And the germs keep coming, coming ...

On the second night of lurgy,

my bad bug gave to me:

12 tatty tissues

11 sniffs a snivelling

10 turns a tossing

9 sudden sneezes

8 soothers sucked

7 toilet trips

6 chapters read

5 vay pour ruuuubs

4 drinks of water

3 sleeping tablets

2 lem sips

And a damn near non-existent night's sleeeeeep!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Ichabod is itchy ...

... and so, the blinking heck, am I!!  

This time of night is a particularly pleasant time for me.  Every night is the same; though it is worse if I am more tired.  Basically I formicate.  Every night.  And it isn't fun.  It's ... hang on a mo ... that is not what I said ... scrape yourself out of the gutter and pay attention ... formicate, I said formicate.  

Here an itch, there an itch - everywhere an itch itch

Formication, according to the wordly-wise wonder that is Wikipedia, is derived from formica, the Latin word for ant.  Formication is the medical term for a sensation that resembles that of insects crawling on (or under) the skin.  Formication is a well-documented symptom that has numerous possible causes. 

She itches here ... she itches there ...

For me, my formication habit began when I had my interferon treatment for Hepatitis C, back in 1999.  It was one of a glut of delightful side effects which still lingers long after that original year of treatment.  The definition - which I only had from my CFS specialist this last year - is uncannily accurate.  If you will: imagine hundreds of ants crawling just underneath your skin (horror movie stylee).  However, they are not just in one spot.  Imagine those subdermal ants crawling on the top of your right foot, for a couple of seconds, then on the inside of your left ear lobe, then on the back of your right index finger, then across your stomach, then your left shoulder blade, then just under your eyes.  Uncomfortable yet??

The Itchy and Scratchy Ros

This pretty much describes the sensations I get when I'm in bed every night trying to go to sleep.  As you can imagine I'm kind of a whirling dervish underneath the duvet, rubbing here, itching there, eee ooo aaa, can't reach the scratchy little devils!!  And no, there are no bedbugs or other actual nibbly, crawly creatures - it is, quite literally all in my head .. and all over my body.  Nice.  I've got so used to them now that I've affectionately and somewhat derangedly dubbed them my "itchy buggers".

To Itchycoo Park that's where I've been.

What did you do there?

I got high
What did you feel there?
Well I cried
But why the tears there?
I'll tell you why
It's all too beautiful

It's all too annoying

It's all too itchying

It is peculiar that I never really get visitations from the itchy buggers during the day.  I often scratch my face to shreds because I have the sensation of an eyelash or a strand of hair on my skin and no matter how hard I try I can't get rid of it, but that's because there's nothing there.  I think that sensation is probly related, but it is only at night that the formication fun really begins.

You scratch my back, I'll scratch my back and leg and neck and toe...

I've spoken to my GP as to why it is I might be getting formicated and they didn't have many suggestions as to what the cause could be, but they did say that it was a common side effect of drug withdrawal.  Hmmm.  The CFS occupational therapist who took my symptom, one I hardly thought worth mentioning, and gave it a name - told me that it might be liver related but also wondered if it could be caused by something in the blood products I constantly inject.  The former was also the opinion of the Chinese acupuncturist that I saw earlier in the year - she saw the crawling as a sign of a toxic liver.  This made sense to me given the Hep C, the interferon and ribaviron I've had over the years.  However when asking the liver doctors they say my liver results are not too bad and my biopsy 10 years ago showed only mild inflamation.  All good but no suggestions of why I might have this problem or what I could do to solve it.

I got it bad, scratch fever

I'd be interested to know if anyone else with CFS or Hep C has this ant-astic issue.  I'm sure it's related to the treatment or the Hep C but I have no absolute proof or concrete evidence to back this wild claim up.

Well fate can be cruel
Life may be a bitch
But that's not an excuse
For my eleven-year itch

Treatment-wise I am now on a sedative type of drug - Phenegran - to help me sleep and this sometimes keeps the itchiness down to a more tolerable level.  However, having had my dose earlier this evening and having already taken my pain-killers for tonight, the itchy buggers have been fairly active during my writing this post.  Inspiring little blighters.


