Archives: Day-to-day

Avid readers (do I actually have any….?) will no doubt remember my excitement at the turn of the year to receive my – free – upgrade of my mobile phone to the office-in-a-phone BlackBerry Pearl.

Now, apart from having it banned in the house, things have all been pretty rosey and happy with my new toy and I’ve enjoyed having it very much.  You will also remember that the main reason for getting myself the ‘Berry was so that I could stay in touch with the outside world while I was in hospital – I could continue work on CF Talk, I could stay in touch with my mates via email, this saving enormous text-message bills, and I could keep abreast of all the other various random emails which come my way from time to time through various different sources.

In particular, I was keen that I would be able to use it to email updates through to my blog when I was incarcerated at Dr Majesty’s pleasure – so that people would know what’s been going on and how I’m doing.

The problem I discovered with my theory throughout this week was simple: nothing happens.

In hospital, unless you’re on the critical care list and you’re hanging by a thread (and thank heavens I’m not there yet!), then time spent in hospital is mind-numbingly boring and NOTHING happens to you during the day.

I realised the idiocy of writing a blog on the goings-on in hospital when I sat down to consider it on Wednesday night and realised that the single most interesting, comment-worthy thing that had happened to me all day was that my dinner was delivered 45 minutes late.  I mean, people, it was AFTER 6pm!  Can you believe it?

Now, I’ve surfed some pretty spectacularly dull blogs in my time and I’ll confess that this isn’t always a riot of colour, but even that is beyond me.

Mum and Dad are decorating the house at the moment and I was more inclined to YouTube a video of their paint drying than to blog about my days in hospital.

Hence, you’ll gather, the lack of updates this week.

Happily, I’m now back residing in my own house with real, important things to blog about.

For instance, today I’ve had three cups of tea and I’ve had my glasses re-glazed with a new prescription so I can see when I’m driving.  I’ve also delivered a letter to the council regarding my benefits.

See – you’re life’s better for knowing all of that now, isn’t it?  Doesn’t it just fill you with that rush of enthusiastic, finger-on-the-pulse sense of truly politcally hot fresh news without which you’d be not only more ill-informed, but also a few minutes younger?

OK, so maybe my day’s still aren’t riotously crazily excitingly busy, but give me a break, I’ve only been back 24 hours.

Tomorrow is Shoot Day 1 of the Youth Theatre film shoot, which will go at the head of the show and is shaping up to be a draining but rewarding day, followed by a hectic week of organisation for Laughter For Life, which is now only 2 weeks away and COMPLETELY sold out!

Hospitals are rubbish, but they do one thing really well: make you better.  So now I’m better – in fact, flying high on top form, better than I’ve been for an exceedingly long time – and I’m breaking out into the world of doing things, achieving things and really getting a kick out of life.

Nothing happens in hospital, but it’s all go when you’re out!

I was convinced that this time round I was being a sensible, grown up, clever
boy in deciding to come into hospital for a stay on the ward for my second week
of IVs – its good for me, I know I need it and, well, its good for me.

What I’d also convinced myself was that it was going to be much much easier to
deal with coming into hospital having had it all pre-planned. 

It’s always rubbish and ever so slightly depressing coming in for a stay,
usually made worse by the fact that you’re not feeling great in the first place
and it normally comes as a bit of a shock when you think you’ve just popped in
for a clinic visit and they strap you to a bed..

So logic dictates that if you’re feeling ok to start with, as I am, and the stay
is pre-planned, as it was, then you shouldn’t struggle as much with admission.

But, as we all know by now, my logic is frequently fatally flawed – especially
when it comes to dictating what tricks my mind is going to play on me from
moment to moment.

So I spent last night and this morning in mopey-child mode, being generally glum
and po-faced at the prospect of losing my liberty.

It wasn’t helped by the fact that the ward phoned early to tell me not to come
because they didn’t have a bed for me yet, but to wait for a call to say it was
ok to come in.

It threw my carefully planned day off and led to a distinct raising of hopes
that they might in fact not find a bed for me at all and I’d get another night
at home. Or even better, if I stayed out Monday night I might be able to
convince them I didn’t really need to come in anyway and could avoid the stay
altogether.

I tried incredibly hard to ignore the persistant niggling hope that I’d get away
with it, but I was still decidedly deflated when I spoke to the ward just befor
4pm and they told me to come in.

If only I’d not phoned to jog their memory, who knows?

