarize the Cheney lecture. Okay, bear with me.
Dr Cheney believes that part of ME / CFIDS is actually a heart disorder. His data shows that our hearts are anatomically intact but the left chamber is slow to fill and we are pumping as little as 60% of what we should be. The blood pressure and volume is not up to the job. Not even close. This has a huge negative cascading effect on the body - cells get hypoxic (starved of oxygen) and we feel as weak as someone with heart failure. When we try to over-ride our severe limitations, the body floods us with adrenalin to try and compensate. The effect is like trying to live on speed and the inevitable and frequent crashes are...well, inevitable. It's no wonder we have to stop - the system requires more fuel than we have to give it. The fall-into-bed factor is not 'fatigue'. It's the body's way of protecting itself for what is essentially an acute crisis of physiology.
The knock on effects of 'running on empty' are too many to mention. The blood chemistry is a mess with chemical alarm signals fighting it out with the body's attempts at compensation -which are counterproductive- eg inflammation, vasoconstriction, down regulation of hormones, etc...
And if we go to a cardiologist? Cheney says we'll most likely meet with ignorance and be sent home because our hearts are anatomically (although not functionally) normal. What caused this dysfunction in the first place? Place your money on a virus.
Treatments? None that work. That old chestnut. Cheney recommends always getting your feet up when possible (to increase blood flow to the upper body) and isotonic drinks (ie water with salt in). In the long term, he'd love to see if injecting stem cells into heart muscle could help. Jeeze. Who's going to be a guinea pig for that one? Another approach is a tablet with pig heart extracts in it. Ditto.
So there you have it. I've taken my blood pressure every morning this week and it's usually 94 over 50. Normal is 120 over 80. I feel like a semi-deflated balloon at a kids' party. Hell's bells. Hold on while I treat myself to another glass of salty water...
-C
PS. Sometimmes I wish I didn't know things so I could just kid myself that I was a bit tired. Ah well, we need people like Cheney. All power to him.

Friday, November 24, 2006

Dr Cheney Lecture

Hello again, excuse me for neglecting the blog. I'm still catching up with the everyday. In the meantime, here's a link to a lecture on CFIDS / ME by Dr Cheney. I believe it's 3 hours long! I'm starting to watch it in stages...
-C

Friday, November 17, 2006

Niece work...

Greetings friends and thanks for all the valuable comments. My blog debate is just hotting up and I'm away for a few days to visit my nieces, so I'll get back to you when I can...

-C

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Experimental Treatments - 2

Okay, I feel the need for a follow-up post. Thank you to everybody reading or getting involved in the debate - either via comments or email. Debate is welcome.
First thing -I don't ever want to deride anyone else's experience of how ill they are (or were) and how much or little they improved. I am humbled when people write to me to try and help me, by spreading the word about whatever path helped them.
I just wish science would help us get to the bottom of this disparity. Is that the right word? This lack of consistency. There are obviously different forms of ME and CFS. My dear friend, Stuart was very ill for several years with crushing fatigue and he recovered to 99%. He never had the neurological / head symptoms that I have, but I don't doubt he had some sort of profound, immune-related illness. Many people suffer terribly and do get better, but a significant number remain ill for life. What is going on?
I would love if any of the mind-body therapies could help me. And I believe applying some of these techniques can help us adjust to life as-is and promote peace of mind, lessen stress etc. But they have never helped my physical and neurological symptoms. (Even beginning a sentence with a 'but' makes me feel like a but-but-but naysayer). And yet... and yet! This is my honest experience and that of thousands of PWME.
When people get cancers there are multi-faceted reasons why some will die and others will live and all the mind-body mysteries are some part of that. One would assume that positive thinking could only help. I read a study a few years back that said it wasn't as big a factor in recovery as expected.
I do advocate being positive as much as possible - whatever that means. Being positive can mean wholly accepting life as is. Making the best of life's randomness.
We really need a definitive diagnostic test for ME/CFS. Will it separate the ME from the CFS? We need answers to these confusions as to why many remain stuck at such low levels of function. And to those who improve: celebrate. There's no reason not to.
-C