(Mis-quotes all my own)

I Am In Pain - so there!

I have had some good news today.

Well, not exactly good news but I'm pleased nonetheless.

I was referred for an M.R.I. on my ankle last time I saw my haemophilia specialist.  This may sound extreme but other than a cursory play with my foot whenever I saw him, and sometimes not even that, I had begun to feel that my ankle was not getting the attention it deserved.

As a bleeder with a tendancy for joint bleeds, I felt that a wiggle of the joint and an "Oh that doesn't feel too bad - you've got a pretty good range of movement in that joint" wasn't quite good enough.  

I am lucky enough to only have one really problematic joint but my scrawny little ankle clicks, grinds and hurts in such a way it would make a torturer proud.  It has kept me awake on numerous occasions, such that if I'd had a hacksaw under my pillow I'd have been inclined to hack off my own foot - seriously, I would've, had it not been for the likelihood of a monster haemorrhage of course.  It often 'disappears'.  Surely, you query, that's the effect I was after?  Nope.  When my ankle 'disappears' as I describe it, it becomes in an instant so weak it can no longer support me, it suddenly hurts like someone has shot a bullet right through it, and I fall over - if I don't catch myself first.  Oh, and I usually shriek.  And I'm not prone to that.

Yup, doc, it's not too bad.

According to the new GIGTB leaflet produced by the Haemophilia society, the content of which I believe has been taken from the national service spec for haemophilia care (please do correct me if I've got that wrong), as a severe bleeder:

"You should also be offered an assessment
by a specialist orthopaedic surgeon or
rheumatologist at least once a year to
monitor joint and muscle problems and
identify the need for surgical intervention."

This is not a service I have ever had whilst under any comprehensive care centre.  And I'm 36 you know.  

Maybe it's just an ideal rather than a reality - I note the use of the word "should".  Maybe I just didn't complain enough about the pain I was in.  I believe that most bleeders (yes, men and women) have very high pain thresholds, otherwise we'd be in pieces all the time and you'd never hear the end of it.  I also am not the kind of person who complains - at least I don't think I am.  I will generally only bring something up if it is a real problem but if I'm then told - oh no, this seems fine, I have a tendency to put up and shut up.  Perhaps I should've pushed for further investigation earlier but to be fair I trusted the doctor -haha, hahahahaa, god you think I'd have learned by now - and was unaware what care should have been available to me.  We've never had a physio attached to our Comprehensive Care Centre and I've never seen the national service specification or the NICE guidelines.

Anyhow, during my last visit my haemophilia specialist said, as he held my right ankle in his hand, 

"Have you had an M.R.I. done on it recently?"

One jaw bleed later, I said, 

"...um, I've never had one".

And so I was referred.

To Selly Oak I went for a half hour session in a tubular machine that was either having the time of its life or heading for a severe mechanical breakdown.  I quite enjoyed it.  It was kind of musical, in a tone deaf tuneless kind of way.  My favourite part was when the operator popped some headphones over my ears and said - "That's for the music".  They remained silent until she said through them, 30 minutes later, 

"All done."

Two weeks later I've just phoned the hospital to see if they've got the results, and yes, they're in....

*Lights dimmed*

*Drum roll*

*Gratuitous lengthy relentless seemingly unending dramatic paaaaaaauuuuuse*

"Congratulations Mrs Cooper, you have won severe arthropathy of the right side of your ankle joint!!"

Have to admit my nurse didn't quite put it like that, but the good news was no tendon damage and the left side of my ankle didn't look too bad.  

The fact that the right side is so damaged makes me feel better - is that weird??  It basically means that all this pain and discomfort and weakness and crunching is not all in my head.  Why I would think it was, god knows, but hey it ain't, so that's good.  It explains things for me and means that finally summat can be done to make it better - or at least perhaps a tad less impactive on my life. 

