I couldn't really leave this hanging after mentioning it earlier today, so one has returned to finish what one started - feeling slightly more buoyant from discovering that The Waters of Mars (next Doctor Who special) hits the screens on 15th November. Shallow? Hell yeah - it's the little things that keep me going!
So far here, I've never really discussed Eleanor at any great length - and how we met and all that private stuff is not up for grabs, but there's a part of our life that I've decided is worth sharing. She has Rheumatiod Arthritis pretty damn bad - which is a bit of kick in the head for somebody who's only 27. It's probably even more of a kick in the head than being with somebody who is 41. (I think I'm allowed to say things like that because if it's not treated in some kind of offhand manner, it will surely drive you insane). Some days are good, some days are bad and some days are notoriously hideous - thankfully, they are few and far between at the moment.
I'm not really sure what I'm trying to say now I've brought it up. The intricacies of it are easily found on the web but sometimes I feel like talking about it out loud. I guess I should state right up front here, that no sympathy is being sought but now and again, the day to day effects are worth mentioning because of the impact they have. They hit us in different ways - obviously. Some days, Eleanor can hardly function. Basically, it's all about your joints and how they work - or don't as the case may be. So far as I can gather, living with this for five minutes is the equivalent of sitting in the same airplane seat for about nine days solid. While that's bad enough, when your mind is alive and spinning its wheels, the stress kicks in that you are unable to do anything constructive. The stress brings about more joint pain and so the cycle spirals out of control - and it's a tough cookie to break.
For my part - may the Gods have mercy on my soul - I have so far escaped any serious disease. Stomach ulcers, chest pain, two busted knees, a knackered shoulder and a splinter of bone stuck in my elbow aside, these are nothing compared to this. I have to admit, sharing a house with this fucker is incredibly disabling. There is absolutely nothing you can do to help. Nothing. You can be around, fetch and carry stuff but all you can really do is watch and wait for it go into hiding for another few days and hope it stays gone for longer than it did last time.
There are more drugs on top of our fridge than we have a right to, but this isn't the answer. The doctors and specialists are pissing in the wind - anybody who has been or is stricken with a serious long term illness will know that you are little more than a guinea pig to these people. The painkillers help but that's not really addressing the problem - and is not my way at all.
Which brings me to the point of raising it here at all in the first place. I know I have a fair few readers here - if anybody has the slightest clue of how to make even a small but positive impact on this, it would be good to hear from you. Just leave a comment below. It could be in the form of diet, stupid stuff that shouldn't work (for some reason, anti-histamines help occasionally) - I don't really care what it is, I'd just like to hear from others in the same boat - sufferers or partners thereof - because watching the person you love being destroyed from the inside on an almost daily basis, frankly, sucks and I have to do something.
I caught a bullet in the ear a few weeks ago for telling somebody the truth in that life is too short to go fucking about with things you don't care about. It's true. On which note, it's about time I invited Mr Downes over to Dark Cottage with his new tattoo toys. Get some perspective - nobody gets out alive.
Nobody.
Joviality shall return tomorrow...
