Last night was yet another wakeful night, I slept in half hour increment,s for roughly four hours finally this morning though, none of it deep or lasting, which in a way is always a blessing, no nightmares ( I have do these Pollyanna moment’s lol) you know playing the glad game, it’s from the film of the same name, cute and worth watching, even though I was exhausted sleep again evaded., a sudden sharp feeling of being cold awoke me , I had as usual shoved all the fleece blankets off during one period of feverish sleep, plus I had my window open , heater off,( like all normal folk right lol) I do not do anything by halves as you will see.

I pulled all the covers up from the bottom of my bed,tightly around my shivering body, swaddled i lay listening to the rest of the world , (which i add is mostly on normal British time for some hours and awake, ) they Go about daily business, and I know eventually I’m going to have to join them and make for the dreaded bathroom , I do my daily infantry, ( it’s wise at this age to check everything’s present and correct, intact , ..Although I don’t need to really, as most of it aches enough to let me know,.. today my back decided to do its thang, it’s stiff , aches and clicks, things move in there of their own volition( I swear, ……….I sit on the edge of the bed waiting for my protesting spine to catch up with me, it cracks loudly, protesting at my need to move, it’s a wonder it doesn’t wake Jesse asleep in phone land ( Jesse, I refresh for those who don’t know, is my fiance over the pond in the USA, we are indeed still on chat 24/7 and have been for nearly two years now) is this a record? ( due mainly to immigration laws.

I look across , his still slumbering soundly, the pain meds I took just hours before hadn’t done much, but had made moving to the bathroom at least achievable,( well I hoped) they were worn off, I look longingly at the packet, but I ration my meds as much as possible these days, …so it’s another morning that I don’t dive out of bed to an annoying jolly jingle and bird song like they do on the tv adverts looking perfect make up in place, no with a whole different set of sound effects, I grumble and shuffle away , it feels like I’m off to conquer Everest, not just going to the loo,

As I wash my shivering body of the night before,s grime , my head over taking my thought pattern, it,s already screaming for strong dark, rich coffee, like a sirens call, it plagues and with it’s seductive words drag me off to the kitchen, where i give in to its whim,s at once . Over the last few days a false spring had got me fooled,we have had some beautiful warmish days, sun beaming, clear azure skies, and even huge bee,s one morning buzzed loudly passed my open window,….but today I swear I heard it was laughing, I could almost hear the words( fooled yahhhhh!!!!) As i shook with cold around my tiny bungalow, every room cold and uninviting, it was Monday, I hate Mondays and I hadn’t slept, had coffee, I hurt , it ain’t !!! Allowed to do cold on me too I tell yah it’s just not fitting!!!!,

I spoke to my room mate,( My rabbit Cinnamon ) who of course I’ve given breakfast , ( his lordship is fed first and foremost of course) he likes a very fresh kale leaf or some room temperature baby spinach served before I can even wake properly, he makes his needs known by at first boisterous ripping up of his news paper, that once lined his domain and shoving it about moodily , or if indeed, mums still away in dream land we then resort to proceed to pick up our ceramic food bowl and drop it till it crashes loudly, reverberating through my sleep addled head, I turn to look around at him, fraughtly calling pleading” I’m getting your food, hang on darling ” His by now sitting staring at me cute nose twitching , adorably pulling one ear down to clean, looking so innocent, the cherub!!!! , …this is part of my morning, every morning and I wonder if my eldery neighbour must think I have a very demanding husband who lays back against the pillows demanding sustenance daily, ( if only lol

I peek outside to see if its as indeed as and dull grey as it feels ,its cold , wet still Monday , I then decide that is as far outdoors as I need to venture for one day, and fling down my curtain disgusted, where’s my spring?, The sunshine, blue sky?…..oh well I turn up my oil filled radiator, go back to bed with my coffee until I can take my meds and stop shaking from this darn chill…. I had only lay there an hour fighting off the lure that is shopping at Amazon( I have an announcement to make about this by the way, which shall be spoken of tomorrow, I’m putting it off lol) …I just got my back comfortable and buried myself deeply under my fleece nest, when as always, that blooming doorbell rang, ..sighing , I dig myself out from under my covers, run fingers through last night’s bed hair and mumble away to myself as I go to answer it, …I don’t fancy anyone’s chances as I look like a walking dead extra from the reject bin and I hurt , not at best a good combination,( I don’t do people before caffeine intake) I get there finally my grumbling by now reaching fever pitch, and as I open the door to yet more freezing air and oh my god real daylight!!!!!!!, …I now must remember how to do that thing called peopling, ( and I don’t wanna) it must have shown as the poor guy shuffled nervously foot to foot, finally after a while him staring at what must have looked like something left over from Michael Jackson’s thriller video or I needed emergency help , He did eventually find his voice” erm Jason ????? ”

Now I know I look bad , but really !?, I look down at my white t shirt covered chest and say ermmmm ” Maybe not hmmm” ….he grins apologetically , ” no ” at his feet is a padded blue thermo bag, Pizza written on one side ….now I love a pizza same as the next person, ( it is indeed a weakness) but for brekkie is a bit extreme right ?, …it isn’t the first time I’ve had delivery guys at my door, trying to shove their hot pizza box in my half asleep hand,s( no not a euphemism) ….since being here it’s almost weekly, some are so convinced I’m Jason , John, Marie or Andy I’m really getting to the point even i,m confused!, .And they really want me to have this pizza,!!!!! one arguing I must be Samantha his gadget phone thingy tell,s him so he says emphatically, !!!!!!!!….I have been tempted to agree before , but I’m honest and have an image of poor Samantha cold, sad but eyes, waiting all sorrowful for her slice of hot cheesey heaven( no not another euphemism I promise) I explain tiredly over again i,m not or indeed never have been Jason, ( I know I’ve scar,s on one breast and abdomen but I’ve always been a Theresa as far as i know, …he walks away head bent over his hand held gadget confused( sorry ) , “saying I better phone the office then”, . I agreed, just wanting to get to my fast chilling coffee and finish this peopling for one day….

There really is no escaping doing this whole socialising thing is there, even though I do enjoy a little interaction with others of the species, I just wish they would be in my strange time frame , ( normally late noon and after at least two coffee,s and a shower) I cannot string one sensible sentence till then , I hope your all staying safe and looking out for one another ❤

Only saving grace about Sundays these days, is that having I’ve not slept enough Saturday night to know where my Saturday’s end and Sunday is in fact begining. This is really how my weeks are, it’s like one long day rolling on, .I rarely even see daylight living life quite like Rhubarb, ( it’s grown in darkness, but for candlelight) .