I await the next step, with one good and one validated weak ankle ...

For ME

Happy International ME/CFS and Fibromyalgia Awareness Day everyone!!

Today, 12 May, is a day for raising awareness of ME / CFS and Fibromyalgia internationally. (Ok - so it's clearly not the 12th any more but that is when I started writing this piece.)

In honour of this I would like to make the subject of my post today me. Or rather ME.


This blog was created to chronicle my bleeding condition - von Willebrand's disorder. This is a rare disorder which means my blood doesn't clot very well. It is a little like haemophilia and has caused me to have an interesting a blood soaked life, since diagnosis at 6 months old.

I'm now 36 and whilst I am a happy little bleeder generally - who finds handling a long term chronic disorder, within my capabilities - the last few years have been a bit tougher. (If you would like to find out more about the von Willies please do peruse my previous posts - preferably with a cup of tea and slice of summat to keep your energy up.)

Something I have blogged less about is my experience of having CFS or ME.

Why is that?

I know my von Willies well. I was born with it. It is who I am. I am a bleeder. I am able to live in that knowledge and with the challenges that presents in a fairly confident, capable and good humoured way.

The von Willebrand's is treated with clotting factors. Which are made from blood products. From these blood products I contracted Hepatitis C way back when they were shooting clotting factor into my little girl's veins.

The Hepatitis C stuck with me, infecting my blood and messing with my liver, until I had the second of two lots of treatment, which managed to eradicate the virus from my blood.

Good news right?

But wait...

I really struggled with the treatment - Interferon and then Pegalated Interferon and Ribavirin.
And I mean really struggled.
It wiped me out.
Beat me up.
Wrang me out.
Shook me up.
Drained me out.
Chewed me up.
And spat me out.
It felt like being in a washing machine for 12 months.

Ever since the second lot of treatment in 2003 I have had recurring CFS or ME.

I still felt I was on the treatment six months later, 12 months later, 2 years later and still now 7 years later. Unable to work. Unable to live the way I used to. Existing. Waiting.

Don't get me wrong I have had periods of being well - being able to work, to live a full life, to fit everything in I wanted to and more....

However the reality now is not so good. My natural outlook is a sunny one. I see my CFS as a grey cloud that contains me and is not always easy to shine through.

The tricky thing is that to the untrained eye I look well. You look at me and don't see the cloud. Or the fog or the mist that clogs up my mind and body.

I used to find it hard to acknowledge the CFS. My mum once gave me a leaflet on ME and said - this sounds much like what you've got. Oh no, said I, that's not me - I'm just getting over the Hep C treatment. I'll be fine in a bit.

Even now if people ask me how I am - I'm fine! Or if not fine - I'm a bit tired.

A bit tired!! Understatement city :)

It is difficult to write how hard things can be. Equally it is difficult to talk about how hard things can be.

That is a problem.

How can I expect people who do not have, have never had ME or CFS to understand what it is like if I don't let it out.

You may be looking at the picture above and saying to yourself - she looks right enough. That is understandable.

If you see me looking well - which I do when I'm in public, most of the time;
or see me getting to the supermarket - which I do some of the time;
or if you have a conversation with me and I'm upbeat - which I try damn hard to be all of the time;
you cannot be expected to understand the reality.

I have tried to be a bit more explicit, but when I mention how exhausted I am - you might say, oh yes I'm tired too.
When I say it's hard to get things done - you might think, oh but you're lucky you don't work, you have plenty of time.
When I explain how hard it is to sleep - you might suggest, perhaps if you did more in the day you'd be more tired and sleep better?
When I say how much my body aches - you might sympathise, maybe if you got out more you would be fitter and be less stiff?

Often I don't have the energy to respond.

To argue that my exhaustion is so deep it is like a coat of lead that I wear 24 hours a day - that prevents me getting out of bed, that means I hurt to wash my hair and hang out my washing because my arms have to be held up, that means I pant after going up the stairs and need a rest after washing, then after dressing, then after eating my breakfast...