Monday, November 13, 2006

Experimental Treatments

Every so often I get emails from PWME on the subject of the controversial methods (treatments?) that go by the names Reverse Therapy, Mickle Therapy and Lightning Process. These talking mind/body therapies have only recently appeared in the world of ME/CFS. Now, if I myself were helped by something, I too would spread the word like a tambourine-shaking evangelist, so I am not offended by these stories. I am, however, baffled by them. Completely baffled. I don't understand how rearranging the mental furniture could cure ME, any more than it could cure MS or Epilepsy or Parkinson's. Yet I cannot deny that some people seem to benefit. Do they have the same illness?
I always try to keep an open mind and when I heard about a local hypnotherapist working with PWME, I gave it a try. Long story short - it did not work. Perhaps I did not try long enough but in the end the hypnotist implored that if I didn't believe in him, the outcome would be 'hopeless' and if I did believe in his treatment, then 'it would work'. God, I tried so hard to make that quantum leap in my head. Yet it seemed an ingenious unfairness to pin it all on my beliefs and not his.
I had watched TV hypnotist, Paul McKenna work intensively on a woman with MS to help her get to a family wedding. There were short term, short-lived improvements but McKenna was adamant that he could not cure this woman; he could only give a brief lift to her mind and spirit. She made it to the wedding and the cameras departed after that. I can only guess at the payback.
The other thing about these treatments is the cost. For a full course, you are talking £500 - £1000 for starters. If the therapy was free, I'd try it all. I'd give it hours of effort. Ditto if the therapists gave money-back guarantees. If you paid £49 at the hairdressers and your hair wasn't a millimeter shorter, you'd ask for your money back - why is this different? Therapists have always rejected my request for no improvement / no fee deal. Come on, therapists. Anyone want to prove themselves? If you have real faith in your methods, I'm here. If I get a sustainable improvement, (say, 50% improvement) I'll pay twice or three times as much, and I'll recommend twenty friends. I'm open.
-C

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Not Nothing?

I have just 'upgraded' to Internet Explorer 7 and it's taking a while to get used to it. My blog settings look different and IE6 knew all my passwords and now I'm back to guessing. How did you live without this interesting information?
Somedays my eyes feel very tired and vanity starts me wondering about the potential benefits of those wee tubs of eye cream that cost about £57. But I don't believe the hype. Have you noticed how they always claim to 'smooth the appearance of fine lines' as opposed to just smoothing wrinkles - which of course they can't do.
I have stopped reading my horoscope for the first time in my life. It feels quite liberating. I never believed in it, but I'd have a compulsion to read the Capricorn paragraph anyway. Then I'd read Virgo and decide it suited me more.
I am waiting in for a TV aerial man to climb into my attic and rig up my new neighbour's TV. Such is the way that quiet hours are passed. I am not doing nothing. I am being a good neighbour and a cog in the wheel of public service broadcasting.
-C

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Small salvage

Occasionally I manage to salvage more quality out of a day that I expect to. In general, my 'battery' feels acutely drained, but it was soothing to get out this afternoon with Francis to the new Tinderbox cafe where our friend, Krista, has opened a small shop at the back of the cafe. It sells artsy things and has sofas and halogen lighting and a piano. The air smells of ground coffee and new things. It was good to sip tea, eat cake and gaze at stuff. Gazing at stuff is a useful analgesic for me, with a half life of about hour.
I'm happy to be home now to the autumny smells of fireworks outside and warm radiators inside. And David Attenborough's Planet Earth will be on TV later with world class polar bear footage. Cheers Dave.
-C
PS. I got borderline weepy when the male polar bear died due to lack of food. I'd be happy to sacrifice an aesthetically-challenged walrus without tears. Shame on me and my animal cuteness hierarchy.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Go on, treat me...

As I wake up this morning feeling like a wrung-out dish cloth, it's time for another ME-related, where do we go from here post. 'Normals' can look away now if they don't want to know the score.

My favourite writer/researcher on ME is Dr David Bell. Click here for his excellent website. He focuses on the issue of low blood volume and orthostatic intolerance, which I believe is key. He has discovered that many PWME have reduced blood volume, some as low as half of what we are supposed to have. If you lost 40% of your blood in a car crash, you'd die. If you lose that slowly over time (in ME) you feel like the living dead.

