Interstitial cystitis has a mind of its own, it makes up the rules and you must follow. You have no choice, no control.
Two weeks ago my symptoms worsened, for what reason I do not know. I ate the same things, drank only water, took my meds… but the last two weeks have been awful. That is until today!
Finally a day of moderate pain but manageable levels. I rode my horse, played with my son in the garden on a beautiful sunny afternoon and took a short shopping trip to my favourite butchers for some local free range organic food.
Will I sleep tonight? Would be lovely to have a good sleep after two weeks of interrupted slumber. It would be the icing on the cake and Im praying this isn’t a blip. To have two good days in a row would really cheer me up!
I have received an appointment with my Consultant in four weeks time. This will be the first time I have seen him since the failed procedure on 28th December 2012. I have mixed feeling about this, on one hand I am really angry that (1) He never explained the possible negative outcomes. (2) He didn’t bother to see me post-op and (3) There was very little post-op follow up. I was left to get on with it basically.
On the other hand, what is the point of seeing him at all?! I know there is nothing more that can be done and I know I’ll just be annoyed the moment I see him, annoyed at his lax attitude to my treatment. There are no other options apart from removing the bladder.
Maybe one day scientists will create a cure or an artificial bladder… who knows!
Our family has always had pets of one variety or another. To this day I couldn’t be without my dogs.
Our first family dog was Kimmie a Heinz 57 and she was the loveliest kindest most intelligent dog I ever knew. My love of dogs started with her. Our second was Meg, the super intelligent boarder collie, beautiful brown and white long haired coat. By the end of the 70’s we had a Tory Government and been through various budgies and gold fish. None lasted very long apart from Mrs Thatcher of course although one cat out lived Maggie’s reign. He was acquired when we moved into a rented farmhouse. Seemingly the previous tenants did a moon light flit and the cat got left behind. The Grey and White cat lived for 14 years, we never knew his real age.
Horses are a huge part of my life, the non judgemental, unconditional love has been a constant when the human version has been absent. As a child I turned to horses to feel loved, to find confidence in myself and to feel worthwhile. I still do this to this day.
As I write there is one dog snuggled beside me on the chair, she is Pippa a 1 year old Jack Russell. Such a pretty tri colour, with a beautiful face. She is a source of comfort. Her adoring eyes, well probably cupboard love but she makes me smile. The other dog is snoring loudly on the sofa.
During 2002/2003 I found myself going through a particularly difficult time in my life. My horse then was Intan, a 16.2hh Thoroughbred. I cried into his warm neck many times. He always stood perfectly still, never moved a muscle until Id gathered myself together. He was my rock. My lovely boy is still going strong with is current owner, who will keep him until his last day and that was the only reason I sold her to him.
And now Finlay is my therapy. Finlay the big, silly sod he is at times, looks after me. I rarely feel confident apart from when riding him. I know Im good at it. I think my need to compete is to validate that. To show everyone I can do something right in my life. I don’t know why I feel I need to prove myself, well maybe I do but that conversation is for a therapist of the human variety.