To explain that it is hard to get things done because my brain doesn't work properly any more. You know how you feel when you're hung over? Like your head is full of wool and your body is poisoned? That is my normal state. I forget things that used to be second nature. I struggle to make a cup of tea if you're talking to me, to hold a conversation without losing my thread, to write a blog without wanting to smash the computer because I keep getting words wrong, to run a bath without putting the wrong tap on and flooding the house, to put toothpaste on the brush and not Veet. I can't expect you to understand that some days I struggle to fit in getting up and dressed and doing some tidying and making the tea. Let alone cleaning and ironing and paying the bills and having people drop in to see me. The washing machine beep sends me demented. Running out of cat food is a constant worry because it means having to go out to get some.

To elaborate that I can't sleep because I'm so tired it hurts. That my joints ache and my muscles twitch and I can't be still for longer than a couple of minutes without twisting and turning and writhing trying to find a comfortable spot. That I feel things crawling on me - on my arm, then on my foot, then on my back, then my leg, then my face. There's nothing there, it's just a symptom of the CFS, Crawling Effing Sods. That if I do get to sleep I often wake in the small hours and then it starts all over again - the pain and the aching and the crawling and then the mind chimes in telling me that I need to sleep, I need to sleep, I need to sleeeeeeeeeep!!

To tell you that the aches and pains are such that I can't sit still for more than a few minutes without stretching and flexing my legs, arms, fingers. Next time you have the flu and you feel so sore and drained you can't move out of bed or off the sofa - that it how it feels on a bad day with CFS. It feels like my bones are rotting and my muscles are aching and twitching in an endeavour to get out of this body.


Is it better for me to acknowledge the CFS? Does it help to let it out? Or does that just remind me how much fun it isn't??

I know fighting the condition doesn't work - that the energy used constantly battling to overcome the lack of energy and limitations of your body aggravates the condition exponentially.

So do I need to accept ME in order to get better? Embrace my little grey cloud and let it hug me back. Take care of myself rather than push myself to the limit? Listen to my body rather than shout at it? Allow my body to recuperate rather than expect it to continue at an unsustainable pace? Give my mind space to rest and restore rather than shower it with anxiety and pressure and stress?

Love and cherish not berate and frustrate.

Worth a try, right?

I'm still bleeding . . . yeah, yeah, yeah!

Hellooo and welcome to my first proper post of 2008 - 2008 can you believe it!!
Where did 1974 - 2007 go to??

Anyway, having bled horrifically for nigh on 2 years I've been on the hormone pill Norethisterone 3 times a day since November. Great, you might think - no more bleeding . . . you clearly didn't pay attention to the title of this post!

Since I started re-taking the hormones 2 things have happened.

Firstly my skin has erupted in a manner akin to a woman possessed by a demonic blemish-creating ghoul. I am covered in spots, zits, puss filled sores which quite frankly are slightly unsightly. And when I say covered I mean, my chin, my cheeks, my neck, my front, my back but - thankfully - not my arms or my legs. These remain under their winter cover of clothing and hair but I shall be proud to bear them when the sun comes out. Ade is currently delighting in pointing them out to me - should I forget quite how badly I am afflicted.

Secondly the bleeding that was heavy and prolonged but in my eyes predictable, has become slightly less heavy and less prolonged but totally unpredictable. I'm not sure which I prefer. Actually, it's obviously the second option - less bleeding is gooood. However I am now in a position where I have no bleed free period. It is all period period but then again maybe it isn't. What I mean is I have absolutely no idea when any bleeding might start and for how long it could go on.

This results in a period paranoia. I go everywhere armed with sanitary product. My sanitary basket of tricks never leaves the side of my toilet bowl. Not a day goes by when I do not have an Always Ultra on. Or at least that is how it is now. Having had a couple of minor incidents. A couple is a slight underestimate if you include those which occured in bed - altho my light (non) sleeping ensures that any sudden erruptions (of a bloody not a spotty kind) are instantly banished to the bathroom and dealt with firmly. Not perhaps before a small element of leakage and staining occurs but we have a new washer which is most effective at blood removal, thank goodness.