Luckily I’d been persuaded by K to listen to my more pessimistic (realistic)
instincts and had done most of my packing, but it was still a distinct struggle
to gather myself up and drive over to Oxford.

As it is, now I’m here, its really not as bad as I built it up to be in my head.
I know most of the staff so well now that they’re like friends and i’ve already
had one HCA tell me she heard me on the radio!

It’s much nicer on the ward here now since the move to their new building, with
en suite rooms which are actually nicer than some travelodges i’ve been to.

I also spoke to my bro, who’s decided that his motivation for getting through
this week of his commando course for the marines is going to be that no matter
how hard, cold and horrible things get for him this week, it could be worse: he
could be in hospital.

Which is funny because the thought struck me earlier that the way I’d get
through the week would be to remember that not matter how dull, lonely and
unhappy this week gets in hospital, it could be worse: I could be on dartmoor in
the cold and the wind and the rain on the commando course.

I think my bro and I maybe the perfect yin-yang.

So, note to self for the future: just because you plan it doesn’t always make it
easier to deal with. But just because you dread it doesn’t always make it as bad
as you expect.

I did it!! I actually managed to go out on a Saturday night without a) running out of steam after half-an-hour, b) not being able to get out of bed the next morning and c) feeling too self-conscious about wearing my O2 while I was out.

It’s a big step for me, really, and I’m really happy this morning. It was K’s Dad’s 60th this week and the whole family (the 4 off-spring and relevent +1’s) headed out to Sam and Maxie’s, a new place in the “Hub” where the new business/hotel-type district of MK is going up.

If I’m honest, I’ve been fretting about it on and off all week, what with my somewhat unpredicatable blowers and anti-biotic reactions at the moment, because I really wanted to be there and share the night with the rest of the family. K and I have known each other for a long time, and I’ve known her family for most of our friendship, but it was also the first time I was joining up with a full family gathering as “one of them” and I really didn’t want to have to bail out because my chest was being beligerent
(sorry, Nick, but it is in the dictionary if you want to check…).

It’s probably going to sound funny to people who know me, but last night really did feel like a bit of a watershed moment for me – like I was being welcomed into the family. There was no fanfare or special treatment or anything like that, but just that feeling of comfort you get when you stop worrying about whether or not everyone is really happy that you’re there and accept that it really does appear that they can tolerate your company.

Of course, it was helped hugely by being able to bribe the twins round to my side my being a taxi, but you never get anywhere in life without the odd backhander, eh?

But I think most importantly for me last night, helped by feeling welcome and comfortable, was that I managed to get through the whole thing without worrying about how I was feeling. I seemed to have the perfect energy levels for the night. I didn’t arrive home exhausted, nor did I feel that I had to not do something because I wasn’t up to it.

I was about to say that I suppose that sitting in a restaurant having dinner isn’t too taxing, so I shouldn’t really make a fuss, but actually, on reflection, it shows how far I’ve come in my recovery since before Christmas that my mind is working like that. Back in November/December, the idea of spending 3 hours sat in a restaurant, oxygen or no oxygen would have been enough to send me to bed to sleep for a week – so it really is a big deal for me to have got through it.

It’s funny how these little victories often nearly go unnoticed and it’s one of the things I love about doing this blog. In the same way I said when I started out that I hoped writing it all down would encourage me to see the wood for the trees and not get bogged down in hard times, but remember to keep smiling, I think it helps me not to overlook the upsides which might otherwise get glossed over.

Whatever way you look at it, I’ve come a long way since the turn of the year – like any period in life it’s had it’s ups and downs, but it’s worth reminding myself that I’ve done some amazing things and I’m doing better than I perhaps would have hoped in terms of moving forward both physically and mentally.

A week in hospital for respite pre-show this week should also do me a lot of good and although I know I’m not going to like it much when I’m there, it’s been reassuring to have the knowledge of an impending stay to let me prepare for it, rather than the usual course of getting it hoisted on me when I’m at my lowest.

The next week can’t really go quick enough, but at least I’m on a high going into it, which should stand me in good stead for keeping my spirits up through it.

Have I mentioned in the last week or so how much IV’s annoy me? Methinks once or twice…

Yesterday was a really good day – I didn’t sleep very well, but I re-organised my drug schedule to get me out of bed at 8am instead of 6am, which meant I could get up and start my day immediately, rather than going back to bed after an hour when my drugs were done and sleeping till noon.

