kittens

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Hello fellow humanoids

So it looks like it's going to be maybe a weekly blog now. Yes, things are not going too well at the moment for me and my MS. Still, at least I will try and do some more. Things are looking a little better, but unfortunately this brain fog just will not let me go. No matter what I do. It seems to be hitting me with an a vengeance I haven't had in a long time.

The only good news is in three weeks time I get a phone call from my doctor about the results on my week under the heart monitor. Still three weeks time. To me that's okay really because if it was anything to worry about that a God in touch as the test was done over two months ago now. I've got the physio guy coming over again as well. Yes, he's going to give me some exercises to help me, apparently with my issues. Very nice chap, had some very interesting conversations with him, a very switched on person. And certainly did his job well and knew what he was doing.

So now they've referred me again to the language and speech people. This should be interesting as it's a different hospital in a different county. So we will see what happens. I know where I lived last time. I had a lot of help and the guy who did the therapy was very good indeed.

Well, the kittens are about four months old, so no longer little innocent kittens, are they? I have never seen so much anarchy in my life as those two kittens. They run absolute riot everywhere. They say, "Yeah, you get it, they're fussy about their food." Yes, unfortunately, we've tried many kitten foods, but alas, they seem to turn their nose up at them. And we've even tried the expensive ones as well, and they turned their noses up at those. So, I don't know. I'm looking forward to when they're six months old and I can feed them adult cat food. Or even other types of food.

Still, there we go. It's interesting finding cats perched on tops of doors, perched on tops of furniture you'd never thought they'd get the top of. It really is funny, and to see them climbing around as I zoom over trying to pick the kitten up after shelf without knocking everything, it is like unbelievable. It's a complete mindfuck I can tell you. When you're as banged up as I am, trying to get a kitten off something is just like trying to get hold of an electric eel covered in grease. It is neon impossible.

So, missi and Tiggy run rings around meand my powerchair. And to be fair, they are funny as a funny thing on funny. Yeah, they sort of take my mind off a lot of what I'm going through. In fact, they take my mind off quite a lot of what I'm going through. In fact, I would say these cats are bigger medicine than medicine, to be honest with you. They seem to have this effect of balance in me out, making me laugh, making me smile and just generally making my life a lot happier. So yeah, I still have the pain, I still have the confusion. I still can't walk. Yeah, I'm still stuck in a chair. But hey, at least I'm laughing again. That's more than can be said for earlier on last year when I thought that was it for me, dead man walking.

So yeah, for me it was the most positive thing I have done in a very, very long time. It was just a point of finding out what animal would be best for me, either a dog or a cat. In the end it turned out to be two cats or kittens and they have helped me immensely. I must say they really have helped me. Cats just seem to have this other sense, this other worldliness about them.

When I wake up in the morning, who greets me first thing by licking my nose and biting it but tiggy, saying hello and then Missy will come up and she will sniff my nose and rub her nose and my nose and go off and they both say hello to me. They both say hello to me when I roll past and mew and say hello, hello and I'll stop and I'll say hello and we'll all make a fuss and then we'll look at my poor hands and it's a good job I can't feel much because my hands are ripped to shreds. They matter blood everywhere because those cats can really really really really play like there's no tomorrow but hey ho every scratch as a memory as they say but when you get scratched it doesn't hurt until maybe a day later you wash your hands or something. That's the problem with MS you just can't feel much but there we go. That's life I suppose.

So it's taking me all weekend just to write this. It's Monday morning and I've had no sleep at all on Sunday night. And I feel like absolute hell today. I've got raging pins and needles in my hands and in my throat and yes I'm getting that sharp like stabbing pin in my right eye. Yes how exciting and the tinnitus is really loud this morning as well. So, there go my plans for today and going out and everything that I wanted to do. Yes, the AA man won't be here until I phone up or Albertine phones up. So we can actually take the van out and charge the battery up when it started, but I am feeling so ill it's... I can't be asked to even do this some days. Still, it could be worse. I could be sat in front of the fridge with the door open, getting warm.

But there is an upside, a very positive side. Since I have had my diagnosis of multiple sclerosis, I have done so much with my life. It is unbelievable. Some things I thought I would never accomplish and that I would never do. And that will be my next blog post. MS isn't the end of your life. It's a new beginning. It will take you down paths you never knew existed. It will be a truthful mind-bending no-holds-barred blog post. And I look forward to doing it.

Sending everybody peace, healing, love and light no matter who or whom you are.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Winter in the Waiting Room: Kittens, Cold Snaps, and Full Circles

So, finally, I’m doing the whole hospital and doctor loop thing again. After much faffing about, I’ve managed to change hospitals let’s see if these new faces actually listen, or if it’s just the same NHS pantomime with slightly different costumes. The cold weather’s rolling in and, trust me, my spasticity is giving me absolute hell. Straightening up bits of my body now takes longer than the average GP appointment so, this winter, it’s bed-bound most of the time, because who can afford to run central heating in the new, improved Broken Britain? Makes you wonder if we’re all just meant to relive the “good old days” of struggling with sod all, forty-odd years ago. Funny how life goes more full circles than a washing machine.