Dr Bell has treated some patients with saline injections (water plus salt to increase blood volume) with a degree of success. There are risks of getting additional infections but for some people, the benefits of increased function outweigh the risks. I tried taking oral salts in the form of a product called Recuperation. A lot of PWME online claim it helps them (over time) but it irritated my stomach and I found no benefit. I've got sachets of it stuffed in a drawer unused.

I'd love to have access to more specialised assessment and possible treatments. I wish there was some kind of Europe-wide scheme where I could go to Kenny DeMeirleir's clinic in Belgium and get tested for all sorts of sub modalities that may be influencing the bigger picture. These tests do exist but only at a high cost. Can't the NHS fund us? If we go along to our GP's they can offer us virtually nothing.

All treatment is trial and error. It's another bright Saturday and I'm feeling trapped by my body again. I want to go to the healthcare casino and put my chips on the table. There must be something else I could bet on?

-C

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Make-over programmes

How do I get sucked into these house make-over programmes? It's amazing how I can watch 50 minutes of footage made from shots of cement mixers, men in hard hats, and close ups of skips (dumpsters to you in the US); just to get to ten minutes of the camera panning around the inside of the finished house to mellow chimey music and me thinking, wooow, great conversion, fantastic bathroom, but I would never have picked those curtains....

It's the same with You are what you eat and What not to wear. I'd be happy to have the whole programme edited down to four and a half minutes. I could then use the other thirty-five-and-a-half minutes to surf aimlessly around the internet.

-C

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

A Serry Story

Excuse the lull in posting, dear readers. I was about to say sorry for the lull, but we need more clarification on the word sorry in our language. There is sorry as in, it's all my fault and I messed up. If you want to go the whole hog, you can think, sorry, it's all my fault and I'm generally rubbish. (Not recommended)
Or there is sorry as in, I regret that...The two meanings get blurred all the time. We should have different variations on the word, like I'm serry (regret but no guilt).
My weeks have settled into a decent enough pattern. If I get sufficient sleep and rest I can get out for an hour or two, most days. I love my creative writing class on Tuesday nights. I love talking and having opinions. At times I feel quite cheerful. For this, I am not at all serry.
-C

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Wur selfs

Sometimes I wonder if it's a bit cheesy to put here we are photos on my blog, but I had a request so here are myself and the Frankster at the recent wedding.
-C

Competitive Spirit

Years ago I went through a phase of entering competitions. I'd read that it was easy to win, once you'd learned the formula for writing winning slogans. I tried to win a Valentine's weekend in Amsterdam with Cross pens. My slogan was something desperate like...When our tulips cross I'll have something to write home about. I got third prize which was a Cross pen worth £30. The pen didn't write very smoothly, so I'm ashamed to say, I took it to a pawn shop. They offered me a tenner and I declined. I think it's still hiding in a presentation box in a bottom drawer, beside old passport photos, an empty deodorant bottle and a tartan hair scrunchy.

-C

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Glasgow popster weddings

These are some photos of the guest house where I have booked a room for this weekend. I applaud a good website that makes the place look inviting. Francis and I are invited to a wedding nearby which will have a high percentage of guitar strummin' C86 Glasgow indie popsters. I didn't even know what C86 was. I still don't. You don't either, huh? Apparently it's a tag for some of the lo-fi Glasgow indie bands of the '8o's. Now most of them are Glasgow lo-fi popsters in their 40's.

It's just a weird coincidence that my close pals are musicians. My friend Stuart took me to some of these gigs before his band Belle and Sebastian had their break. If I wasn't tone deaf I'm sure I would have ended up playing or singing with him somewhere along the line. I draw the line at shaking a tambourine in a desperate manner.

I was once offered to fly to New York with B&S to take photos but I wasn't well enough. When their American label boss flew from NY to sign them, I made him a cup of tea at my tiny flat and offered him some maltesers. His stretch limo was parked in the back lane and I offered to bring out a cup of tea for the chauffeur too. The chauffeur politely declined. I think he felt he had to.