It also worked well because it let me take my catch-up sleep (that’s just me trying to avoid the wword “nap” really) straight after lunch, before my afternoon dose, rather than having to wait till after it and then sleeping too late into the afternoon, which in turn appeared to be disrupting my night-time sleep pattern.

Not only did it seem to work pretty well, the new schedule, but it also seemed to give me a lot more energy and get-up-and-go and as a result I had an enormously productive day, leathering through work on the new CF Talk, Laughter for Life and the Activ8 Show, all of which had been somewhat neglected over the previous week.

Having gone to bed tired and ready to sleep after my late dose last night, I was eagerly anticipating a good night’s sleep (which I got – YAY!) and another energy-filled, super-productive day. I was even starting to plan my to-do list for the day as I drifted off.

But high doses of wapping strength drugs will go and do odd things to your system. After a great night’s rest, I woke up not full of the bouncing, work-attacking energy with which I’d gone through Thursday, but with the apparent wakefulness of your average 3-toed Sloth, which saw me lumped on the sofa most of the morning working out how much of the to-do’s could be un-done for the day.

After lunch, I slept, again anticipating a post-snooze pick-up to revamp my day, but again seemed only to wake more tired than I had been when I went to sleep. Worse than that, though, was the fact that my brain saw fit to simply shut down and not operate for the rest of the day until about 9pm this evening.

I’ve thus spent almost all of the day/afternoon in a semi-comatose state on the sofa wondering where on earth all the energy and pizazz I discovered yesterday had gone.

It would appear that I’m back in the old give-and-take world of IV’s and energy which had me so frustrated in the run up to Christmas. As much as I want to be pushing myself forward and keeping ploughing on, I keep having to give in to my body and accept defeat on a day’s work.

If there were just some kind of indicator as to whether tomorrow was going to be better or worse, I think I could cope with it easier – it’s the apparent lottery of energy levels that’s really riling me at the moment.

I suppose I just have to look at it from the point of view that it makes each day more interesting and exciting because I never know what’s going to get thrown at me: perhaps there’ll be something new to spur me on tomorrow, or maybe I’ll be finding new depths of reserves to drag myself through the day. Who knows? Isn’t it fun?!

Today has been, frankly, a pretty rubbish day.

Yet again last night my drugs and brain conspired to keep me awake almost the whole way through the night,  letting me finally drift off for more than an hour just before my 6am alarm call for my morning IV’s, followed by my usually solid sleep-time of 7-11am being interrupted by phone calls, deliveries and other distractions.

So a bad start to a long day as it was, which put me in a less than fabulous mood for the rest of it, which in turn annoyed me because my cousin Katie was down from Brum to catch a show at the Theatre and we were planning on having a bit of a day of it.

As it was, I could hardly muster the energy to entertain, although we did have a good chat and a cracking Game of Life with K (which I won, natch…).  But I still had to collapse into bed mid-afternoon to catch up on sleeps.

My body was simply not keen to play ball today though and stubbornly refused to wake itself up from my nap, which dragged me further into struggles for general awake/happiness.

The thought of getting through an hour and a half’s work session was, I have to admit, less than appealing, so it came as some relief when Rheya phoned to pass a message from Suze to say that since most of my group weren’t in for tonight, it made more sense for me to stay at home, so I delivered Katie to the Theatre and sorted her tickets before heading straight back home.

No sooner was I back than my chest started playing silly buggers again and givingg me all sorts of grief – mostly muscle-related pain, I think, from where I’ve been sleeping and holding myself a little strangely due to the IV access in my shoulder.

Being both exhausted and in pain is never a great modd-enhancing combo, so I was getting spectacularly downbeat and po-faced when I discovered perhaps the funniest thing I’ve seen on TV in a long time.

Curled up in bed with K, we flicked onto Never Mind The Buzzcocks and I laughed so hard I’m sure the pain from my chest has migrated to my stomach.

I’ve really no idea who Donny Tourettes is – or even if I’ve got his name right – but he made for some of the most unintentionally hilarious TV viewing since You’ve Been Framed made people laugh.

Watching Bill Bailey and Simon Amstell (both newly minted personal heroes of mine) ripping into Donny’s bizarre attempts at either rebellion or humour, coupled with his own self-image of sex-god punk rockstar out to diss the world had me doubled over in laughter and nearly falling off the bed.

It goes to prove that no matter how lousy things get, I was right all along when I said that the only way to deal with the tough times is to smile through it.

God bless you, Buzzcocks.