I’m coming up for nearly two years of confinement, first was as you may know for my safety, second is a mix of both long hauling and sheltering, last time I left the house at all was Christmas eve, then only to Lidl,s by cab, I don’t know about any body else?, but I know I now struggle to communicate these days, it’s almost like I’ve lost the ability, Never was a truer word said when we call it self isolating, because that is indeed what I’ve done,

The few times I have the odd visitor , I’m ok while we pass on pleasantries, how are you? , the weather, family etc then I become antsy , I struggle with things to say, . I get asked honey am, and I admit I do the British stiff upper lip thing, oh me of course I’m fine, inside i,m struggling with any number of long haul symptoms, but who wants to bore someone to death with that, …in the beginning I found the confinement hard and my mental health nosedived , I lived in one room rarely venturing out unless to use the bathroom,

A few times I tried standing outside in a little concrete walled walkway , that,s between my son’s flat and the viaduct, my nearest neighbours were a group of ex racing pigeons that had left their cozy pigeon lofts to revert to the wild, only greenery was the odd butterfly bush bravely sprouting Willy Nilly through wall,s or growing out of the bridge, it was very inspiring to stand outside there, and when people passed by I actually did feel un at ease, nervous, really 99 point 9 percent of my two years have been spent hidden away .

Since March last year to be honest, most of the time I’m indeed to sick or tired to bother, but occasionally I miss the heady days of my coffee shop and people watching, living alone gives much time for deep reflection , regrets and yes sometimes happier times , I long to walk , feel the sun upon my face, sir under the trees and write, listen to the humming drone of big fat bumble bee,s as they lazily make their way from flower to flower, I miss the mellow sweet songs of the Black bird, Chaffinches, and collared doves sounds like it’s asking who who? …

Now I rely on Netflix , Britbox like I suppose many of us do to get their fix of what once was real life … what is real life for us now? ..just faces half covered and fear in the eyes of passing folks , I have to wonder how are we to get back to normal life once This is over?, Will Mrs Jones down the road go and do her shop at the high street again, ? Or has online shopping become out new normal ? , will passing the time of day with each other return,? coffee with a neighbour? How will we go back almost in time to those days where we innocently, almost boredly went about life with each other ….

As I reflected on all this, I realized perhaps my life may never indeed return back to ” Normal” , I’m learning to live in this strange new world , of Covid 19 long hauling,Pain, isolation, a world that’s seems almost like I’m living in a science fiction novel, one that I have to write my own ending , And where in truth the me that was an old hippie, poet , lover of art , books may not fit in, but on living this weird Covid island like life, I learn an awful lot about me, us and moving on…..stay safe ,

Bit of an exaggeration here, I slept some off and on, going to sleep with one episode of Vera on Britbox , waking up to a whole new murder going on and thinking as one does in a muzzy sleep hazed brain, ” Don’t remember him” . The sun was awake and shining merrily away through the patio doors, making my usually frozen little bedroom like sleeping in a green house with no door open, my shirt was indeed sticking to my back, and for once I was unsure whether the cause was my usual nightime fever or it was just so blooming hot( I settled for the second )

I would love to say I dove out of bed, and sprinted to the bathroom, but I dive nowhere these days unless it’s face first, when the floor magnet pulls me down , ( because it wants a cuddle ) . So after giving myself a damn good talking too, I made it off the bed,shuffled next door, to glare at the Shower as I walk passed to go brush my teeth, …it’s not the showers fault it’s a perfectly good functional water sprayer thingy, it’s just it requires so much energy( doesn’t it, all that getting naked, washing then dressing again, I prefer to blame the Shower than blaming myself getting dirty) , But this is my routine ,plus I’m hot and sweaty and standing under running cool water today seems actually inviting , to me its really the easier option, I just soap up ,the water does the rest for me ….

It felt good washing away the night before, I had a bad headache, ( Headaches since Covid are indeed a force to be reckoned with, really feeling like ones head wants to explode and your eyes eject out of their sockets, I can’t explain it really ,but as a lifetime sufferer of headaches these are trust me unique ( and born in a good way) .the little sleep I had managed was filled with nightmares another Co vid joy, your dreams are so lifelike, vivid, I woke at least once short of breath, and getting up to check my door was indeed locked ( it if course was.

As I stand under the tepid water ,I pull my back scrubber back and forth across my rash covered back, it’s wonderful, my back feels cleaner and itched all at the same time, I let out a little contented sigh,( I love my back scrubber)

After showering I go get dressed, which I do in my living room , I can sit down and get my breath back, my bunny looks on amused, . I make a pint of strong hot almost black coffee, in the vain hopes it can wake up the parts of me that refuses to join in with this whole daytime awake thing…(.it’s useless there really isn’t enough coffee for that.)… I’m aching and I’m tempted to roll back under the covers and watch another half episode of Vera and drink my brew, but if I do that my head won’t let me settle , I hear that voice who berates, yell,s and spurs me in my sides to move, so I sit listening to Jesse sleep, the sound of distant blackbirds, and the revving of a van not far from my room, the smell emitting from its exhaust, makes its way through the door, that I had opened just moments earlier to allow fresh air and sun in, it hit my nostril,s violently one of the few smells I can indeed smell and wished I couldn’t, . It smells vile and my already nauseous stomach flips and moans,… so despite the lovely day, I shut it out and sit on my bed getting myself ready to start my day…

One of the more pleasant aspects of my day , was talking to Jesse as he himself battles the good fight between sleep and waking, we listen to the news, this is an odd affair as we listen on his tv there in the US, via google duo and I find myself these days not only knowing more about American current affairs than British but actually enjoying the energy given off by the excellent newscasters, …we turn over the channel at points to hear the BBC on sky, it’s odd really because I never really enjoyed the news here, until now, ..I love the funny add,s for medications, diets, persil liquid detergent, I know more about American products than British on the whole and it can get confusing reverting back and forth …, Another highlight was talking to a mutual friend of ours via Facebook,

Well we tried anyhow, I found myself almost struck dumb as I rarely utter more than a few words to anyone other than Jesse, and this in itself is odd as he can’t shut me up, lol…But over the last 11 months I’ve spoke only to him really, not seeing anyone on a day to day basis, she must have thought it was like pulling teeth lol, I was laying down in my room in the dark other than my flickering fairy lights and two small candles, she would be now thinking I was having a rave all but from the lack of music of course, but despite it being over two years since we all spoke , even the wonders of the disconnecting face book and that bloody pinging sound we managed to enjoy a brief sojourn into socializing , two Americans and one Brit, time did little to dull our joy of one another’s company, and for a while Covid 19 was on the backburner for us all,

Odd to think , that this now days is our way of enjoying company , but for a while things were almost near normal, And laughter travelled the distanced and I was amongst friends and forgetting my pain ….

So without much fanfare or celebration, I woke to see the sun peeping through a gap in my thick green check curtains, .I lay there eyes blinking, deciding on my next fabulous course of action, do I get up and visit the bathroom or lay there another hour or three hoping to drift back off to sleep, the bathroom won of course, it invariably does.

After that excitement, I plodded out to my kitchen, the bright red kettle sat just waiting for me ….Coffee my brain screams !!!!!!!, You need coffee, !!!! We need coffee now or I refuse to work, I laugh and say what’s new ….But i humour my sleep addled brain as one does when you just wake up….I love that click and then the sound, as it slowly works it’s way up to boil . I look about me as I wait, my kitchen,s clean , it always is, I bearly have the energy to mess it up let alone cook.

