Back From a Blog Break

I needed some time out. I have had a really hard few weeks. In many ways, but not least due to a major relapse. And yes I know the whole point of my blog is to moan and whine (wine) about my back problems, but it has been so all encompassing I needed to step back from it a little. As it happened, I didn’t do that, but was thrown full force into my back problems swallowing me whole and eating the identity that was once Me.

But that must change. So this blog may take a new direction. I don’t know how, but, I cannot just be, as my daughter stated last week when I put some make-up on for the first time in a while, as I was so sick of being asked how I was, people commenting on how bad I look, how much weight I had lost etc etc, I wanted to be seen as someone who looked well again – that I was ‘wearing make-up to show that I have beauty and not just a bad back.

I have bought some new clothes (I really have lost a lot of weight – my new ‘butt-lift’ jeans have nothing to lift up, so just hangs there baggy), some new make-up (got some free with No.7 voucher and a little spend, just my colour, sparkly black eye shadow!), had a child-free day today. Rock and Roll me!

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Good Night

“Time, motion and wine cause sleep” The Very Wise, Ovid.

I Really Don’t Like Celery

I hate celery

I bought some frozen casserole mix, unaware that it contained, mostly, the most useless and vile tasting vegetable ever. Celery. Which is very unpleasant to eat, but which I could not bear to throw out ‘in case I ever found a use for it. And then, after a particularly cruel flare-up I Found a use. The frozen casserole mix became the perfect treatment for the inevitable ‘flare-up’ after stupidly pushing my daughter downhill on her bike or such foolish antics, the cheap equivalent of an ice pack, the new ‘bag of peas’.

And then disaster struck. After being used so many times and partially defrosting and freezing it again, it turned into one solid lump of mostly celery and is rather uncomfortable to lay on, thus rendering it entirely useless and consigned to the bin. I found this out today, after doing said foolishness, followed by hobbling around a supermarket a 4pm with hungry children and husband, then collapsing onto the sofa with the Mostly Made of Celery Casserole Mix, only to find I was akin to the Princess and the Pea. This Will Not Do. Unfortunately there is no other food in the freezer which we can sacrifice – we are using the baby corn tonight for the kids tea, and I am certain that Quorn sausages won’t be particularly comfortable to lay on either. Now I am laying on the cold space where the casserole mix once was, in pain and watching Abney and Teal thinking how useless celery really is. Contemplating not for the first time this week whether I should self medicate with a glass of Pinot Noir.

TIme for Change

Having completed the fear inducing first blog post, this is my first daily log, a snapshot history of my back pain and a snippet of how it has affected my parenting. My life has changed dramatically over the last few months. But not more than in the way it has impacted on my family.

My Summer Girl and and Winter Son are young. And wonderful. They are so empathic it makes me cry sometimes. They have taken it upon themselves to be my saviours, to cheer me up when I am low, to kiss my back when it hurts and Summer Girl rushes to get me a gallon of water as soon as she sees me reaching for my meds.  They also take it upon themselves to jump on me at every given opportunity. If I happen to lie on the floor to do my physio exercises, Winter Boy does not see mummy doing press-ups, he sees a horse for him to ride, on he jumps ‘you horsey mummy! Go! Faster!’, or jumps from the top of the sofa onto my belly or legs. And Summer Girl still gives the best hugs, which often include jumping up and wrapping her feet around my waist, or swings on my arms. OWWWW to all of those things. But, how can I avoid the kids jumping at me and on me, and more to the point why would I want them to? It upsets me that they have to adapt their behaviour because I can’t step up to the mark as a mother. It upsets me that I can’t be the one to push Summer Girl as fast as I can on her bike, or swing Winter Boy up in the sky. But it is how it is and I have to find a way to cope with that.

About 2 weeks after my back ‘went’ again in June, I finally got the results of my MRI, and a conversation with my osteopath went along the lines of ‘and you have to avoid things that will cause a relapse, like for example picking up your children…’. Yeah right! I am never going to stop doing that! I thought. Not happening! I decided. Until the pain just refused to go away. And then one day soon after Summer Girl came up to our room after having a bad dream and crawled into bed next to me. After a cuddle,  I scooped her sleepy self up in my arms, legs wrapped around me and head nestled into my neck. As I walked down our winding loft-room stairs and the pain tore through my back and down my legs, my tears flowed, tears not only of pain but of realisation that I this was, consciously, the last time I would be carrying my wonderful daughter back to bed after a bad dream.  I hugged her tightly and cried the tears of a mummy who wasn’t ready to stop carrying her children, but who understood it had to be done.

I cried many tears that night. And, as is often the case in my darkest hours, I turned to the women of a fabulous internet forum, Mumsnet, to get me through. words of sorrow, personal experiences and empathy filled the pages along with great ideas for how to keep the closeness – cuddling in bed, on the sofa for bedtime stories. There are many ways to show her I love her and I realised it was not the end of the world, just a change.

I do still pick Summer Girl up, after all that heartache, but less often, and with much more caution. And certainly not down steep or winding stairs. No more lifting the deadweight of a sleepy child and the pang of regret, of loss of something huge in my life is ever-present in the middle of the night when I am called for and I nudge my husband awake to carry our sleeping child back to her bed.

Roo, well he is a different story. Being 2 and all.

Wine Can’t Cure Back Pain…The Beginning

Wine Can’t Cure Back Pain…The Beginning


I have a Bad Back. I talk about it pretty much all the time, to pretty much anyone who will listen. I have been known to send people (my husband) to sleep with my wittering. Over the last 9 months I have been on, and I am still on, the biggest learning journey since parenthood. It seems like a good idea to rant and moan, share my pain and my fears, my difficulties with managing the children, my breakthroughs and my relapses, my learning and my ideas, my battle through the medical system, my success and my failure with medication in a Blog rather than (or, let’s be honest, as well as) with the family, friends, work colleagues and people at the bus stop who are quite clearly Fed Up of it now.

So, I have gone For It and I am excited, and nervous. I am chucking myself completely into the unknown. It is not the same as writing for others. Yes I talk a lot, mostly bollocks. And I write a lot, much of the same. What if I am Bad at It? What if no-one reads it? Worse, what if people read it and laugh? But, then I remind myself that I actually have a lot to say about back pain. Maybe people will read it. Maybe they  won’t even laugh. Maybe I can Do It.’.

But the instant I made the decision I stumbled upon the first hurdle, the first problem which almost made me shut the computer in a huff and give up. My blogname. I couldn’t think of a catchy one. I knew what I wanted, but the words were not there. Not A Good Start, Writers Block before I have even written a sentence.

 I wanted humorous, ironic maybe, not clinical and matter of fact, something that people who read this will find easily, will find funny, will understand and connect with. I knew it. I just couldn’t remember it (I will blame the meds). I spent an entire day lying down (I won’t tell the physio that) thinking, drinking coffee, watching daytime tv for inspiration. I even asked ‘the witches’ online to help me chose a name. And just when I thought it was not going to happen and contemplated drowning my sorrows in red wine and tramadol, I had an image of me propping myself up against a kitchen breakfast bar in a rented cottage one christmas, unable to sit or stand, after days of pain, and recalled some-one refilling my tightly clutched wine glass and saying to me ‘wine does not cure back pain, but it does help!’ and there it was. Right there, where it was the whole time. My blogname.

This is the start of something, I am not sure where it will go. If you have back pain and children, or just back pain, share my journey. Come back and visit me. I will try not to bore you.