Threes

This has been a horrible, horrible week.

Over the past ten days I’ve nearly drowned (Blacked out in the water at the pool, fished out still-unconscious by lifeguard, couldn’t get right leg or lower spine to support me, had to get ferried home in the car by Dearest), nearly gone under an HGV (See the long post about the bike) and on Friday, after my dog had spent half an hour screaming every time he tried to move, requiring him to go to the vet for an emergency consultation, I was bluntly told that he probably had terminal bone cancer. From that point on I’d been so worried about him that I barely stopped crying all weekend, and haven’t wanted to talk to anyone about him, for fear of jinxing him.

Well, today (Tuesday) I found out that he didn’t- Despite all the howling and painful noises, he’s just got a soft tissue injury from climbing over the wall to my downhill neighbour’s house too many times. This is a massive weight off my mind, and has basically blasted the horror of the last week away into nothingness, since now I’m just so relieved that he’s all right. It’s no exaggeration to say he’s my best friend. He’s certainly the only person I’d ever get a matching tattoo with (Within a year of getting him, I had the racing number that’s stamped in his ear tattooed onto the back of my knee, at about the same height as he is).

Better than that, the vet today said that he was in remarkably good shape for his age, and not showing any of the signs of decrepitude that she’d have expected.

So here’s to things looking up.

Hopefully, the problems of last week will now be repaired in reverse order – My bike will be returned to me, preferably in one piece, and then by the end of the week I should be swimming again, even though I now kind of don’t want to because it’s just too embarrassing. I’ve also just made some enquiries about getting fabric for winter clothes (I think I deserve some fully-lined wool trousers) and have bought another parcel of norgies (A norwegian-style heavyweight shirt from the army-navy shop). And the fire is lit, so at least the living room is warm – it was down to six degrees in the bedroom last night, which is about the limit of my tolerance before I start wearing a nightshirt and piling on the wooly blankets and extra sheepskins.

So far, the judicious use of Best Friend’s old light therapy unit, along with the sun simulator generously bought for me by a forum friend, along with absolute comfort literature (The Harry Potter books, Discworld and Sergei Lukyanenko’s Night Watch series all do an amazing job of making Autumn not seem like a terrifying spiral of dizzying golden light that ends in an anxiety attack…) seem to be keeping the worst of the seasonal stuff at bay, so other than the horrible sense of anticipation and the clinical knowledge that I’m reacting poorly to stress as compared to in the middle of summer, I’m doing all right. Another friend is fighting the seasons by going for a very long walk in the hills, and I’m both glittering with envy and plotting how I can bolt off to find somewhere remote and green and rainy in the next few weeks.

Physically, I’ve been too wound-up to even understand that I have a body very much since Thursday. I imagine that tomorrow I’ll wake up and find that I’ve got a lot of dislocations that I’d not noticed, or at least that I’ve got not-all-that-mysterious sore muscles and knackered joints. But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, everything is fine.

Successes

After a full day of sitting in a darkened room and sewing on buttons likeĀ  cross between Sisyphus and a Norn, my new waistcoat is done.

One one hand – The shoulders are a bit lopsided. On the other, it’s good enough for casual, good enough for smart if I’ve got a jacket over it, and it solves the “Everyone is sick of seeing me in the same three waistcoats” problem (Purple corduroy double-breasted, blue velvet shawl-collar dress, and grey linen wash in summer).

And, best of all, my migraine appears to be gone. My back is screaming at me though.

Wheels within wheels

Migraine, day twelve.

Actually feeling a bit better, due to the vast quantities of morphine yesterday night – I slept for sixteen hours and woke up in no pain – so today I’ve been making plans.

Firstly – My buttons have arrived, so I can get on with sewing up my waistcoat. They’ve turned out to be ex-Merchant Navy, with the George crown, so they’re not current insignia so I feel fine about wearing them. Need to give them a good polish, pick out fifteen that match, and get on with the buttonholes. Sixty buttons for just under a fiver, so I’m pleased with that.

Secondly – Booked in for my first ever eye test at three tomorrow, so we’ll see how that goes.