-C

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Cons and Pros and Never Knows

When babies are born in soap operas or TV dramas you can always tell it's a month old baby with a bit of make-up gunk on its head. When I see real births on TV, my eyes usually water with tears. Before I got ME, I always presumed I would have children one day. I never questioned it. With ME it is a very difficult, almost impossible decision. I am nearly 39 so timing is not on my side.
I am more philosophical about everything in life though. My aim is to look for the positive in whatever life does or doesn't throw at me. Perhaps people underestimate the value of freedoms that come from not being a parent, and for others parenthood is hailed as the best thing ever. It should be possible to make the best of either path. Surely? I'm enjoying reading a blog by a new mother with ME called Sofamum . I haven't figured out how to post permanent links on the side of my blog yet, so I'll flag this up here.

-C

Sunday, October 15, 2006

The tilt of October

Well, I am always heartened to receive I like your blog emails, so thank you amigos. You've spurned me on to another miscellaneous posting.
I'm enjoying the unaturally mild October weather. I said today that October was a tilt month and Francis looked at me quizzically. You know...that pleasing tilt into autumn? A sense of planetary motion absent in other months. February doesn't tilt so flagrantly. Or July.
I found a great site where you can listen to poems in bite-sized chunks, as if choosing sweets from a tray of Milk Tray. (It's been years since I ate those '70's chocolates - but I remember relishing the variety of the plastic tray before narrowing the choice down to Coffee Cream or Caramel Keg). Anyway, this link is to a Billy Collin's poem and you can browse the selection by theme or by poet.
-C

Friday, October 13, 2006

Tell me this...

My late granny used to prefix her questions with the phrase, tell me this and tell me no more... She would ask the same questions over and over again. You're not one of them oul' vegetarians, are you? Are those shoes comfortable? (with an expression that suggested the answer couldn't possibly be yes). If she didn't like a new food she was offered, she'd say, I wouldn't die if I never saw it again or, them to their fancy and me to my Nancy. If she forgot your name in a moment of confusion, she'd refer to you as Fanny Bluehole, or occasionally Fanny by Gaslight. She was a gay icon without realising it.

-C

Monday, October 09, 2006

ET Phone Home?

Just a quick post to say I woke up to find my landline kaput, which means I can't get online at home and/or chat to friends. What an uncanny vacuum. Lord have mercy! They are trying to fix it and warned me it could take up to a week. I refuse to entertain that timespan. Oh speed ye digital engineers. I am trying to read more, inbetween the usual 'comatosing'.

-C

Sunday, October 08, 2006

That Weird Head Thing

Thank you to those of you who have written to say you recognised aspects of yourselves in my posts. Today, I'm living the delayed response to The Springer Spaniel Hyper Phase, otherwise known as That Weird Head Thing. It approaches slowly but surely like a rumbling storm - the hot and cold shivers, the dizziness followed by an acute 'sea sickness' and finally a steady inflammo-head for a day or two. Oh, it knows what it's doing alright. It's a master of stealth. One could almost applaud it's Machiavellian ways. I felt bad at having to cancel an invitation to dinner with friends.

Still, Francis cooked us a mean prawn and chilli stir fry. And he does look good with that new haircut. Blessings be counted.
-C

Friday, October 06, 2006

This is Planet Earth


I'm the kind of person who loves poring over maps so I enjoyed my first spin on Google earth. If your PC has a high enough spec, you can download satellite images of the roof of your house - or anywhere else in the world you want to nosey at. Amazing technology.

I had a lovely evening with two great girlfriends. We have so much to talk about. Sometimes I get a bit hyper and am the conversational equivalent of a Springer Spaniel: excitable yet lacking direction, in need of benign discipline.

After yesterday's house-swap desires, my wish has been speedily granted. A kind and generous friend has offered to lend me his house on Islay for a few days at New Year. I feel much Springer Spaniel type gratitude.

-C

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

House Swap Ideas?


