The "D" word.

Things aren't so great.

My feet hurt to buggery with these new and improved orthotics. It seems that the podiatrist and the orthopedististist don't agree on what on earth is wrong with my feet. Podiatry think it's arthritic and I need to wear shoes that prevent my toes from bending (expensive walking shoes) and orthopedics think it's something else and I need to "manipulate" my toes daily to get the movement back and wear this new made to measure thang that allows my big toe some movement. I absolutely have to try this just in case it works but... Click ouch ow clack ooh crunch ooh owwwwa.

The podiatrist showed me the xrays of my feet and there on the screen was a list of all our ultrasounds. A sort of medical "My photo album". I was so tempted to ask.

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My shoulder isn't better yet and despite the daily gentle physio exercises and stretches I still can't lift my arm above my head or undo my bra from behind my back. It's annoying. I want it fixed.

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I want it all fixed.

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The benefit I receive because of my inability to cope with work due to my depression* since losing George is now in question because the retired Dr who assessed me for half an hour and made those insensitive comments thinks there's nothing wrong with me, despite the fact that I cried through out the interview, apart from trouble walking or standing too long and "some ankle pain"... ummm... I don't have ankle pain, I've never complained of ankle pain, what ankle pain!!!!???? So I have to go in front of a tribunal and appeal. Ugggh. How do I explain that while I'm sort of ok and getting more ok, that ok-ness doesn't yet extend to a work environment. It will, and probably soon but not quite yet. Oh yes, date of that decision? 20 October 2009. Almost as if they were saying, "That's it. You've had one year exactly, now buck up and get on with it."

Sigh.

I wish it was that easy.
 
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I don't have any friends left from work. Even the one who was SO wonderful last year has stopped texting. That last sentence is untrue. I have Ray. We met at work. Light of my life.

Some friends are forever but some friendships are fleeting. They are a profound or intense presence for a while and then one or both of you moves on. Clinging to stale friendships is pointless but sometimes it's hard when you are the one left behind. Learning to let go is a goal.

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I haven't been a good commenter lately (again) and for that I'm sorry (again).

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It's cd 9 and I'm trying to find the nerve to think about yet another chance at being a mother.

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This month I'm sewing seeds to fill our garden with wild and not so wild flowers. I'm going to sew some forget-me-not and heartsease seeds in our garden and in George's wood because I like the names. Before and after pics might be in order. I have bluebell seeds in the fridge and a propagator on the kitchen table.

I can't wait for spring.

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Sometimes the light takes my breath away. That orange strip is the same colour as the foreground.

xxx


*I don't write under the title depression here, partly because it's a bit like the monster under the bed; big and scary, but if you pull the covers up and keep your arms tucked inside it can't get you. i.e. I'm trying to ignore it and hope it goes away. And partly because I don't like labels and I think it's a natural reaction to the trauma of losing George and the horror of my hospital stay after the hideously horrid hemorrhaging a week after and the stress of the infection from hell lasting four months after that so it doesn't need singling out for special treatment with a name. It just is and it's being dealt with.

One day, I'd quite like to hear "Your baby died over a year ago and you're not still depressed/traumatised/grief stricken?"