220. Not quite road worthy.

Tonight I hit the gym for the first time since my crash. I could hold it off no longer. The inability to excercise has been incredibly frustrating. I can’t afford to rest too long or the weight will creep back on.

Tonight was a test of what my hip and back could handle. The limp home suggests, just a little less than I put them through. I was sensible, sticking to low impact machines, at a lower resistance than normal. I couldn’t wait to get on the spin bike, but the pain induced bolt upright position that I had to hold, suggests it will be some time yet before I’m road worthy.

Loopy x

213. Little white lies.

I couldn’t sleep, that part was true. I’m totally dependant on pills now. Audio books and zopiclone are the perfect combination, but without the zopiclone (or a prescribed alternatuve) my eyes remain open and my thoughts attack me.

“Did you do anything?” asked a caring NHS voice this morning. “No” I replied but in truth yesterday I was a little self destructive. I once again put straightening irons against my skin, until the flesh was white and leathery. The edges blistered immediately and now I’m dealing with the aftermath. I don’t really know why I did it.

In the evening myself and OH treated ourselves to a “Subway”; the chicken teriyaki on Italian herb and cheeses went down easily. Then the guilt took hold and I followed the ritual of drinking tea (to fill my gut with liquid), sneaking off to the bathroom, expelling some of the guilt, and washing my hands and around my mouth thoroughly with soap.

I don’t know why I lied this morning. I guess I felt like the truth would let him down. The truth would label me attention seeking. The truth would prove that I’m pathetic.

Loopy x.

210. Clothes shopping.

As I trecked through outlets I could sense the feeling rise. That knot in my gut that comes with, just kill me now. I’ve always hated shopping. There are some practical reasons (can’t easily read labels, don’t like crowds, always feel like I’m being stared at) why I hate it, but it’s more than that.

I’m going back to work however, and the trainers and hoodies that have become my mainstay, don’t exactly ooze professionalism.

Firstly, i’ve never understood the lighting in dressing rooms. Can we have 10,000 lumens please, but not above your head. Oh no; these should form a strip along each mirror edge so that your necessary squinting masks how groteques you look in that ensamble.

What if you’re in the hunt for something a little sexy. Satin maybe that’s sleek and contours every curve, something for your hubbies eyes only.

This lighting just won’t do. I need those tea candles and a bottle of merlot, that give even Jabba the hut come hither eyes and a sultry demure.

NOPE full beams please, so that you look like your morbidly obese gran, who has a grimace indicating that she may have just pooped herself, and her skin a little ragged, because they didn’t have fancy creams in her day. They used wire wool to exfoliate!!

And what’s with sizes anyway??? They should just rip off all the labels and have rows of super skinny, kinda skinny but could lose a few lbs, a little excess baggage and finally; sorry love,we’re going to need more material!!!!

I pulled on a pair of size 10 trousers, too big; “oh my,! well I have been working out

Size 8 winning!!!!, but oh dear you”re obviously a few inches shy of 6 ft 4 glamoererous. Let’s try it in a short, shall we? They were clearly expecting dwarfism. Outlets nowadays have to be so careful, politically correct and inclusive

They cater for all body types, but only if you arrive at the crack of dawn just as shelves are being stocked to scoop up that 1 solidary item thats in your size.

“Oh store assistant, can I have these all in a regular 8 please (they can be tailired later)” I mean come on, I’m gorgeous, I’m glamerous, I’m positively glowing……….

10 minutes later, I’d pulled of some moves that Beth Tweddle and Michelle Kwan would be proud off. “Oh store assistant, I’m…………….I’m STUCK!!!!!!!….and I fear only a large tub of petroleum jelly shall set me free!!

I shall have to delve deep into the reccesses of my wardrobe, as I left the stores defeated, deflated and with just a little less self esteem than I’d arrived with.

And to think, people actually do this for fun????

Loopy x

208. Wound management.

I really should know better. I’ve been doing this long enough!

Dressing brands make promises of longevity, absorbancies and water proofness. When you’re dealing with burns (often full thuckness) as I do, it requires the Rolls Royce of wound care management tools.

Burns result in exudate (the cells and fluid released during inflammation); copiuos amounts in fact, that can rapidly seep through sleeves and garments.

Burns are extremely prone to infection. The skin is our largest protective organ and our first line off deffence against invading pathogens. Furthermore as tissue dies it provides an all you can eat buffet for staphylococcus and his other microbial buddies.