I have a policy that if a neighbour knocks at my door to ask about some communal matter, I'll invite them in to sit down, as opposed to discussing it in the doorway. I've noticed that this isn't the norm and usually people do not invite you in. Scottish people seem to be more guarded about their homes. Another friend agreed with me, that as a child and a teenager he'd be left waiting on a doorstep for his friend to come out. Perhaps he'd be invited to stand in the kitchen, but never in the living room.
I don't want to be this guarded. In fact I was wishing that there could be more scope for informal house swapping. For example, I could swap friends of friends, and they could have a few days in Glasgow at the shops and city attractions and I could have a few days in the countryside. Yin and Yang.
There are many official House Swap sites, but I think most of the people who register travel widely and lavishly. Who wants to swap a 10 bedroom mansion on Long Island for a one bedroom flat in Glasgow? I'm thinking on a more accessible scale. I can cat or dog-sit as well. Log fire and a sea view? Now we're talking...
-C

Monday, October 02, 2006

If you say so

Regular dialogue inside my head -

C: You haven't written poems or stories for ages. You really should apply yourself...

C: I feel wiped-out right now. I barely have the concentration to read, so why should I be expected to write?

C: Well, given the choice, you occasionally get out to meet friends and drink herbal tea in cafes. You should have written a novel by now.

C: But I'm alone most of the day and I like my friends...

C: (Folds arms, sighs). Okay, I'll let you off for today. Call me tomorrow.

I sometimes try to use a method called The Work, which challenges every stressful 'should' thought. 'I should write more'. Is that actually true? It doesn't have to be. For an Irish Catholic, I carry a lot of Calvinism.

At least I'm not suffering from the delusion of X factor contestants with their wholesale hysteria that their mental health hinges on just getting through to the next round because fame means everything to them and they 'eat, sleep and breathe singing.' How did fame come to be valued as the panacea?
I'm going to cook corn on the cob. I was afraid of it as a child - it was too unwieldy and yellow-tasting. Now that's the good part.
-C

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Physician, steel thyself

I went to see my doctor today and he had just returned to work after being off sick for three months. Years after I got Coxsackie B virus, he caught it (from elsewhere!) and he told me he would go home from work at 6pm, fall straight into bed and then sleep through till the next morning. He said he felt, 'like he was dying.' So, he was (is?) still struggling and he said that they wouldn't give him all the tests he wanted. I said, there's a policy of 'not encouraging us' with high-filootin, 'extra' tests. It almost felt like we were pals more than doctor and patient. I hope he's one of the luckier ones.
One of my poems was chosen by The Scottish Poetry library for their web page of Best Scottish Poems 2006. A lovely surprise. I'll post a link when it comes online.
-C

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Cats and Yoomans


Sometimes I miss not having a cat. But it has to be the right cat - you can't have one with ADHD that wakes you up in the middle of the night. I read today that some (most?) cat litter has carcinogenic dust in it and that cat asthma has increased since its introduction. Blimey. My brain seems to have an almost limitless capacity for collecting 'health risk' facts. I'm turning into Woody Allen.
My 2 year old niece was given a story tape about caterpillars. She eagerly reported to her parents how the story tells of yoomans living up the up-pipe and according to her new caterpillar perspective, yoomans were scarey creatures. Her dad explained that she is, in fact, a human, as we all are and there is nothing to fear in this respect. She replied, 'but I don't want to be a yooman.' Ya gotta love that existential angst. See? Woody Allen, I tell you.
-C

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Island Life


Oh, the joys of the countryside; the recharging powers of nature. I'm back from 3 days in a cottage on the Isle of Arran, courtesy of kind friends (the same couple who invited me there in Spring). Echoes of my previous island life came back to me - the sense of small community, the philosophical acceptance of weather like this one day, and lightning storms the next day. It was just so relaxing.
I went horse trekking along the beach. I was the only person in the trek (bar the instructor woman) who wasn't 8 years old and wearing pink. (My never being allowed horse lessons as a child may have some bearing on this fact). They all had wee comedy ponys with pot bellies and I had a docile mare, who showed a touching patience to my amateur rein pulls. I rode past a lolloping hare the size of a small kangaroo and several excitable collies.
We went to tea rooms and ate great homebaking in bad Kagoules. There were Motorhead and Iron Maiden T-shirts in the local bar, just like 1982. Alert the Scottish Heritage Trust: wearers might be eligible for funding.
At night the stars were amazing - I'd forgotten about the wonder of stars in the countryside - and the cows would give an occasional low moo, scared of nothing at all in the thick blackness.
-C

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Are you what you eat?