I make my first coffee of the day and crawl back to bed with it, I can no longer smell that delicious nutty aroma, since Covid I can’t smell much really , but least now I can taste it, savour it , …it’s one of the few good things Covid left behind, after I lost my sense of taste for a week , I never took it for granted again, You ever drank hot water , because that’s how coffee tasted back then , of hot nothingness.I lay watching something on Britbox, sipping my hot mug of caffeine goodness hoping uselessly that it will travel around my sleep fuddled lobes of brain and shake them awake, I do this every day, but every day it fails, I need something stronger I think to myself , curling under my thick soft fleece blanket( like a bomb or Dyno Rod)

My stomach flirts tentatively with hunger, and as quickly as it arrives, it goe,s , leaving in its wake nausea, ( I hate that) yeah I know no one likes feeling sick, but I really can’t abide it, ….I breath heavily trying to watch my tablet for distraction, but even Helen Mirren puffing and panting over some beautiful young man isn’t doing that , just makes me miss Jesse, Normally passes with an hour or so, I lay just breathing and waiting for it to disappear or for me to drift back off to sleep, either is preferable to that feeling high up in my chest already threatening to choke me and the sweat dripping down my back, that in its turn irritate,s the prickly rash covering my back and arms.

My heads thumping, and I turn this way and that trying to get comfortable, as I do I long for the days , I would wake, dive in the Shower , grab a bottle of water and walk for miles, now I just lay here exhausted without even doing anything. My chest is tight, wheezy and it burns as I take uneven breaths, it’s been a year on the 12th of March and there will be no celebrations, no large cake and candles, Just another day surviving the best I can. I used to wonder dreamily when I was cleaning house for the sixth time that day or at work what it would be like to be able to just lay in bed, you know not doing anything, maybe watch tv or read, but just resting, …..well now I know and it’s not the life for me or the fun filled lazy days I imagined at all….

Despite feeling ill , I’m perpetually bored , if brain fog had,nt done so already I swear boredom would have rotted my brain, …nothing I can do about it, just walking the few paces from the toilet to the kitchen had me sit on my sofa till I had recovered , each day, hour , minute upon minute brings a new wave of symptoms, each day I fight, what I’m fighting goodness only knows , but involuntarily my body takes up the battle , aided by a whole dispensary of vitamins, pain meds , things to speed my metabolism up , things to slow my racing heart down, a veritable rainbow of medication , this is just another day in my battle , when it ends who knows , because that little gem is yet to be determined.

Back nearly two weeks ago now,… I think I hit a crisis point, as my seventh month approached fast, I lay on my bed, sun streaming in through the door that,s nearly always opened out onto the tiny pathed patio,.warm air blowing in softly playing with the voile curtains across my patio door, far off in the distance I could hear children squealing with delight at being outside in the early evening with their friends, their mothers chatting and occasionally calling to one of the over excitable kids,

As this reached my ears, I remembered, my own three children, their friends all outside running about, with that never ending exuberance that only the young have, I would sit outside with one or another of the mum,s so that the other,s could get on with that days chores, .It only seems like a few moments ago,And Often we would all gather, sat out as the sun glowed red in its coral streaked sky, just sharing time until we went in to get the children ready for bed that night,but that was then

I wondered how would it be now, in this strange new world of ours, a world where in place of the huddled companionship of yesteryear, we would have been sat six feet apart, not sharing sweets, cans of drink, not in a huddle whispering some juicy nugget of information into the others ear..no now we would have been six feet apart, And not only that making sure our children followed suit, ….can you imagine keeping upwards of fifteen kids at a distance from one another?, I know I cant.

But it may have been different, difficult even but I would have done it, why? Because i am laying on my bed, listening to life going on around me, And I don’t feel part of it anymore….I am on month seven now, And all the symptoms I spoke about a while back are all still not only there, but they are getting no better,

Only i belong to a group now, A group with hundreds, if indeed not thousands of fellow sufferers, .We share our frustrations, our pain, our worries and of course tears, …it’s hard knowing we are all in our separate little worlds, feeling this sick, this afraid and you can’t reach out and touch one another, And that’s a big thing for us, Touch!, Because of course none of us can know the touch of a hand, a hug, even someone rubbing your arm, we are totally alone in our misery, …I crave human contact, I lay here afraid of what may be and there’s no one to hug me, I fall asleep some nights quite frankly not knowing if I will wake, my body is being over taken by this viral invasion,and no one knows how to stop it.

My liver counts sky high, that causes all kinds of issues and pain, I struggle to breathe some nights, wheeze and have this awful whistling thing going on in my chest, my nose hasn’t been clear since it all began way back in March, headaches are my norm, as is the on off soaring temperature,s, my stomachs so bad I’ve not risked excursions, even to local shops, a lot of nights I lay alone and scared,…… what’s even worse is Jesse is still there on that phone and thank goodness as it gives me a modicum of peace of mind, my only human interaction, but I know full well if we were together I still wouldn’t have that touch, that hug, those arms about me making things right, if something were to happen I would have not known human contact in months, And I’m not alone in that, my fellow long haulers are in the same boat… Wanting so badly to know warmth of a touch, yet wanting to keep those we love and care about safe…

Your now thinking but your alive right and it can’t be that bad!,can it?, Yes it can, we all share this utter frustration of never the ending exhaustion, I don’t mean tiredness, I mean the battery is empty, there’s nothing, our bodies are depleted, there’s no reserves, you just lay staring into space, because any form of movement is too draining,, And if you do find an ounce of strength from somewhere it’s quickly sapped,…. I had to shower today, why had to? Because I didn’t have the energy to wash, I stood for as long as I could, propped up against the cool glass of the shower cubicle, letting the warm water run over me, no strength to wash my hair, just standing until it became hard to breathe, so I bent over from the pain in my chest and dragged breathes up, when I recovered slightly I turned off the water and went and sat on the toilet, just breathing,I felt wrung out, and if I could have mustered the strength i would have cried but years take strength and I was used up, … numerous bathroom trips the day before had literally taken any energy I had had left, a shocking headache, my eyes were blurred which is the other other norm for me now, I just sat, angry at the injustice and pain of this,

I and my fellow long haulers don’t deserve this, no one ever does, no one should go through this living death, I’m not exaggerating in my description of it either, I’ve laid many nights begging my god, any god not to allow me to wake, but I do, And it’s then I remember I’ve a family, I have Jesse and I dragged this body that’s fought a whole nother day to survive out from under my covers, there i begin that day, most of it is spent laying back down again between the odd chore I have managed, …what’s worse with this is there’s so many people out there not willing to believe us, not wanting to hear, not wanting to listen, And all most of us want to do is protect you from this blooming plague, that’s eating away at us, I’ve hidden away seven months now, i,m frightened, it’s a living nightmare at the thought I might pass this on, what if I did ? What if it killed someone? A mother, father, a child, ….so I hide away, half of me scared at seeing anyone, the other half wanting to reach out and make contact..with someone, anyone…