The pre-Christmas Sainsbury's incident is not one to be cherished. Imagine being half way through your grocery shopping, having left it to a point when you have no food in any cupboard / fridge and the cat is bringing in offerings that look vaguely appetising. You have left it too late to internet order because it would be at least another 48 hours without food and in fact your stash of the 2 t's (towels and tampons) is such, that an emergency drag yourself round Sainsbury's is unavoidable. Either that or revert to the somewhat dusty Mooncup. Half way round with a trolley that contains some but not all your necessities you feel a little rush. Not of excitement at the latest two for one on deodrant, but of blood emanating from between your thighs. Luckily-ish you did pop a panty liner in this morning but their capacity for absorbing a Mooncup or three's worth of blood in a short period of time is not something that has ever been put to a scientific test.

For some reason I didn't think to abandon my trolley and run like a leaking leopard to the ladies. Maybe I thought the security guard would tackle me to the floor with my unopened pack of Super Plus Extra. I kept going. Walking in a quickened but gliding pace around the aisles in an attempt not to dislodge anything that might be about to exit stage south. Every time I felt anything dribble I held my breath as if that would stay its flow, as if gravity was there to be defied.

Somehow I made it round my absolute essentials (milk, bread, cat crunchies, tampons, towels) and got through the checkout and into the loo before my jeans gave the game away. It was a near thing but I shall endorse the Always panty liner as a absorbing miracle if anyone asks.

From that moment on I have never been without a knicker full of a normal, proper period designed, product.

I spoke to my haematologists after new year, in case they too were concerned about my sudden floods that lasted a few days and then stopped again without rhyme or reason and with continuous Norethisterone. They weren't, as long as I wasn't pregnant, which is fairly unlikely when you're bleeding most of the time and when you're not you think you might start any minute. And not that likely when you're on the pill, but not impossible obviously.

A few days later I received a letter from my gynae doc suggesting that as I was still bleeding I should add Noramin another hormone pill to the mix. This combination was the one that kept me bleed free for the last 17 years so I thought this was a jolly sensible idea.

Sadly the commencement of the Normain three weeks ago co-incided with the commencement of a wet patch following a brief dry one. The wet patch has been rather large and flowing with a number of concerningly sized clots and again seems to come and go daily. I'm assuming that this is a teething issue. Once my poor old body gets used to yet another hormone coursing through it, it will fall into line, turn off the taps and let me put away the 2 t's once and for all . . .

. . . now there's an appealing prospect.

X

Cannot Flippin Sleep ... Still!

Cannot Flippin Sleep or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or CFS is the bane of my life.

Happy New Year to anyone bored enough to be reading this hehehe.
I have bumped this post - first published in December -to the top in case you missed it and also because even with two sleeping pills a night - I'm still awake!! You should see my bags...

You might think that the problem with CFS is too much sleep, an inability to stay awake if you will. You might imagine it involves a good nights sleep of, say, 10 hours and then drifting in and out of snoozes during the day. Maybe it does in some cases.

That is not how it affects me.

My main problem at the moment is disrupted or disturbed or disabled sleep. This week I've had perhaps one night when I've slept well. No, thinking about it I think it's over a week now since I had what could be described as a good, or even just as a normal, night's sleep.

There is the pain issue. My ankles kill when in bed. I've tried wearing socks which sometimes helps. I've taken to wearing my ankle support in bed the last few nights and this seems to make a little difference. I have as you know been taking pain killers - firstly Co-proximol and then Tramadol. I thought the Tramadol had done the trick but then that hasn't been working at all this week so I've stopped taking it.

I cannot get comfortable. My legs ache and throb constantly and I find myself writhing around trying to get them in a good spot. I find a place that appears comfortable but within a couple of minutes I'm rotating again, looking for that mythical position of no discomfort. It doesn't exist in my bed I tell you.

