I think I need rails for the bathroom

Yesterday was bloody chundering awful. Thankfully I don't get days like yesterday very often, but getting them at all is bad enough.

Yesterday really started on wednesday. I wanted to go to the demo - incidentally: sign this please - but realised, when G was leaving for work that I was just drained. So I stayed in bed and slept a little. Then I got up, and walked the dogs as usual. And that was bloody exhausting. I was supposed to meet a friend in town, but thankfully she cancelled - and so I did some research on my uni essay from home (thank the internet for google books) and by the time getting ready to leave for uni came around I was fucking wiped.

So I didn't go, and I felt a bit crap about it. I hate having to miss things, especially uni, but I was supposed to go into work on Thursday, and it was only a film, and... I was just so damn tired.

Went to bed on Wednesday, and I woke up on Thursday feeling like someone had set my spine on fire. Which is always a good sign. And then I discovered other parts of me hurt, and I couldn't really stand, so I called G, sobbing, to get him to come and walk the dogs because Boy Wonder couldn't make it, and I crawled to the back door to let Holly out... and crawled back into bed until G arrived.

I hate having to get G to help me shower (the issue is mostly getting in and out), I hate not being able to walk the dogs, I hate that all I did was sleep and sort-of watch tv.

I hate that people like me are called scroungers, and that people think we're lazy. I won't apply for disability support, because I know I won't get it - I don't need help with "everyday" tasks, not everyday at least.

Bollocks to all of it. Days like yesterday remind me that I'm sick, that I'm disabled.

Then I read this and think that at least I'm not there. Yet.

Fibro, Yarn, Kent... weekend as usual then

This morning, after getting up very early, and meeting the lovely Ryn at the station - she brought me pancakes. They were quite possibly the best pancakes in pancake history - we headed down to sunny Kent to meet with the downright adorable Patience and everybody's favourite Metalouise. It was very sunny, and we sat in the beer garden of Patience's local and knitted (well, they knitted, I crocheted, with my gorgeous yarn from Planetariumfish). Look at this yarn. Is it not fucking gorgeous? I'm making it into a slightly lacy cowl, and possibly some fingerless gloves. I don't normally wear limey green shades, because I'm scared of them, but this was just too pretty - I like the bruisey flashes of deep red and purple.


So, anyway. We were in Kent for World Wide Knit in Public Day, and all was well. Cider and chips and other excitement was consumed, talking was done, and I got sunburned across my shoulders because I'm cool like that. Oh yes.

I felt the need to take this picture on the way home:


Ryn and I hopped back on the train to London when the pub shut mid-afternoon (boo!); a few stops out of London Bridge, some of the local chavs decided to sit next to us. Their conversation was scintillating - I sound like such a bitch, but seriously, dude, you're barely 14, and your grasp of politics and geography has come from the headlines you glanced at while turning to page three of The Sun. Do fuck off now. Cow that I am, I abandoned Ryn at London Bridge to sit through their conversation for a few more stops, and got on the DLR home. And saw this:


Home was reached, G talked to, food consumed and I was dressed for Brackers' birthday party. So I pull on a cardi and say the magic word* to Indigo. Oh hai body fail time. I can haz working legs please? About halfway through our walk, I'm rapidly reaching the point where it looks like I'm going to need a zimmer frame in the immediate future (that would at least give me a reason to be moving so slowly). The fibromyalgia the doctors are thinking I might have - or lupus, but it's never lupus - is playing up.

I hate this. I hate not knowing if I'm going to make it home without a trip to the hospital because I can barely walk, or feeling like I've run a marathon and been beaten with sticks when all I've done is get up and make a cup of tea. I hate the headaches and how it turns me from a fairly self-sufficient person to someone who can barely make it down the stairs. It's fucking ridiculous, and I know it costs me friendships because I can't go out and do things - or stay in and do things, or I can't listen because I'm barely conscious, or can't type a coherent sentence. This week has been pretty good - I've been to the library, had meetings, walked Indigo, all sorts. And this evening I keep having to retype words because I can't fucking spell any more. So I'm going to bed.

*walkies!

bunny love

I love my bunny. I thought i'd proved this to him spending a whacking chunk of my boat savings on vet bills, but apparently he begrudges the loss of his leg more than I thought. Oh yes. He wants revenge. He needs to know I love him, that I'll do anything for my poor little tripod bunny.

He's playing on my guilt. I can see it in his eyes, he knows I feel terrible for not spotting the lump earlier, for having his leg cut off so he falls over and for laughing when he does.

He's making me clean his bum.

He's got me standing in the bathroom, cradling him and picking caecals out of his fur with my fingernails, then washing his backside with water, carefully sponging around his stitches so it doesn't hurt. While he nibbles on my t-shirt, and I'm thinking, please don't chew my boob, please don't.

I love my bunny.

bunkin

Pete has lost his leg to cancer. He's awake, the operation went fine and all is well. I'll update as and when I know what's happening.

Pete

The bunkin has either an abscess with massive amounts of scar tissue, or a tumor - the former being strange because it appeared so quickly, the second being rare in bunnies as it appears relatively skin-based. If it is a tumor, it's also grown quickly, which may have led to the center necrotizing. As it is, he went to the vet this afternoon (as I only saw it this morning) and had a drain put in; he's now on baytrill with a side order of pinapple juice; I'm going to be syringing baby food into him tomorrow, which he'll love. Almost as much as he loves his buster collar.