The amount of people still coming on our help page, telling struggling people, that their struggle is a lie, a hoax, made up and we are basically lazy, some have just lost loved ones, and come on for some solace, understanding, from those who know, understand, just to have to read that, others of us are struggling to get through that day, knowing we are being used as the butt of a jokes, it’s cruel, it’s shameful and makes this harder,. We are alone folks and those same people doubting our fight, shun us, won’t come near us, it’s hypocritical, and frustrating, because we understand your fears, who wouldn’t, you would have to be incredibly stupid not to fear this, but these same folks shake their fists about their rights not to wear a mask outside, want to go about their days as before, let’s all get back to normal, yet expect us to stay locked away, I’m willing , more than willing to do this, even if it’s another seven months, But it’s down to us all, each and every one, it’s all our fight, I don’t want wake again tomorrow, reading another wives heartbreak as she describes not being at her husband’s side holding his hand as he slips away, reading mothers fears as their children grow sick and they don’t know who to turn too…worse I don’t want to have to beg a doctor for help, to see me, my first in all these months, because I followed the rules, read the guidelines, only to be offered antidepressants because they have no clue what else to do for me… You bet I’m depressed, you bet I’m fearful, because each day i,m in the fight of my life, And not only do I fight a long haul of a battle, it’s an invisible foe, and dear Corona doesn’t fight clean, it’s plays dirty, So if this message reaches one, if one washed their hands more, wears a mask, looks after themselves better then I’m happy, it’s not just flu, it’s not made up, this things a living nightmare and when you wake it’s still there, look after you, look after each other, remember your all unique, a one off and so precious xx

There’s a Thomas the tank engine book, in which, the story goes, there’s a small engine (possibly the Thomas himself, I’m not sure) trying to pull several long carriages up hill. At first he looks at the bill with trepidation and disbelief, frowning that he cant possibly conquer what, to him, looks like a never ending mountain. He shouts in protest ‘I can’t do it, I can’t do it’, over and over. The book then uses the word fat. I prefer the words jolly or cheerfully chubby. Controller comes along and comforts his upset little friend saying ‘use the words to yourself: I think I can, I think I can‘. The already red-faced and tired little engine, with all his strength, powers up the hill. He chuffed loudly, groaned, but pulled his heavy load up the steep path to the very top, all the while using his new mantra: ‘I think I can, I think I can, I think I can‘… And of course does!

I hate Thomas the blooming tank engine!!! Why? Because 1) I once got a beating for touching my elder brother’s train set. I was lying on the floor where he left it, having a rare old game of plastic cowboys running after a speeding wind up train, shouting yee har!!!!!!!!! as their open mouthed steeds galloped beside the black engine. It was the best game ever, until I felt the lash of the tomato cane across the backs of my bare legs as I lay on my tummy playing happily, and 2) I lived for many years with someone obsessed by them. Drove me to nearly pulling my hair out! That said, I remember the story of Thomas and his heavy load well. (Whyyyyy? Because it’s how I feel right now.)

I’m on month five of recovery from Corona virus, or Corvid 19, depending what you wish to call it, ( I want to call it every bloody name I can think of, and some, I’m sure, I can come up with later). The actual first few weeks were mild: high temp ( which I think I told you in my other post was, to me, a blessing. I actually felt warm in this icy bedroom of mine for two whole weeks. LOL), hot uncomfortable throat though not painful, headaches that lasted for days and nights but, again, doable, shivers ( well hell I’d been doing those for months)… all in all I didn’t feel too bad in all honesty. But then, after a fairly okay week in which I thought I had recovered, it hit me like a truck going 100 mile an hour… I didn’t see that coming!

My already auto-immune-deficient body just struggled to cope. All I had strength for was to lay upon my bed… that and heave myself up and down the stairs to the bathroom. Nothing interested me. I hurt in every joint, every muscle. Breathing from time to time became wheezy and hard going. The ability to breathe is highly recommended, so I stuck at it. My head no longer just ached, but now pulsed with pain behind each eye. And don’t ask what delights befell upon my already troubled stomach, but it involved racing this pained carcass up and down the stairs many times daily to try and make it to the bathroom in time before it… (No. Don’t askkkk!) well, you know, without the goary details. With all this goes nausea, acid reflux, sounds emitted from one end or another, constant cramps, total lack of appetite, malaise, dehydration, hair loss, vision issues and just feeling like I wanted to lay and let the world happen about me.

Believe me, I know pain. It’s a dear old friend of mine from a very young age, and I can do it well, without much ado, fuss or bother and have. But it’s not the pain that hurts, like as a child when I tried desperately to get mum or dad to believe I hurt somewhere, for them only to shrug ohhhh it’s nothing!, it’s just growing pain. Go away. Don’t be a bother. But it was very real to me. It was not only real, it was every joint in my body dislocated and left it’s socket. I had sickening migraines from babyhood, stomach issues, bladder issues, chest pain and this is just some of it. I grit my teeth hard as I’m doing right now and got on with it, (I was being a trooper as they say) no one believing me until I was in my late thirties when I had an issue. A random physio looked at my oddly shaped joints and announced ‘ohhhh you have HMS!‘ (Well hallelujah and pass the collection plate!) I could have and did later go home and cry. Here I was, someone finally believing me about my pain. There was an answer to a million questions my body was attacking itself. And now I knew what deep down I had known all along: I wasn’t lazy, I wasn’t workshy… far from it. I was doing my very best while in extreme pain! It has a name, my foe, my invisible enemy, but although I knew my enemy’s name now and knew of it’s existence, to the outside world, I looked healthy, looked ‘normal‘. I was just funny Treez… lazy, a bit lacking in brain function, but on the whole, okay. Hmmm. My own mother just raised her shoulders and said ‘that’s nothing‘.

It’s just a nothing that affects every cell in your body, your heart, your liver, kidneys, bowels, bladder. Your body works against you. I’ve had illness so long now I can’t remember ever feeling healthy. LOL Add to this anxiety, depression, and mental health… it’s wonderful, a perfect storm. ( I jest here folks with my black humour.) I always jest. It’s how I get through. But, because I do, don’t think I’m not feeling that usual daily pain of HMS life. Then add on nobody but nobody believing the agony you go through because, hey! you look well so you must be…..right?