To reduce scarring and achieve improved pain management the healing environment should be moist, and sealed from the elements.

I use Meplilex border Ag when I can. A foam dressing, with a gentle silicone adhesive boeder that can deal with the exudate, combat bacteria with its silver impregnated layers, and provide optimism healing conditions; or so they claim. It’s also thick enough to reduce the odour that accompanies burn healing. Think of your food waste bin, full of meat, during hot summer months in the run up to collection day.

I’d asked my GP for a prescription of said dressings, but my stock is now low. The reality is that these things bend and flex with the contours off your skin. Inflammation induced itchiness forces you to claw and scratch at them. Burning over,or near to old wounds where kelloid scars have formed creates airpockets and channels in the adhesive. All off these factors render them useless within a day or two or immediately following a shower. When my stock is low I try use them sparingly; if at all. They’re incredibly expensive to buy with regularity.

Today’s decision to ration their use created quite the conundrum for me this afternoon. I was going to the gym and knew I’d be showering after. The previous dressing had fallen apart for all the reasons mentioned above and it stunk, so had to be removed. A new one before the gym would waste it, so I left my arms unprotected, covered only by my rash guard. The wounds continued to weep, and a couple of hours later the fabric of my sleeve had congealed with the wound site. IT WAS STUCK!!!

Many of my burns heal with hypergranulation; essentially a process whereby tissue and tiny blood vessels grow back exuberantly above and beyond the original site, creating little delicate flesh mounds. It was one of these that was stuck!!

I soaked my sleeve with water, to no avail. I was forced to “tug!!!” All I can say is Ouch!!! Newly formed nerve endings were severed, blood vessels burst and flesh ripped.

In the context of lecturing I’m used to creating sessions and activities that have “learning outcomes” This was a perfect experience to teach someone not to burn again, but that’s not what I’ve taken away from it.

Despite the trauma, the pain, the odours, the recovery proccesses and the sheer difficulties associated with exudent wound management, and hiding it all from everyone else; I crave it. I need it! It’s my valium, my reality checker, my grounding strategy and my fucked up comforter. It’s my one controllable constant.

I will hoever, be more careful with my wounds.

Loopy x

194. The 3 B’s

Today my downward spiral continues. It’s a day that needs to end. I’ve binged, I’ve biked and I’ve burned.

I slept in, slightly comatosed from last night’s sleep aid. I rushed little man out the door to nursery, and when I arrived home, I made a cuppa and sat with my thoughts.

I wanted to leave little man at nursery indefinitely, and actually dreaded picking him up this evening. I’m no good for him, and sometimes, I think I hate him, or is it the life I now lead since his arrival?

I’ve shoved chocolate bars, cereal bars, real butter smothered scones, bananas, crisps, yogurts, sweets, and anything else edible in my possession, into my face; as if preparing for a winter hibernation.

I off course felt grotesque, and this feeling forced me to go and pump some pedals. Upon returning home I binged some more, fueling further disgust.

Two fingers down my throat expelled some off this disgust, and straightening irons held firmly against my arm expelled some more, and brought me temporary calm.

Now though, with some hours remaining before bedtime, my arm is in agony, my jaws are crying out for more junk food and my legs, (already fatigued from overdoing things lately) are jittery as my head is telling me, I need to pedal some more.

Loopy x

188. I can’t sit still.

I’m back in my living room, and I’m on edge. I’ve eaten too much today, gained too much weight over Christmas and every thought in my head is screaming, “get off your ass, you fat ugly b##ch!!

OH is telling me to chill and start tomorrow. I can’t wait until tomorrow, I have to go out now!

Uuuuuugggghhhhhh

Loopy x

181. A purging replacement.

I’ve been struggling with food lately. I’ve been binging, feeling disgusting and vomiting. I was waking up in the morning with sore throats and let’s be honest, it will destroy my teeth.

My meds have helped a little I think, in that I’m binging a little less (when I do eat though it’s junk) and I’ve tried to replace vomiting with exercise.

I’ve just done a 16 km bike ride. When I’m out on my bike I’m not eating and I’m burning calories. I feel the need though to go further and further each night. I feel fat and disgusting if I don’t go. It’s becoming a bit of an addiction, but then I guess it’s better than vomuting?

I really really REALLY wish I could kick my ball again.

Loopy x