Thirdly – Booked in for a free fifteen minute consultation at the painvultures’ at 13.30 tomorrow. I was deliberately vague on the phone; I said that I have all-over joint pain, including my back and neck, so they obviously immediately said that I needed an osteopath. The receptionist was, however, very careful about not suggesting that osteopathy would cure anything.

If the osteopath doesn’t take one look at me and say “No, this would be dangerous and irresponsible” I am going to be horrified. Obviously, I won’t let them touch me – I’m not actually insane, I know how much damage they can do – but this could be very telling about the integrity of their practice.

If it turns out that they are happy about snapping the necks of the hypermobile, they are going to have Problems.

So, tomorrow should be busy.

Also, having missed the actual Spring Equinox for my Day In The Life, I’m going to do it tomorrow instead, just to keep it close. It’s between the actual Equinox and the start of BST, so it’s close enough.

Between horror and hope

Migraine, day eleven. Getting desperate enough that I would consider drinking the blood of vanquished gladiators to cure it (Apparently good for migraine, epilepsy, stroke and bad headaches according to the Ancient Romans).

After finding and mostly constructing a waistcoat from a kit of parts that I cut a couple of years ago, I’ve been inspired to go digging to see how many other part-built pieces I have lying around, and to work on getting some of them made up. I’ve found a turquoise Regency-looking coat (Can’t tell if it’s a waistcoat, or the fronts of a bodycoat) in the most lovely velvet which I remember being frankly evil to work, a dove-grey woolen waistcoat, missing its back, but otherwise all there, a pair of navy blue wool trousers which I seem to remember had a spiralling problem (so they might get cut up into breeches) and a bundle of very soft tweed scraps which I’ve labelled “Single breasted, no collar” but for some reason is packed as a project and not as stuffs, despite having no structural fabrics with it. Still missing is the green gaberdine dress waistcoat, which I would have loved to find and finish up.

On the other hand, the scrappy tweed looks perfect for the christening next week – Smart, but not so smart that I’ll be devastated if it gets covered in baby sick, and also basically the colour of baby sick anyway – so I’m going to try to cut it a new back and see if I can get it done by Easter. A waistcoat, start to finish, used to be a one-day project (Cut in the morning, seams and collar if needed in the afternoon, pockets, topstitching and buttonholes straight after tea, then hand-sew on the buttons whilst sitting in bed listening to the radio) so I think that two days, to get back into the swing of things, should be about appropriate.

And I need to find my patterns. And my head feels like it’s full of boiling treacle. And I want flapjacks.

Ailing Messalina

Returned from London, after a fantastic couple of days. Best Friend’s family are absolutely lovely, and were both willing to let us trail around the shops endlessly, having bolts of silks brought to us to sample, eventually cutting about thirty between us, and incredibly understanding that we were completely exhausted by this and were going to sleep for the rest of the day in our room rather than being decent company. They were also good about, when the topic inevitably turned to EDS, not opining, and just letting us share or not share as we felt up to it. And, best of all, when one or other of us lost a limb, they asked if we needed help, but acceped that we could help each other better than an outsider could.

Of course, after the four-hours-each-way car journey, I am now wrecked. Even though I was fast asleep for the whole journey each way due to the delightful effect of the cinnarizine, I was still curled up in the foetal position for four hours, unable to stretch out or turn over. Today my spine is capital fucked, my hips won’t stop twitching, and three days without laxatives has had the expected effect.

The headline, though, is still that I now have three metres of lime green silk chiffon which doesn’t so much look like fabric as like a glitch in the fabric of reality, and which feels like the memory of waking up in clean sunlight next to a long-desired lover. It’s amazing, and I have no idea what to make from it.

There is a distinct possibility that I may just pile up all the fabrics (Dupion, satin, chiffon, brocade, all silk of course) and roll around in them naked whilst making gleeful little “Mine! All mine!” noises.

This also seems to have broken my bad streak on sewing – Having not made anything at all since last May, I took out the kit of parts I’d made up for a waistcoat some time in 2013, which I’d last even tried to work on during my last holiday as a hand-sewing project (I didn’t even start), and put it all together in an afternoon. All that’s left is the buttonholes and hand-sewing on the buttons themselves – Fifteen of them, one every inch, tiny little brass flowers. It’ll be lovely.

So, things are looking up.