My head aches with the effort of trying to sleep. There is a now psychological element to my problem. I need sleep and I know it. Every night which goes by with little or no sleep adds to the pressure in my mind as soon as my head touches the pillow each night . . .

Right- time to sleep, shut eyes, empty mind and reeelaaaaax . . .

Aaaaarrrrrgh, mind spins off into random flitting thought, legs start up their percussive throbbing and a thrashing and it's another night of impossibly slow time travel. I can stop time with my mind. Yatta!

I swore in church yesterday, apologies oh godly one. I had just remembered that the one very important item on my shopping list - Nytol - was the one thing I had forgotten - perhaps, in fact, because I had forgotten to write it on my list in the first place! Luckily an angel was in the church at the time and she invited me back to her place to have some of her husband's supply. I did that and also benefitted from a cuppa and a mince pie - thank you to her and her angelic family :)

I have got an appointment to see a chronic fatigue specialist. Yes, there is one. Although you wouldn't know it if you asked your GP, or your haemotologist, or your hepatologist.

This lady, Dr Myhill, worked in the NHS for 20 years but now specialises in treating fatigue and in preventative medicine. The first appointment I could get is mid February - I'm hoping it's worth the wait.

Her website is extremely informative and rings so many bells when I read it that I could contract out to all the local churches. This is the address if you want to check it out:

http://www.drmyhill.co.uk/index.cfm

It's full of information about fatigue and other health problems. I don't have all the problems that she associates with CFS by any means, and for that I'm grateful, but here is short list of my symptoms taken from her section:
'CFS /ME (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) - how to diagnose and which tests to do'

• Severe fatigue which is physical and mental and usually delayed 24-72 hours after exertion;
• malaise (i.e. a feeling of illness);
• muscle pain, usually worse with exertion;
• muscle weakness (without the eye manifestation she refers to)
• very poor stamina;
• sleep disturbance (whereby the "biological clock" is moved on 4-6 hours and CFSs drop off to sleep late and wake late) - (in my case there is little or no dropping off and I find myself only sleeping in the early to mid morning);
• alcohol intolerance;
• autonomic nervous system disturbance (which as she explains can lead to problems with poor temperature control and extreme temperature intolerances and sweating - another nightime problem I've not yet mentioned)

She also refers to the mental fatigue which manifests as:

• poor short-term memory,
• inability to follow a line of argument,
• difficulty reading or watching TV,
• poor problem solving ability
• poor learning.

I can relate to 4 out the 5 there and am incapable of focussing if there is more than one thing happening - i.e. I can watch the tv but don't try and talk to me while I am, because I will lose the ability to watch the tv, as well as be incapable of listening to what you are saying. Sound familiar to friends and family?

I know when people ask me how I am and I say - Oh, tired, same old thing - they probably think and indeed sometimes say - Oh yes, I know how you feel, I'm exhausted I had such a busy weekend...

Final quotes from Dr Myhill's site:

"Many patients believe, (with some justification!), that they are going demented."
"However, usually there are no abnormalities on physical examination, indeed, often the patient looks well."

Ho ho ho!

X

On the first of December . . .

. . . my von Willies gave to me
a bleedi-ing belly button.



Hmmm.

Yes, I know - that isn't right. I'll have a jab and if that doesn't knock it on it's little button head I'll get it checked out.

Yes, I know - that is the Love Bugs nightie - sorry Louise :( but I'm sure it'll come out in the wash.

Half and half sleep / no sleep tonight - mebbe I'm excited bout Christmas - well it is December after all . . .

X

Tramadol 2

spoke too soon
saw the moon
all thro
the night
so sleep had been merely a co-incidence

X

Tramadol

for me
is the key
to a good nights slee
puh

X

Eight other things that keep me awake ...