IV’s are great because a) they keep you alive longer than you otherwise would manage and b) …… well, I think (a)’s pretty convincing so I guess it’ll have to do.

On the other hand, the list of why IV’s suck is much, much longer.

This time, top of my “Why I loathe IV’s” list is the unfortunate and highly rubbish side-effects that my Meropenem (drug) is having on me.  Now, I have a bit of a history with Mero (as with many of the drugs I take), mostly that it gives me hugely painful joints and muscles, but we have discovered that a short course of steroids to coincide with the Mero seems to do the trick in aleviating the pains.

Not so much this time, though.  Although I am doing better than I have been, it’s still giving me the weirdest and most annoying pain in my right hand.  It’s not even that it’s particularly excruciating, it’s just almost permenantly there and refuses to go away.  But since it’s only in my right hand, it seems a bit silly to moan about it.

I did check in with my friendly family on-call doc (my all-knowing Aunt) who looked it up on the web and assured me that it wasn’t doing me any harm, but probably lots of good and to persevere with it, which I have.

The hand aside, I’m also suffering the simple and commonly-acknowledged IV slowdown – the high doses of super-powerful antibiotics being a good stimulant of sleep and restfulness.  The only issue being my body seems to have set itself on the weirdest clock at the moment, not letting me sleep till the early hours of the morning, then letting me be deceived into thinking I’m wide awake in the middle of the day until it hijacks me and cuts off all brain and motor-function mid-afternoon and forces more sleep on me.

It’s weird this IV lark, and you’d have thought I’d have got used to it by now, after regular courses 5-6 times a year for the past goodness knows how long – but I still seem to be taken by surprise when it knocks me for six the next time I’m on them.

Still, I’m booked in for a week of rest and extra-physio (although I’m not sure the two necessarily go together…) in the Churchill next week, so hopefully I’ll have a storming second week and come out of it in tip-top fighting form for the big Laughter for Life publicity push and the run up to the show.

Not to mention getting the new issue of CF Talk off to the designers and shooting 2 days of video for the Activ8 Youth Theatre show.

IV’s may suck, but in the long run they let you do the things you want.

A while back at the start of the year, I was sent an email by the press officer at the CF Trust asking if I’d be willing to talk to Radio 4 about my diet and having to take on an inordinate number of calories everyday.  Being the self-confessed media tart (MT) that I am, I nearly bit her hand off.

Having spoken to one of the team on Radio 4’s Saturday Live show, I was told the following day that they’d decided not to go with that story, but that they’d keep my details on file for the future.

I didn’t realise that meant a matter of weeks – just last Thursday, JP from the show called me back to see if I was free to come to the studio in London to do a segment on the same subject with presenter Fi Glover and stick around for the whole show.

Excited doesn’t quite cover it from my side of things – I love the media: TV and radio have always intrigued and excited me and to think that I was stepping up for 2 minute 2-ways on local BBC 3 Counties to a show that people had actually heard of was unbelievable.

So I roused myself at 5.30am on Saturday morning and stumbled around to do my morning dose of IV’s before I left for the studio in my Dad-powered taxi at 6.45am.

I did manage to dose on the way down a little bit, but arrived at Broadcasting House – yes, THE Broadcasting House!!! – at 8.15am feeling every so slightly very nervous.  I’ve got so used to doing local radio and press that it didn’t occur to me how nervous I was going to get going on a big national radio station.

As it was, the whole thing was fab.  I was on the show with Fi, the presenter, the regular poet they have on every week, who was a really good giggle and an Asian music producer who was fascinating to talk to and is doing some really interesting work in fusing musical sounds and styles from all over the world.

My section of the show – which I think ran about 10 minutes, although I totally lost track of time – went really well, although I was annoyed with myself for tripping over my tongue at the beginning.  I covered all the bases they wanted covered for the piece and even managed to get in a plug for Live Life Then Give Life and organ donation in general.

The show is up on the website on listen again all week, so check it out – I’m  on from about 5 minutes in.  Click here.

Further to the on-air discussions. though, I also got chatting to Fi after the show about Laughter for Life and she has promised to help out with publicity if she can – passing our details to a FiveLive producer and to the London Radio listings people, which should carry a bit more weight than just randomly attacking them with a press release.

As exciting as it was, it has also made the start of IV’s even tougher going, since my body disagrees mightily with Meropenem anyway (the drug I’m on) and  adding into it early mornings and irregular sleep patterns doesn’t help.