Hell no! I’m going through torment inside daily, and what makes it worse is I was raised to maintain a lie. My mother would mock my pain. I think she thought if she didn’t believe her child, of course it wasn’t happening… it didn’t exist!!!!!!! I was just clumsy. I fell over a lot. The headaches were made up, the pain in my joints as I said were just growing pain,s, that ache in my chest likewise. But it wasn’t the pain that hurt though, folks, it’s not being believed, it’s teachers making my painful body run in PE, laughing at my odd gait and pointing. As I said, I can do pain; I’ve known nothing else. But when I give you all I have and I’m shutting down mentally from exhaustion,… still no one believes the pain I’m in. I want to scream, if only I could raise the energy. I want to shake you and say ‘I can’t do this right now, I’m tired let me just be, please! I beg you let me damn well lay here and get my breath!’ I’m fighting so much right now. Why all this you ask? Because the long term side effects of having Corona/Corvid isn’t believed either. It’s a silent illness that invades and is destructive… what’s worse, I hate myself for not being able to move that day. I feel all you can lay your minds to call me and worse, I feel a bloody burden, a burden on society, my loved ones, those I try to protect from how I feel deep inside with a mask. When they ask, I lie. I lie because I don’t want to bore or upset them by a constant dialogue of illness. I don’t want to worry them, I just want to portray that jolly old Treez whose doing okay… the Treez that’s a laugh.

This week alone I had to go about life as if I was okay and for a few days I lied like a bloody politician. Hell, you would vote for me! But then I paid fully. I pushed my body to do just what, to you, is trivial… a nonsense thing… but to me it was Herculean. Today I woke after a restless night, my body aching, breathless, head ready to explode and I’m tired… I’m tired before the day’s begun. I wash, sat on the bath with cool water, gingerly brushing my teeth, trying to avoid the mouth full of ulcers. I dread the day ahead, the long uncomfortable day of not being believed once more, as I spray my welt-and-rash-covered body. The phrase I started with goes through my head as I slip on my big baggy shirt: I think I can, I think I can, I think I can… right???????

Sorry but every single time I hear the words Corona Virus, for some unexplained reason only known to my unique brain, the Macarena song goes off in my head. Now this isn’t good because Facebook, the news, everything, is full of the Macarena (I mean the virus). shakes head I’m so sick of that blooming song. But not only the song, I, too, as it turns out am sick.

Way back in March, I went out on one of my rare occasional small jaunts to a cafe where I was to meet up with my friend for coffee. Nothing too remarkable. But while I was there I got more than just coffee… my friend had, in fairness, pre-warned me she had a slight head cold. I thought nothing of it. (But yeah, now in hind sight, I really should have. I admit I was taking risks.) As you know, I have HMS (nooooo… no not a ship, but Hyper Mobility Syndrome.) It effects the whole body and weakens my immune system. It’s been said in the past I don’t always stop to think and here’s the evidence. sighs…

But, in my defense, back in March, Coronavirus aka Corvid 19 (here goes that song again🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶) was in its infancy and wasn’t supposed to have hit my little corner of England. Now that said, my son, who’s a strapping, healthy man, was indeed knocked on his back over Christmas with something akin to flu. Nothing, but nothing keeps him down. He’s rarely, if ever, sick. But I digress. Within 24 hours my nose became stuffed, my throat hot and this room (which is normally icy cold and damp 24/7 even in mid summer months) suddenly felt not only warm but hot hot hot🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶! (another song dammit!) I’m sat in vests and shorts window open.

Still, just thinking it was a nothing, I carried on regardless. A trifle head cold was my thinking. I drank plenty of fluids though and took painkillers, all these things we are advised through media to do. I can’t say I felt really sick, just kind of off… do you know what I mean? I didn’t want to eat much, also kind of swung from sleeping for absolutely hours, only waking to take more meds and swigs of icy water, to nothing… just laying awake staring at my phone. There my love lay sleeping or if not I was just looking up at the ceiling. (must get to those cobwebs) As it and I progressed, I developed a slight dry cough, head-achy, all the usual suspects of a head-cold, but still I felt kind of okay. Within myself though I can’t make my mind up if the raging stomach issues were my IBS flaring or symptoms. Either way every two to three days I spent a wonderful day running up and down the stairs to the bathroom, not easy when you’re burning up.

After two weeks I started to improve and thought once again (in total denial) yeah, it was only a head cold. (I will say I have put myself in isolation since the beginning of March, and I’m so glad I did.) I began to feel better as the days went on. I had a little more energy and actually began to feel hungry. Then came the announcement that all of us would be on a lock-down. I was already there so no worries but for the fact that getting food was horrendous. More than once Jesse had to step in to make sure I ate. I wasn’t really bothered myself… my mood sinking fast. About the beginning of April I had to go out to pick up my medication from our local chemists. The new dawn saw new rules… 6 ft apart and stand in line outside the shops, chemists, etc. Now it’s the beginning of April remember, and a cold chilled morn to boot. As I walked down to the chemists, it began to rain.

I’m looking about me. Everyone’s got coats, scarves, hats on… I’m standing outside as if it’s summer, getting some rather peculiar stares from my fellow queue-ees, wearing a short sleeve t-shirt, thin trousers and the sweat is still making its way in big droplets down my back. I stood that day in the rain 3-quarters of an hour. I felt sick, couldn’t breath and my head swam. By the time I got in there and was seen, I was ready to fall on the floor. I ached, hurt and felt worse than I had in the weeks before. I grabbed my meds from a perplexed chemist and ran almost out of the door, struggling to get the blooming doors open, I was that distressed. By the time I did reach home I was struggling to breath at all, soaked through to my skin and feeling so faint.

Each time I went out, even just those few steps from home, it was repeated. Not only when I go out, it seems, but weekly the symptoms return with a vengence. Not only do they return (like that one annoying visitor you can’t hide behind the sofa from) but they are far worse than the actual virus itself. I still had the soaring temps, stuffy nose, cough, the most horrendous headaches… and let’s not forget the breathlessness. I’m not going with what my stomach does! (it ain’t pretty) This week in question was one of the worst times I’ve had… three days of not keeping anything other than water in my stomach, cramps, headaches, and a malaise like I can’t begin to describe. I lay on Tuesday night praying the pain meds would kick in so I could sleep. I just wanted to get out of my betraying body to rest.

I wanted to sleep for hours, days, to get out of my pain, tiredness, but then tiredness doesn’t cover it. Exhaustion neither. Nothing does or ever can, even reaching to get my tablet, phone or anything was too much effort, so I lay there just feeling drained and emotional… I wanted to curl into my pillow and sob but couldn’t. Strength failed me. When I washed it felt like I had run a marathon. I leaned against the sink for support, splashing cool water over my hot face. Showering is a route march and I hate it, can’t stand the having to lay about for over an hour after. And I can only thank the Lord for microwave dinners. (for in truth I wouldn’t eat at all without them) My body’s tired of fighting now and shows it by breaking out in rashes, welts… my HMS is worse than ever and on Tuesday night, as I lay in my bed, my world falling apart, I looked across at Jesse sleeping soundly and I was scared. For the first time really scared because I longed to be curled up in his arms and him to make things alright as only he can. Lying here praying I would just sleep and get away from all this pain, what scared me most, folks, was I wouldn’t wake! I’ve fought so much now, so hard, so long.

