By way of update, my case has been rejected for the third time by the local council, in my bid for home help. The social worker did her best and there is just no room to move in the budget - the elderly get priority and the rest of us must scrounge for money to private operators or recruit friends and family to clean our houses while we are disabled. Me? I have no family within this region, and given what all of this is leading up to, I'd rather save the offers of help for nearer the time the baby is due and when this baby is born, without burning out the few offers we've had to date.
I was off crutches for two weeks and then we had a whirlwind session of cleaning up our house to a) set up our Christmas tree (already delayed by lack of space in the designated room, much to the chagrin of the children) and b) make it presentable for my visiting sister and her family. The reason I need help to clean the house is that I can't bend down without pain, or stand for the time it takes to fold laundry without feeling the effects well into the night (mostly until after I've fallen asleep). However, there was so much to be done that I ended up doing all of the contraindicated activities that lead to a pelvic meltdown.
I couldn't show my niece and nephew around our new place and I would have loved to have saddled up a pony for them, or even taken one out of the paddock to groom with them. Instead, I got the crutches out to hold myself up, deciding that the wheelie walker would be very confronting to my sister, who has never actually seen me being affected by PGP because she lives in another country.
I rested up for two days after this and, feeling overconfident, decided that Christmas Eve would be a good time to get a lot of washing done (weather and time-wise). Between this and my effort to bring the washing in Christmas morning before we had to head into Melbourne for the family get together, I ended up being in painful discomfort the whole drive into Melbourne (which took about 2 hours due to traffic, and normally would have been an hour and a half), and being immobilised to a chair once we got there, feeling miserable.
I've been having trouble walking ever since. This is my kids' most boring summer ever, and I feel terrible that I can't take them on adventures on their holidays. They didn't ask for my disability, they just wanted a sibling.
I've been cleaning the shower with the aid of the shower stool, and I use my feet whilst seated to swipe the floor over with a microfibre cloth until the waxy feeling has given way to the smooth, clean feeling. I know it's not great for my pelvis, but it's a lot more comfortable than being on my hands and knees (especially now that I have got some degree of muscle separation again in my tummy), and it beats having a shower on a progressively stickier floor. It's also not great for water usage, but the man of the house who insists he has been cleaning the shower has clearly been deluding himself. Waxy floor and walls do not maketh a clean shower cubicle...
I'm resting a LOT during the days. If I don't then I am on my back by 5pm and dinner is torturous for me to cook. Dinner is slightly less painful an affair if I spend much of the afternoon off my feet. I have been reading many, many books, and averaging a book every 3 days. I have just about finished my library book collection that I had hoped would take me through January, so I have been spending quality time on Goodreads constructing an extended 'holds' list through the online library system.
Bedtime has its measure of depressing elements. I have to sleep on my left side because I still can't figure out a less painful way to sleep on my right hand side. My thigh pillow is my best friend and I don't think it's too late for me to splash out on a body pillow, which I'm sure would make sleeping bearable. I have to be able to slip out of bed without much movement, so I'm sleeping on the left side of the bed. This largely precludes me from cuddles that I desperately need (I feel I need them all day long to get me through) because the other half sleeps facing the other way. This impacts directly on intimacy, as I am petrified of any further relations that cuddling, knowing how much pain I have to endure for the rest of the day involved. It doesn't mean I don't want to be touched, it just means I cannot express myself in the way he would prefer. It seems to be an impasse. I can't help feeling that my need is greater, being what I am going through for all of us.
Yesterday I was in tears of pain before taking my kids to the skate park. My son noticed, gave me a hug and a kiss and said "it must be so hard for you, Mum". What did I do to deserve him? He's only 7 years old and he said the perfect thing.
12 weeks to go. How hard can it be?
I was off crutches for two weeks and then we had a whirlwind session of cleaning up our house to a) set up our Christmas tree (already delayed by lack of space in the designated room, much to the chagrin of the children) and b) make it presentable for my visiting sister and her family. The reason I need help to clean the house is that I can't bend down without pain, or stand for the time it takes to fold laundry without feeling the effects well into the night (mostly until after I've fallen asleep). However, there was so much to be done that I ended up doing all of the contraindicated activities that lead to a pelvic meltdown.
I couldn't show my niece and nephew around our new place and I would have loved to have saddled up a pony for them, or even taken one out of the paddock to groom with them. Instead, I got the crutches out to hold myself up, deciding that the wheelie walker would be very confronting to my sister, who has never actually seen me being affected by PGP because she lives in another country.
I rested up for two days after this and, feeling overconfident, decided that Christmas Eve would be a good time to get a lot of washing done (weather and time-wise). Between this and my effort to bring the washing in Christmas morning before we had to head into Melbourne for the family get together, I ended up being in painful discomfort the whole drive into Melbourne (which took about 2 hours due to traffic, and normally would have been an hour and a half), and being immobilised to a chair once we got there, feeling miserable.
I've been having trouble walking ever since. This is my kids' most boring summer ever, and I feel terrible that I can't take them on adventures on their holidays. They didn't ask for my disability, they just wanted a sibling.
I've been cleaning the shower with the aid of the shower stool, and I use my feet whilst seated to swipe the floor over with a microfibre cloth until the waxy feeling has given way to the smooth, clean feeling. I know it's not great for my pelvis, but it's a lot more comfortable than being on my hands and knees (especially now that I have got some degree of muscle separation again in my tummy), and it beats having a shower on a progressively stickier floor. It's also not great for water usage, but the man of the house who insists he has been cleaning the shower has clearly been deluding himself. Waxy floor and walls do not maketh a clean shower cubicle...
I'm resting a LOT during the days. If I don't then I am on my back by 5pm and dinner is torturous for me to cook. Dinner is slightly less painful an affair if I spend much of the afternoon off my feet. I have been reading many, many books, and averaging a book every 3 days. I have just about finished my library book collection that I had hoped would take me through January, so I have been spending quality time on Goodreads constructing an extended 'holds' list through the online library system.
Bedtime has its measure of depressing elements. I have to sleep on my left side because I still can't figure out a less painful way to sleep on my right hand side. My thigh pillow is my best friend and I don't think it's too late for me to splash out on a body pillow, which I'm sure would make sleeping bearable. I have to be able to slip out of bed without much movement, so I'm sleeping on the left side of the bed. This largely precludes me from cuddles that I desperately need (I feel I need them all day long to get me through) because the other half sleeps facing the other way. This impacts directly on intimacy, as I am petrified of any further relations that cuddling, knowing how much pain I have to endure for the rest of the day involved. It doesn't mean I don't want to be touched, it just means I cannot express myself in the way he would prefer. It seems to be an impasse. I can't help feeling that my need is greater, being what I am going through for all of us.
Yesterday I was in tears of pain before taking my kids to the skate park. My son noticed, gave me a hug and a kiss and said "it must be so hard for you, Mum". What did I do to deserve him? He's only 7 years old and he said the perfect thing.
12 weeks to go. How hard can it be?