I know I’m going to have to take a few days to recover, but annoyingly, it’s hard to tell how much of this is IV-related and how much is down to over-work/exhaustion.  If I knew that, I’d be able to look after myself a bit better and space my workload, but as it is I have to assume the worst and take it as easy as I can for the time being till things pick up again.

Still, I was on Radio 4!

Today has been a really hard day.  Despite being exhausted by the day’s activities yesterday – heading down to London and back, with an hour and a half’s meeting in the middle – I slept terribly, hardly managing longer than an hour asleep at a time, and waking up this morning feeling totally drained.

I knew that the meeting was likely to take a chunk out of me, and need me with a need to recouperate, but I wasn’t expecting to be bed-bound for three-quarters of the day.

Even now, sitting in the study writing this I know I’m not right – my brain isn’t really turned on and my chest is protesting.  I need to do some physio, which may help the chest, but I don’t know what I’m going to do about my brain.  I’m just waiting for my neb to work before getting some physio done.

I’m supposed to be going in to work tonight and I desperately don’t want to miss another week, not with the show starting to loom and only 2 weeks till half term.  I’m having all sorts of horrible thoughts of missing out on the whole term again and not being able to do anything for the show, not to mention landing Suze in the proverbial by missing sessions at such short notice that she doesn’t have time to geet cover or re-plan.

It’s just not fun – my body is rebelling and my mind wants to go with it and I’m fighting tooth and nail not to let either of them win.  And yet, I’m stuck on that see-saw between doing what I want to do and making my chest worse – there’s no telling whether it will or not.

The smart part of my brain is telling me not to go into work tonight and to stay home, stay in bed and get some rest, but the fragile part of my brain is telling me that I need to get up and out of the house to avoid getting chronically cross with myself and my chest for not supporting me in the things I want to do.

I don’t want to be here now – I don’t like being back in this place where everything I do has to involve a sacrifice somewhere else.  I want to be able to book myself to do something on two consecutive days and not feel like a slave to the whims of my lungs.

I know I have to accept that that’s exactly what I am now, and that I have to learn to work with them as much as I can for the time being until I get a shiny nw set which will let me do what I want when I want.  There’s really no point in me sitting here harping on about how poor old me can’t do what  I want to do and isn’t life unfair, because it’s not like I didn’t know that already.

Pull yourself together, get a grip on the realities of your situation and stop letting little things rock your boat.  Focus on the good things, do what you can manage to do and forget about the rest of it – there’s no point pining for something you can’t do, you might as well make the best of what you can do.

After my somewhat self-pitiful mini-rant last week I seem to have slightly dropped the blogging ball and not had a proper update – the longest I’ve gone without an update since I started this blog I think.

I blame many things – anything really that absolves me from accusations of being too damn lazy/forgetful to write something interesting on here – and deny all such mutterings from the kids in the back.

Still, things have picked up mightily since last Thursday – I knew it would only be a blip, and it was, albeit a two-dayer, but a blip none the less. I struggled for a couple of days to shake of the negative thoughts and not-so-nice images in my head, but I’ve got a pretty good daemon fighter in my head after all these years, so I get back on top of things pretty quickly.

This weekend was a weird one, because I had lots to do but couldn’t escape the fact that during the week I’d actually been far too busy and needed to take a bit of time to myself to make sure that I stopped myself from sliding down hill.

I headed to Oxford on Friday to see my physio and we made plans with my CF nurse to start a course of IV’s at the end of this week. They wanted me to come in, onto the ward, for the first week of the course, but I managed to negotiate a stay of execution until the week after to ensure that I didn’t have to miss another week of work. (I’ll now be in hospital for half-term week, so not nearly as bad as going in next week).

It also means that I can still attend the meeting I’ve been invited to at the Department of Health next Tuesday, the subject of which is sadly under wraps at the moment, but I’m sure I’ll fill you in on at a later date.

Today, however, I was coincidentally down at the DoH as well, meeting with the team who deal with oxygen provision to discuss the problems that I and other PWCF have been having with the home oxygen service, mostly with relation to Allied Respiratory.

It had originally been scheduled as a meeting between all three sides, but in the end the decision was taken by the DoH to have a separate meeting with Allied, which the CF Trust will also do, to air the concerns directly.

The purpose of today’s meeting was to express as clearly as we could the importance of so-called abulatory oxygen to PWCF and their needs for portable O2.