I got 88% on this How Healthy is your Diet quiz? Go on kids, give it a try. You know you don't want to...
-C

'I'll just have to....'

I realise that there are so many times in my life when I tell myself, I'll just have to manage... I just woke up from a dream where I had gone to visit friends in England and I felt deathly after the long train journey. I had to lie down while the friends starting socialising and drinking. I wondered how long it would take for me to 'recover' enough to join them. Then F-boy came to tell me that we had to go back to Glasgow the next day on bicycles. He said it would take about 4 hours. I remember thinking that the train took 4 hours, so wouldn't bicycles take much longer? Even for a trained cyclist, this was quite far. And all I could think was, I'll just have to manage. C'est la vie. Don't throw a spoke in the wheel or a spanner in the works. Bonkers. Sado-masochism! (That should get me a few more hits on google).
-C

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Awakenings

I was amazed to read this article that tells of patients in brain damage states who experienced miracle recoveries or remissions after they were given a sleeping pill; and it turns out to be the same sleeping pill that I take 2 or 3 nights a week if I can't sleep. Wow.
Years ago, I remember taking a different sleeping pill and once I mistook the tablet for a vitamin pill and took it in the afternoon. After I realised my mistake, I didn't feel sleepy which surprised me.
I'd love to see a TV documentary about this. The tablet helps an estimated 60% of cases so far. I'm happy for the people who get to see their loved-ones wake up.
-C

Sunday, September 10, 2006

The Weekend Syndrome


Sunday night and once more I have used what I call the weekend syndrome for and against myself. That is, I know I'm not fit enough to do X or Y, but I tell myself, it's the weekend! and I protest inwardly that everyone treats themselves at the weekend so why shouldn't I have the treat of attempting to disregard or short-circuit the awful debility? The trick is to ride rough-shod over what my body is telling me and pledge to pay my dues on weekdays. Even writing this makes me feel semi-ashamed. Clearly this is not sensible planning or wise pacing. To quote Dr Charles Lapp,
'I can assure you from experience that pushing and crashing, denial, depression and a negative attitude are all formulas for disaster, and I have never seen a patient who practiced them and yet recovered.'
I know, I know, yes, we know. But often I feel that pushing it (in short bursts anyway) is the only way I can have some semblance of a life, which in turn keeps my spirit fed.
Anyway, the weekend goody bag included being driven to the country to pick blackberries; and a trip to the cinema to see Little Miss Sunshine, which was kooky and amusing but hardly all-out-hilarious. The blackberries tasted great in a smoothie, whizzed with avocado and apple juice. Check the anti-oxidants on that. And I saw a farm cat greeting a dairy cow - whiskered cat nose sniffing up at wet cow nose, bending down, as if they were the same species.
-C

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Forget the Tiara Thing


This is a photo of an American pop singer called Ciara. Only she pronounces her name, See-aaa-raa. Oh horror of horrors. As if I don't get enough confusion surrounding my name already. For any new readers, my version is pronounced Keera and all my life people have mispronounced it - as in diamond tiara. I can hardly blame anyone though. Anyway, now that I've got my new stats info, I realise that I get a few random hits from people looking for the gorgeous pop Ciara (See-aaa-raa! 'Comin' at cha!') as opposed to 'Her offy that Belle and Seb cover that writes they poy-ems and doesn'y keep too well, although she looks well enough to me...' (that's a Scottish accent for all ye others). Meanwhile See-aaa-raa fans shake their heads in bewilderment and click on the back arrow.
I got out for a just couple of hours on Sunday to a local park to see some friends play in a band (Camera Obscura). The girls took me back stage afterwards where they made me chamomile tea, which I drank with a coleslaw sandwich and a banana. The rain was splattering on the roof of the small marquee and it was not unlike my memories of camping. I felt sheltered and randomly yet agreeably fed .
-C