And speaking of full circle, it’s 41 years this year since I got down on one knee in Otley by the monument and proposed to Albertine. Loud as a foghorn and just as subtle. Best bloody thing I’ve ever done, hands down. Now, on the anniversary, I’m gearing up for another round of medical circus tricks: off to get a heart monitor fitted for seven days joy of joys. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll actually read my notes this time. God knows, I’ve written enough of them. If the neurology and cardiology departments ever joined forces, maybe they’d even work out what the hell’s actually going on, and I could retire from being on 24-hour “ambulance alert.”

Instead, I’m left dealing with the vagus nerve going full Chernobyl, sending me into another autonomic dysfunction attack. By the time the ambulance turns up, of course, I’m done with the attack and left trying to convince whichever harassed medic is on duty that I’m not, in fact, an attention-seeking hypochondriac. Try explaining the weirdness of your body to doctors and you’ll get the “Google Doctor” eye roll especially if you use the same language they use. Pro tip: NHS staff hate AI, except when they’re using Google to look up what’s wrong with you. Ludicrous.

This morning, it’s a proper arctic frost out there every car iced up, the world glinting like a badly frosted Christmas cake. The kittens are running riot in the lounge, using the sofa as their own private Thunder dome, which is the only thing making me laugh. Meanwhile, I’m keeping my power chair battery topped up because the cold’s killing the range faster than you can say “Mobility Motability means nothing.” Nothing worse than being ready to go out, only for the chair to die and say, “Nice try, mate. Not today.”

So, it’s off to the chemist in the machine of death (Rusty One) for my weekly prescription pilgrimage. Albertine reckons the van will start; I have my doubts. Why I can’t get more than a week’s worth of tablets at once is a question for the ages. Maybe it’s a secret NHS tactic to get me out of the house. Either way, it’s still freezing and my hands are so cold I could play castanets with my own knuckles. Temperature regulation? Gone to pot like everything else.

OT’s been and gone apparently, next year I get a new wheelchair, so there’s a silver lining. Rusty One, meanwhile, needs a trip to the garage, which will no doubt cost me an arm, a leg, and possibly my soul. As I write, the smoke alarm is going off (Albertine’s burned the toast), the kittens are lying on the bed with that “we run this house now” look, and my new bed has bruised my side and pulled muscles I didn’t even know existed. Standard.

And now, in today’s episode of “What Fresh Hell Is This?” the kitten has discovered blueberries. Yes, you read that right. She’s rooting them out of the container and launching them across the room like tiny fruity grenades. You’d think it was catnip. I woke up this morning with one kitten on my head and the other on my shoulder purring away like they’re trying to heal me by vibrational therapy. Honestly, it works better than half the crap the doctors have prescribed. There’s something about the frequency of that purring that really does help.

Right now, as I sit in my power chair, both kittens have gone behind the computers to play with the wires so I’m just waiting for the grand finale: either “dead kitten moment” or “there goes my computer.” Albertine hands me the remote and I grin music, even when it’s Deathly Hallows chart stuff, makes the world a bit less deathly. The beat goes on, the kittens plot my doom, and I’m just trying to stay warm, upright, and very much alive.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

There are days with MS… and then there are those days the days where your entire nervous system decides to re-enact a flea circus on a hot tin roof.

So let me paint the scene for you:

I Am a Kitten. A Flea-Infested Kitten.

Not a majestic panther. Not a sleek predator. No. A tiny, confused goblin-cat with an arse like a bonfire and fleas having a rave on my spine.

I’m sprinting around the imaginary room crashing into furniture, tripping over nothing, having a full cosmic meltdown because the fleas/MS won’t stop chewing on every nerve ending like they’ve paid for an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Lights flickering. Shadows being weird. Brain fog thick enough to butter toast with. Hallucinations just to keep things spicy.

Everything MS can throw at me it throws all at once.

And there I am, this poor invisible kitten of doom, doing laps like I’m possessed by 15 demons and a Red Bull sponsorship. Things fall off shelves. Air becomes lava. Reality breaks down like a cheap knock-off mirror in a funfair.

MS as Fleas

Imagine your entire body itching in places that don’t exist. Imagine the fleas having meetings about unionising. Imagine scratching your own soul because everything feels wrong.

That’s MS. Tiny bastard parasites gnawing at the wires of your meat suit.

The Choice

So here’s the question:

Would I rather be a flea-infested kitten with an itchy bum? or Would I rather be a 66-year-old strapped to a power chair with MS chewing on my circuits?

Answer?

I’ll take the MS and the grumpy realism, thanks. At least I don’t have to lick my own arse to feel clean.

Fleas? No chance. I’ve been bitten enough by life as it is.

Besides a kitten with fleas is chaos. A man with MS in a power chair? That’s controlled chaos. A battle-hardened wizard rolling through hell’s hallway giving death stares to anyone who gets in the way.

Moral of the Story

MS is the fleas. You’re the kitten. Some days you sprint. Some days you hide. Some days you crash into the coffee table and take the lamp with you.

But you’re still here. Scratching. Surviving. Snarling. And somehow laughing at it all.

Because the alternative? Nah.

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