It was actually a really positive meeting, with the two representatives of the DoH really keen to take everything on board and correct things. It’s fair to say that things are a good dal better with Allied than they were even 3 months ago when I first started using them, but it’s important for the issues that did come up to be properly looked at to ensure nothing like that happens again.

I’m confident following the meeting that good things will come from it, including a commitment to looking at lighter, more portable forms of oxygen to make getting out and about easier for people like me who find the cylinders a weight.

I also hope that the feedback with regards to customer service is picked up on and driven home to the company, because their staff training is simply appalling.

The meeting did exhaust me, though, so it’s an early night and restful day tomorrow on the cards.

Ah, well, you can’t have it all going your own way, can you?

After the best part of a week spent luxuriating in the delights of life – happiness, exciting prospects, wonderful surroundings, beautiful people and all the rest of it – I knew that sooner or later things would come crashing back down with a bump.  And bump they did.

Yesterday, as I hoped, we went down to Mazda to order our new car and things seemed to pass off without a hitch.  But low and behold, I get back home this afternoon to find a voicemail message from the dealer telling me that Motability won’t insure an under-25 on a catagory 9 car – so I’m 4 months too early to get the Mazda 6.  How ridiculous is that?

Having phoned Motability, they’ve said I can appeal it in writing and they can take it to their insurers and see if they’ll make an exception, but it seems crazy to have to go through all of that palaver for the sake of 4 months!

But actually, although the whole car thing is a bummer, I have to confess that that’s not really what brought me down this week.  What really dragged me off my happy perch was a visit to Milton Keynes College on Thursday afternoon.

K is doing an access course to get her set for uni entry in 2008 and had to enroll officially before her class on Thursday night, which meant we had to go down in the afternoon and do the enrollment necessaries.

I suppose I should have thought about it ahead of time and prepared myself for it, but I didn’t.  The surprise element may have been a factor in my difficulties, but I can’t blame that entirely.

The problem, largely, is being around groups of teenagers and young adults, hanging out in corridors as they do and being themselves at their supremely judgemental young ages.  I know that this is a MASSIVE generalisation and that not ALL teenagers are hugely judgemental, but I remember being a teenager, at school, and what I would think of people walking past me in the corridor and how much we used to jump on anyone or anything that was “different”.

And, for the first time since my health dipped and O2 became a big part of my life, my worst fears came true – I felt like a total freak.  It didn’t help that we were forced to walk almost the entire length of the campus between two departments we needed to see, which had me not only navigating through huge throngs of students, but doing it even more breathlessly than normal while lugging one of my really heavy black O2 cylinders with me.

I also know that most of the negative vibe I felt I was creating almost entirely within my own mind, but that didn’t make any difference to how I felt, or how I feel about the experience.

It was supremely negative – something which I’m not very used to in my life.  Almost any situation I can look at, take a spin on and come up with a positive side, or a brighter perspective.  Even this blog is titled after my attitude to whatever life chooses to throw at me.  But for the first time in a very long time on Thursday, I felt small, insecure and very, very different.

What made it all the harder is that I’ve spent so long now building myself up and repairing the somewhat fractured self-image I had in my final years at school that I don’t have the coping mechanisms to help me through feelings like those.  I seemed to go into a sort of semi-shock, no use to man nor beast for an hour or so.

I was only lucky in that I had to go straight on to another meeting, this time on friendly turf at the Theatre with Rheya to go over our video shoot, which managed to occupy my brain long enough to push the negative thoughts from my head and start me off on a clean bill when I got back to my own space.

I suppose what I have to take away from the situation is a knowledge of how bad it can get.  Although this may sound mightily pessimistic on the surface, it’s important to me and actually something I find quite positive.  Life is all about the ups and downs and I’ve now got a whole new barometer  for the downs – college on Thursday was tough, and way beyond anything I’ve experienced like that for quite a while. But that also means that i’m unlikely to find another experience like it for a while, either.

And when I think I have, I can just remind myself how bad this was, and almost immediately make myself feel better that it’s not that bad.

I was saying all through the ups last week that I was enjoying them because you never know when the downs are going to come in the roller-coaster of life, and having them to cling to when the week’s got rough has made a big difference.  Where once I would have been bummed out for days by an hour’s worth of bad experience, instead I can focus on all the good things that have happened and are still happening and turn my face away from the rubbish that I don’t need on my mind.

Enjoy the good times and remember the bad – just don’t let them rule your thoughts.