1. "Lights, Camera, Action" - Ade's back from the pub then. He's hopeful. There's no party in my pants I can tell you, only a bloodbath - no-one's getting in tonight...
2. Rustle, rustle - the pesky kids outside are trying to sneak an oil drum off the back of Ade's pick up truck
3. Boooinnng - I bounce out of bed and commando crawl to the window to see that there are no pesky kids and truck is a-ok (that's on my knees not knickerless)
2. Ackackackackackack - the dulcet tones of my husband's snores - he never used to do that - what's gone wrong...
4. Smack - my clock falling over the the bedside table, eeek there's a polty geist!!! Miaaaow. Oh I see - only Flashy the pussy.
5. Wink ... wink ... wink - hmmm should've switched my radio off at the wall when leaping across room to catch oil drum thieves, the LED is sending an SOS to the sleep police.
6. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrarrrrrrrrrrr - something leaps on the bed puts his head on my pillow and his paw in mine - not Ade returning from the pub in a frisky mood, but Smudge come to check we're ok.
7. Tiptoetiptoe - I have a very close relationship with my bathroom in the night and visit the wc at least three times to make sure it is still there. I can get all the way down a flight of stairs without any lights or toe stubbing.
8. Whiirrr - the sound of my tiny brain desperately trying to compose my next blog entry - ooo what about all these blooming things keeping me awake...

Night night.

Nightmare on Shrubbery Street

We go to bed. Usually around 9 p.m.

I have a hot water bottle. Ade sets his alarm, he slaps the side of the clock so the alarm remembers to go off.

We curl up, all cosy. My back to his front. He holds me tightly, the only time he does is in bed. I am happy and comfortable.

His breathing slows and becomes steady. As he goes to sleep he twitches. Like a puppet being pulled by invisible strings. Jerk - his elbow flicks upwards. Jerk - his hand leaps an inch and back.

As he relaxes, I tense.

I become conscious of my legs - they are aching. My ankle - it throbs. My shoulder hurts. I have things crawling on me - gotta itch.

I free my arm from under his and grapple for my calf. I itch and the crawling sensation subsides. That's all it is - a sensation. Then another, on my back.

Can't move, don't want to wake him up. He needs to sleep.

It irritates me. I try to reach down my back but cannot get to the spot. Dammit.

I gently lift his arm. I've got to move. Roll carefully onto my back. His arm still on top of me. I can stretch my aching legs out.

That's better, much better. I relax.

Two minutes pass.

God, my ankle is throbbing.

I flex it out, crackcrackcrack. Sounds like tinfoil being scrunched. Feels like there are strings inside the joint and they are catching and releasing as I stretch.

I have to keep moving it to ease the ache. Each time the grinding gets worse. Where are the pipes and the monkey? I could play myself a lullaby.

No good. I turn another 45 degrees. Onto my other side, facing Ade. My knees can't move, his are there. I wriggle. Try to get comfy.

He sighs. Rolls over onto his other side. I wrap my arms around him. That's better.

Two minutes.

Boy, my shoulder is hurting. Feels diseased. Definitely not right. I move it a little. Does that help?

Nope. Still hurting. Can't breathe too deep without getting a spasm of pain. Breathe shallowly, try not to disturb Ade.

Roll onto my front. Stretch both arms out beneath me. Head on pillow face down, turn it to one side.

Shoulder subsiding. Can relax. Breathe deeply now. Better.

Hmmmm. Lying with toes pointed and ankle flat to bed is not good. Ankle cannot bend out that far. Push myself down a bit. Toes now over end of the bed. Ankle bent. Better.

Argh - toe caught cold metal bedstead. No good. Pull foot back under duvet. Nice and warm.

Arms have gone totally numb. Better than aching I suppose.

No, have to move. Make the final turn back onto left side. Where I started from.

Now back to back with Ade. Better. Not so likely to wake him if I need to move.

Oooo legs aching. Something crawling on back of my arm. Itch and it goes. Bones feel like they are rotting. Extend legs, stretch them right out.

Still aching. Curl them up. That seems to help. Knees sticking out over side of mattress. Can feel edge of mattress. Little ridge round edge. Sticking right in me.

Gotta turn over.

Revolving like a woman on a spit.

All night.

Ade sleeps through, thank goodness.