I’m too tired to fight this. It wrecks my body over and over weekly and the fight’s gone. But if one good thing can come of all this it’s to be careful. Don’t think like I did in the very beginning. ‘Oh it’s only flu, it’s just a cold, I’ve had many and will be fine‘ Well I’m not fine… far from fine. And when I’m going to be is anyone’s guess now. This from one who’s battled cancer, heart disease, HMS, and many other illnesses. This is my hardest battle yet, simply because it’s never ever over. So look after yourselves, your loved ones, each other, because you’re precious, you’re wonderful and there’s always only ever going to be one of you. Do whatever it takes to avoid getting this. Do what it takes to stay safe. Remember, you are loved by someone and they want you with them. Stay well, my friends xx

All my life I’ve been told to ‘hush, be quiet Treez. You’re too loud, have nothing to say, too stupid‘… These words are a constant, like Tuesday following Monday, my thirst for coffee when I wake up, eggs and bacon… ‘shut up’ and ‘Theresa’ just go together… until recently, though, thanks to some close loved ones I started to believe I did indeed actually have a voice. Albeit, at times, excitable, I could, in fact, speak mind.

And I was excited. Words battled in my head to be heard. Years of feeling insignificant, in the shadow of others, now left and in its place slowly came a new person, one who, okay, maybe lacked eloquence, polish… never would have the gift of a wordsmith, but through poetry and the medium of writing I at last found a voice, an outlet I had hungered so long for.

I do know my spoken voice is loud and can be harsh, brash even. My fiance, who’s slightly deaf from years playing in a band, can hear me in another state. LOL There’s nothing I can do about it… I was born this way. It got far worse due to thyroid issues and other ill health but I do try to be as quiet as I possibly can. But when I’m nervous, anxiety-ridden, upset, or just plain excited, words tumble from my mouth with gay abandon like little birds flying free 😁.

I hate it if I’m honest. (No, really I do.) In fact, from childhood at times I prayed for that quiet feminine whisper of a voice, even to the point for the longest time that I would lose my voice permanent. Stupid, I know, but I want to fit in… I wanted so to be normal, whatever that may be. What I want so much is to be like YOU, dear reader! As I said in the beginning, the words ‘be quiet!‘ are not new to me. But each time I hear them I go back, way back to a parent spitting as she bellowed ‘Shut up Theresa! No one wants to hear what you have to say!‘ Siblings laughing if I voiced an opinion, encouraged by the other adults in my family.

So I never ventured an opinion again. Whenever I spoke it was about the weather, TV, a book I read… safe topics. I smiled, laughed, but inside my head was a whirlpool of words, clambering over each other to be heard. Still I held them in. As I did they swirled around, festered. If I sat quietly I heard them screaming for a voice, these mixed with shouting voices of those that had filled my ears with ugliness and hate. So if I speak too much this was and is the reason… it’s to hush the din in my head, quiet the shouting of my long ago bullies that threaten to swallow me up in their blackness.

Over months now a few have encouraged me to open my heart, tell my truths, not fear reprisals, be brave, let the beaten child within escape and have her voice. It’s not been easy because I revert back to her easily and crawl into that little ball when I hear a raised voice or I feel I’m being mocked. (This is left over from my past.) But thanks Jesse I grew braver, more forthcoming. With him came poetry and a love of writing.

But just as steady as I grew, there’s some who, to be fair to them, do not know of my history and the pit I’m trying so hard to climb out from. And again, whether they know it or not, their words have destroyed months of hard work. Once more I’ve reverted to the little child hiding in a cold, hard-floored landing of my childhood home, no bigger than 5′ by 5’… silent, so as not to cause a fuss or draw attention until my dad came home and I was safe from the lash of a tongue or my mother’s cane.

One such time was Wednesday. I can’t go into detail, but again someone flew into a rage at me. In my new found shaky confidence I tried so hard to stand my corner as I’m being encouraged to do, but the voice of authority overrode, silenced, did not give me chance, and much to my hurt and anger the little girl again took over. She wanted to scream of the injustice! Even in her fear, she wanted a voice. She knew the pains I had taken, the fake courage I had tried to summon up, knew of the illness I suffered through sheer terror of the situation I was going through.

Also the nights I laid awake reliving years of heartache and abuse so I would have the information ready, the cold sweats of the night terrors while I slept, racing heart, knotted stomach not able to keep in food, I felt weak before but I clawed every last scrap of energy and courage I could for that day, knowing it was going to be torture , and within minutes I was unfairly silenced… wrongly as it happens. But the muttered words ‘I’m sorry‘ don’t take away the me that crumbled, the me again silenced, my years of pain, my years of abuse and being used. Words that I never wanted to utter in the first place once more, in split seconds, buried forever in my head. And quite frankly that’s where I want them to stay. I was crushed in those few words.

So what now? I’m too tired to cope. I had used all I had to get there, to do this one thing to protect me, and once again I’m silenced and in hiding. I have no voice… it was taken away, robbed, and I’m using what little energy I have left to get me through another day.

It’s been a whole week again since I last braved leaving my cell ( I mean home)… I live in a approximately 12 by 12 room. Recovering Agoraphobic, which for those that are not in the know what that is, brief description: it’s not the fear as many have lead us to believe of wide open spaces, it is actually a mixture of a thousand fears. Imagine if you will getting huge electric shocks every time you left your front door. Even going up to it, come to that. Pretty soon you wouldn’t go near that door for fear of that shock, pain, just the thought of it. Then you stop trying. Plus you really do believe you’re going to die at any moment. Adrenaline courses through your veins, your heart races, miss-beats… you can’t breath, your head swims, eyes go out of focus, you body drips in sweat or you’re freezing cold, sometimes both. You feel you will vomit or, worse, you need the toilet right then and there. It will brook no argument. Imagine all this and ten times worse. I’ve barely touched on it.

But after twenty five years, countless failed attempts and so much hard work, I did it! I swear at times I thought I couldn’t and nearly gave in, then for roughly about 18 months I was free once again. Not only that… I also survived 35 years of hell in a controlled marriage. Many said how brave I was, how amazing. I didn’t think I did anything spectacular. If anything, far from it. I thought I should have gotten over it earlier. I was angry, frustrated, bitter there for a while, not only with myself but those who didn’t seek help for me. And this just wasn’t, isn’t me. I sent all these emotions packing many years ago, but I felt I had allowed myself to be locked up, chained… my life wasted, frittered away so easily by someone who just wanted a lackey, a servant, power over another, as I was the only point of control in his life. And when I say ‘control’, I don’t say this lightly. My every move was mapped out. I was allowed privileges, I wasn’t allowed life.

But 18 months ago I took those important steps to freedom and it was hard, arduous, and, at times, I wanted to back out. Many times it was just too hard. I didn’t have the strength, the conviction. I just was too scared to fight this plus other things going on around me. It felt like I was taking on the world and its dog. I left everything behind… all I had known, all I cared about. And here I was living this scary new life with just one thing holding me up: love! Two people’s support is all that kept me going when I tired, felt beaten… that was Jesse and my daughter. I leaned on them so much when I thought I couldn’t go another step, Jesse my light in a dark cruel world, my heartbeat, a source of warmth in the cold, and Becky: my daughter, my friend, counsel, a gift from long ago to walk beside me on this journey.

