Little Douce Coop

American and English are subtly different languages, and the differences can be rather startling. In the UK, a rubber is what we use to erase pencil marks,the item that it shares a name with in the US has an entirely different function. Americans talking about their "fanny" in the UK will be surprised to learn that in the UK a fanny is not a backside, but an adjacent female body part. The scope for embarrassment is boundless.

However, this post is about henhouses and the vagaries of US v UK pronunciation. We'd say, "Little dewse Coupay" in Britain, whereas we all know how it sounded when the Beach Boys sang. My hens have a nifty new coop, complete with wheels so it can be moved to fresh pastures. It's very smart, neat and tidy - "douce" in the Scots.

So, it's a "Little Douce Coop" - Enjoy your new home, ladies!

What does ME feel like?

I get asked that a lot. Here's as good an answer as I've found, although the experience extends to razors, cups of tea, cordless phones, remote controls. I even lost my car recently - took me 15 minutes to find it again.

Thanks to Leanne Hunter http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=172271661588 - who posted this to the Facebook UK Chronic Fatigue Syndrome group.



Toothbrush, Toothbrush, Where for art thou Toothbrush?

I search under the cupboard,
I look inside the kitchen sink,
I look inside the breadbin,
I look inside the fridge.

But my toothbrush is nowhere to be found.

I look inside my cabinets,
I look under the couch,
I look inside the fish tank,
Turn the living room inside out!

But my toothbrush is nowhere to be found.

I search around the garden,
I look inside the shed,
I check between the bed sheets,
And underneath the bed!

Where could my toothbrush be?

I search around the bathroom,
My toothbrush isn’t in the bath.
It isn’t on my storage shelf.
Or beneath the bathroom matt.

Where’s my blooming toothbrush?

I sit with hands tight on my head,
How will i brush my teeth?
I don’t want plaque on my gums,
When i go to sleep!

Now it’s getting late,
And i want to go to bed,
I give up and sigh and say goodnight,
And raise my weary head.

And then right there before me,
My toothbrush proudly stands,
In the place it’s always been,
In its own little stand!

I start to feel frustrated,
I should have looked there first,
Before the contents of my house,
We’re angrily dispersed.

What did i need my toothbrush for?
As i hold it in my hand.
All night it’s had a purpose,
One now, i can’t understand.

Why did i need my toothbrush?
What could its purpose be?
My brain flicks on, its purpose;
Was to stir my cup of tea?

Farewell, Farewell - Fairport Convention

Here's one of those wonderful Fairport tracks in which Sandy Denny's gorgeous voice and Richard Thompson's guitar skill weave in and around each other to create something magical. Poor Sandy has been a long time gone, but over 40 years later RT still tours to delight us. If you've never seen him, I urge you to do so before he calls it a day.

Ben Keith

Neil Young's long time musical collaborator Ben Keith died last week. Here's "Out on the Weekend" complete with Ben Keith's steel guitar.

Is this thing on?

So, two months just flew by. It's been fun establishing ourselves here at Gilston. The summer has been pretty good , at least by Fife standards, and we've got a lot done. The ME has been restrictive - I'm having to pace myself carefully, but I've got a lot done. I've worked on being able to graciously accept offers of help, even though internally I was snarling at the need and my injured pride. I've got rid of the inner snarl now, and life is easier all of a sudden.

Return from the Cybervoid

After 7 weeks of absurdity I'm finally back online! I coud use this post to give a blow by blow account of my dealings with unco-operative and obtuse Internet Service Providers, but it would probably bore you as much as it does me, so we won't go there.

On the plus side, however, we are now established at the new address. The financial storm clouds have parted, and I have been granted early payment of my pension on the grounds of my ill-health. Combined with the Employment Support Allowance I was granted at my appeal tribunal back in March, I now have a guaranteed income. It's not as much as I used to earn, but it is a good two thirds of that amount, and I'm now spared a great deal of worry.

Moving house with ME is quite an experience. I found that there were days when the sheer need to get things done carried me through, followed by some heavy-duty "payback" days. Oddly, there were a few times my depression, which is normally under control, put in an appearance, despite the steady progress I felt we were making.

I'm sitting here in something of a trance today - yesterday was my regular colonoscopy examination, a souvenir of the bowel cancer I had nearly 20 years ago. To add to the fun, I was examined from both ends on this occasion! The sedative used always gives me a filthy hung over feeling, although I'm happy to report that the test revealed all is well.

It's good to be blogging again, watch this space!

Worry, Illness, Guilt

I follow the blog of a young (at least in comparison to me!) teacher who has recently been afflicted by something that sounds very like ME, although I hope for his sake it isn't. Nonetheless, he's laid low at the moment, and has just had to pull out of a long-planned long distance cycle ride.

He's blogged about his feelings about all this. As can be imagined, he's utterly fed up. He feels he is letting people down, and he's worrying about his longer term future.

These are feelings I know only too well, as does everyone else with a chronic condition. I think that People With M E (PWME hereafter) have a special extra burden to bear because of the "controversial" nature of our condition. PWME have a habit of looking quite well when we aren't crashed out on a sofa. We can walk and talk and stuff just like everyone else. It's just that we can't do it for as long, or as quickly. Sometimes, if we stand up too quickly, or bend over rapidly, the game is over. I usually have a couple of really good hours per day in me, and I've learnt how to run my life so I can, to a point, choose when to use them. See me in those two hours, and I look fine.

PWME also have to deal with history of cynicism toward their illness. It was once called "yuppie flu" in the press, and derided as a licence to malinger. There are still vigorous remnants of that attitude to be encountered amongst medical professionals, those who decide eligibility for assistance and a lot of other folk who ought to know better. Charlatans and quacks offer ineffective and inappropriate cures, and in the UK appear to have successfully convinced Government agencies in the case of Graded Exercise Therapy.

What M E needs is what the medics call a "sign" - a clear identifying symptom. The classsic example of this, as well as being a classic piece of medical black humour, is "Custer's sign". This relates to victims of severe traumas like a car crash. If a male victim is found to have an erection on admission, it is an indicator that he has broken his back and may well be paralysed from the break down - hence "Custer's last stand". He's got a real problem, but at least he has no need to convince anyone of it.

M E is much more nebulous thing. Convincing the authorities we are ill is a laborious process. This leads to worry, about being believed, about whether we will have an income, about the progress of the illness. We feel guilty because we are not pulling our weight, we are leaving tasks for others, and we wonder if we have turned into malingerers overnight. On top of all this we are actually quite ill with a condition that varies, but is often highly disabling. Our thought processes are slow, we are forgetful, we are not able to organise easily.

So here's a new acronym - WIG - Worry, Illness, Guilt - for the burdens a PWME carries about. The worry and the guilt tend to worsen the condition, but are built into the experience of ME. Resolving that paradox is a key part of coping with the illness, and I wish all the M E affected readers of this blog success in finding a way through.