Now back to recent times after coming back from Detroit and that whole debacle, I’ve stayed here in my room, my prison. I did go out to the coffee shop or grocery store most days, or just for a walk locally round a small park. All that was before. Gradually, due to ill health and depression, my world grew smaller. It has gotten so that I barely leave these four walls. Imagine when you do venture out being watched, reported back on or the very thing you escaped: the horrors of your abuser following you, knowing exactly what they are doing , still that controlling hand on your reins, still pulling them tight, so your every move is fearful. Watching over your shoulder constantly, you feel hunted. This isn’t the nervous mind talking, this is real. The dangers are real, so no more escapes to my little coffee shop where I sat in the warmth letting the coffee slowly swirl through my brain and do that delicious thing of waking my brain-fogged mind… no people watching, just seeing people, hearing their voices, saying hello, goodbye. Although I’m not a people person this did bring me some relief living in my own head.

Also I loved sitting outside, the sun upon my face, even for minutes, sometimes an hour, just to feed my need of being close to nature. Even on the coldest, wet days it charges my batteries, smelling the earth. Touching trees are as important to me as food; it’s a need, a must, but I’m denied these now and slowly, bit by bit, I’m robbed of every last thing I worked so hard for. Can you imagine yourself being shut in a small room, the curtains drawn to keep the cold out, seeing no daylight, feeling cool breeze, the nip of winter chill upon your face? And not only that, there’s no end in sight. I feel chained. I’m more tied up than ever. When I do go out, I run the very real risk of being followed. Even seeing my therapist was interrupted. And, no, there isn’t any help to be had. It’s treated as a minor thing. I’m so sorry to sound bitter but when you worked so hard to free yourself from something as debilitating as Agoraphobia only be shoved back in the shadows again, I cannot help but feel that emotion I had long ago controlled. I’m at the mercy of someone’s lies. They hold all the cards and I’m punished for wanting something we all take for granted… life.

JESSE’S RESPONSE:

I have watched the love of my life deal with the demons in her life with helpless despair since she was assaulted in Detroit. As we are on video chat 24/7 to assuage one another’s anxiety issues, I see and hear everything that happens to her. I pickup the silent sobs when she lies and tells me everything is okay. I see the torturous pain in her face as she struggles through another nightmare. I hear her struggle with a disrespectful, lying son who should be affording her every courtesy and comfort available but, instead, has no affinity for trying to understand her issues. (I hear every conversation she has and know of what I speak.) I hear and see the twisted gargoyle form of her abusive ex as he tries, like all cowards do, to intimidate her, knowing that his face, his voice, the foul stench of his body odor trigger more nightmares, more anxiety. My stomach wrenches as she entertains thoughts like being such a burden that she should walk away from us.

My world, my life resides there in her small town in the form of her. It is maddening that the very agencies existing to help victimized women have such a cavalier attitude toward my love’s continual victimization. She is the sweetest, kindest, most faithful person one could ever hope to meet while her ex is a vile prevaricator, a philanderer, a bully. Her gargoyle-esque Lucifer has his flying monkeys reporting on her whereabouts constantly and calling her names when they pass in the streets that I would never utter in mixed company. It is small wonder such paranoia is evoked. And I must watch on from the sidelines when every instinct in me is to attack the source of her discomfort with brute force.

All I can offer is the love she has never known… and being the man she has never known. I am with her every step of the way and am bound and determined to prove to her that this love of ours is forever and real. I am not going anywhere. I truly believe that when she is, at last, back in my arms, it will be the beginning of a new utopia for both of us. She is, without doubt, the love of my life.

So I survived the Christmas that, quite honestly, I had dreaded for months. I suppose, really, there was no doubt I would. (What choice is there and, if I hadn’t, it means I’m giving a whole new meaning to a ghost writer. LOL) My mood since October had taken a terrible spiral downwards. Most of you who have read my blog know the reasons and the why-fors, etc., already. I won’t bore you over again!!!! It’s mainly being apart from Jesse that mentally, physically and emotionally eats slowly  away at me, and not having money for loved ones’ presents again this year… and I’m finding it much harder to crack that smile, to laugh at life’s moments of hilarity. (Yes there are some.) Even I am a person of great humour, a masker of sadness. But very few, if you were see me out and about, would guess what’s going on inside this head… only the odd (very odd in most cases) one or two are privileged to the inner sanctum that is my mind. (I hide so much that torments.) Be grateful, very grateful, you’re not one of these. LOL. Jesse has to have breadcrumbs, SatNav, searchlight, and a rope tied round his waist or, let’s face it, he would be forever lost. Seriously, I worry for him, my therapist and daughter who are my support team. Each are tireless in their care and support, their love. (Please… I mean this! If anyone right now has a loved one who is working through mental health issues and you are the one they trust to be there for them, their main caregiver, you are indeed a hero!)

Don’t give me you do this because you love them. It takes more than love, more than patience, more than sheer bloody mindedness. It takes courage, endless courage. I have put those who love me through hell. I don’t do this intentionally, of course, because, above all, I love them. I never want to hurt them, but when the damaged mind shuts down, it shuts out the very people it needs, loves most. I get lost for days at a time, wallowing my way through the dark swamps of cloying mud that threaten to suck me under. It weighs me down and all I know is if I stop going it will get me, it will suck me under to never be seen in this world or any other again. It robs the air from my lungs, life from me, it is only the light from those who love me that guide me home to them, keep me wading through the darkness that next day and the next. They are brave souls and I adore them for it. Moreover, I owe them my existence.

This said, one of them holds the light up way above the others. He knows I hate the dark. He has had to watch me battle my terrors. My demons walk in the night, as they do the day, only they are worse when I’m off guard and half asleep. But then he took me on in the very beginning, my mind battered, scarred, pieces scattered to the winds. He believed in me. We are not all doom, folks, because in that darkness we have moments of great joy in each other’s company. One of the things I love about Jesse and my daughter is their ability to make me roar with laughter. If you have any experience with depression you know how hard it is to go about ‘normal’ life. I struggle to sleep and, once I do, I then battle to get up out of bed. You just can’t win honestly. LOL. Eating? Oh, let’s do eating! It is normally my favourite of pastimes. I come by this nice svelte figure honestly folks, but my eating swings in a weird kind of balance… I can either pick all day at anything to hand orrrrrr go completely the other way and just can’t be bothered to eat. (I’ve been on the I-just-can’t-be-bothered mode now for weeks,

The sod of this is, I don’t lose weight. (sighs) No, seriously… I haven’t lost one solitary bloody lb. I know girls, right!!! It’s unjust, unfair and un-fricking-believable. I spent over two weeks before Christmas living on one loaf of bread. Back to my eating or the lack of, I had sunk low, money was tighter than my trousers, so I just didn’t!!! On the second week my mood really nosedived. I think we all know the correlation between good diet and a healthy mind. But bread and butter is all very good. Not twice daily though. LOL. My stomach began to hurt terribly (as I’m not meant to eat bread anyway but we all love it right?). I felt very dizzy, breathless at times. I had to go out twice… both times, how I managed I will never know, sitting on benches mainly from time to time.

There were times, though, I craved some fruit, (I adore fruit) but, again, I had none so this went unsatisfied, except there was one night, folks, I came across an apple, a Russet, renowned for their keep ability. It’s one I had left in a bag in my room. And my goodness!, that first bite! Ohhhh, that first bite was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten. I swear Jesse wondered what I was up to as I  sighed softly with each mouthful. It was like coming across hidden treasure, its sweetness played with my taste buds. I savoured each gorgeous bite. I had eaten nothing more delicious in my life, I swear! The apple, being slightly wrinkled, did not ruin my joy. I hadn’t thought Jesse had noticed my meager diet at the time but, of course, living 24/7 side-by-side, how had I hoped to conceal it from him! I got told two days before Christmas one late afternoon, ‘you’ve a package coming.‘ At first I got antsy as he really does spoil me rotten given the chance, but I soon realized all he had wanted was for me to have something special from him (from home). In part 1 of my package, to my delighted surprise, was a case of Root Beer 🍺. (You will never know how much I adore root beer and the memories it evokes of my time with Jesse.) I couldn’t be angry at this most thoughtful of gifts, especially as I opened the first can and heard that sound of the ring pull, smelt that wonderful caramel-ly scent, the first sip… Ohhhhh my!!!! It’s bubbles danced along my tongue. I sighed at each mouthful as they took me right back to nights lying on the sofa, my head resting on Jesse’s chest, scents of woody, musky aftershave in my nose, my hand in his and Game of Thrones on binge watch….. If I shut my eyes I am there. I was with my love for that one moment.

In the second package there was food!!!!!! Tins of thick soups, mackerel in tomato sauce, breakfast cereal, bread, fruit, Pringles and chocolate. This was indeed a treasure and a most unusual Christmas gift, but to me it was one of the most thoughtful. (It’s hard enough getting someone with depression to eat at the best of times.) Jesse also knows this and wanted to tempt me. That night I made myself a tin of the soup more to please my love than to feed my body, but as I slowly ate each spoonful of the hot chunky soup it began to have its effect. I was slowly feeling better… it’s warmth and goodness really getting to work. Within hours of eating this I had some ryebread. My appetite restored and the horrible constant pain I had in my stomach for weeks gone, that night I felt better than I had in weeks. I thanked my darling for, once again, being there for me, with his unstinting thoughtfulness. I don’t know where I would be at times. We sat that night watching a series on Netflix called Marco Polo, which was only come across by accident, but it really is very good, full of history and, at times, we don’t sleep, just sit glued. As we sat one night a voice suddenly says ‘by the way, you have a delivery tomorrow sometime after nine am‘. I look blinkingly at him… blearly. 7am eyes trying to focus. ‘Erm… what have you done now?‘ LOL. I got ‘you’ll see.‘ And I sure did…

Just two hours later, I’m rudely awakened from a semi-sleep by my phone calling. Half there, I picked up my tablet, still merrily playing Call the Midwife (our go-to-sleep program), and try to answer it. Not getting any joy from the tablet, I look at my phone, my honey sleeping peacefully… Somewhere in my sleep-muddled brain THE PACKAGE!!!! screamed at me. I dived out of bed (Okay. I turned over and fell out), remembered, in time thank goodness, I was only in my vest and knickers. Grabbing my trousers I tried hopping while pulling them on, fall back on my bed as quietly as I could so not to wake a slumbering Jesse. How he slept with my cursing, then screaming to a now banging front door ‘Hang onnnnn please’ while frantically pulling on said trousers I will never understand. As I open the door, there stands some guy looking bemused, a mango in his outstretched gloved hand. I can’t help but stare. Why is there a man at my door at this ungodly hour holding  a mango? Now it’s all very nice, mind, but to me, on American hours, I’ve no clue what’s going on. Eyes filled with sleep I stand leaning against the door, all that’s keeping me up, eyes glued to this mango. He looks back at me, (The man, not the mango. I’ve no idea what sex the mango is BTW but I know it hasn’t got eyes, thank goodness. After he had gone and I looked in the mirror I’m not surprised by his bemused expression.) both now looking back at the proffered mango. He says ‘there’s a mango for yah!!!!!’ I blinked, looked up at him warily. ‘oooo-kay’ I say dubiously but thank him anyway, whoever he is.

It’s not every day a man stands at your door bearing mangoes, right? I go to shut the door, still looking at the mango (it is, BTW, a very nice mango.) I’m by now clutching, thinking Jesse is never going to believe this!!! when a voice behind the half closed door says ‘And here’s some strawberries for yah!’ I turn and, yes, there is a punnet of strawberries in his hand. I look up at him again thinking I’ve no clue what’s going on but I best humour him just in case. ‘Ohhhhh lovely, thank you’ I finally croak out. I go to get back in the door, by now bursting to visit the bathroom from the 2 litres of water I had drank the night before, mango in one hand, strawberries in the other… dazed, when, again, out of nowhere, the voice says ‘here’s some apples for yah’. So by now I’m seeing a pattern here but still have no idea what’s going on. I place the fruit I was holding on the bottom stair. He then hands me bananas, pears, blueberries and kiwis each time announcing each one like some kind of fruit butler, or I look that daft/stupid indeed both. He feels sorry for me because outward appearances indicate I’ve no clue what these things are. Mind you, the way I stared at the mango in the beginning, I can well see the confusion. ROFL. This goes on until I’ve a nice stash of fruit building up on the stair, some bottled water, muesli, coffee, cottage cheese and other bits, each item announced with ‘for yah’ by my very own Carson (Downtown Abbey ) in high Vis jacket and gloves. Finally he hands me a piece of paper with your Tesco delivery on it. By now I’m doing the pee dance, and he’s wanting to run and escape from this weird, wild, half-dressed woman holding her trousers up. So I thanked him and the last I saw of him he was making good his escape, running away from me, carrying boxes to get away quick. I go back in finally, scratching my head, confused, and then it dawns on me: Jesse’s last words before he slept were ‘you have a delivery coming later’. Suddenly it all made sense. I’m not going crazy. And strange men won’t be calling to deliver mangos at unearthly hours. When I related the whole story to Jesse later that morning he fell about laughing , once again though it showed how thoughtful my darling is. Everything was a favourite of mine, things that are healthy and which tempt me to eat. I have never experienced someone so sweet or thoughtful. I am indeed fortunate in my choice of mate. Thank you, Jesse. Whatever I did to deserve you I will never know, but I thank God for the night I met you. Without you, Beck and Catie, I would be lost.