The rest is silence...

It's been a bit of a miserable old week. So it seemed fitting to come back here.

My husband and I were obviously very tired after our trip to A&E last weekend and even though the pain had lessened considerably, it was still there as a dull but manageable roar.

Early in the week, my husband started to get a sore throat and generally feel a bit rotten. After five years of neither of us catching Covid, he tested positive. We got him loaded up with electrolyte tablets, Lemsip, and throat lozenges and I also took a test as it seemed likely I would test positive too. But it came back negative.

He's been managing okay with it. Definitely lucky that he's got it after so many years and weakened strains, but I was still concerned because he's asthmatic. Thankfully, it seems to have hit him quite mildly. He's had a couple of big sleeps which seem to have really helped so hopefully he will be over it soon.

I have been testing daily all week and each time it came back negative, somehow. I knew I shouldn't speak too soon though as I have been feeling very rough this weekend but according to the test I did yesterday morning , I was still negative. My flare-up symptoms often present as flu-like so I assumed it could just be that. The test I took this morning was unequivocally positive however. I'm lucky to have never caught Covid until now and so far I just feel fluey and have a sore throat, so nothing out of the ordinary. Definitely feel very fed up though.

We were due to go the cinema yesterday but we obviously didn't go so it has been a quiet one. Mostly just zonked out on the sofa watching whatever films were on the TV and random chats.

It's been almost a week since my coil was removed and the initial soreness has gone, now I'm just waiting to see if there are any fun side effects to it being removed. I'm still planning on speaking to my GP about it all, I'm just trying to organise my thoughts because I don't want to try speaking to them when I'm all worked up, angry, and anxious. Easier said than done.

I told a few people at work about what had happened and received some very nice supportive messages. I try to be as open as possible with my managers just in case I ever need any time off and don't want it to seem like it's out of the blue.

It's fair to say my husband and I have both been feeling pretty miserable this week, but it's also taken a toll on my mental health. I try to be as positive as possible after all these years of managing symptoms and jumping through treatment hoops, but I'm far from a gymnast and I keep splatting on my face.

Sometimes it's difficult to not just give into the "it's not fair" feelings even though it doesn't really get me anywhere except into an anxiety spiral, but pushing them down doesn't help either. So I'm just rolling with it.

PTSD is too strong a term in my case, I think, but I am terrified of being caught out in that situation again - being out and about with friends and causing drama and being so suddenly in agonising pain. It's been difficult not going back in my mind and revisiting being in a crowd and feeling desperate and in pain and crying. People were so lovely and kind, even complete strangers; and even while I was in that red mist of pain, there was a dispassionate part of my brain that just couldn't resist poking me with awareness of people looking at me.

We had just started getting into a pattern of going out a bit more, like trips to the cinema. I was conscious that I had developed a bit of agoraphobia and I knew it was just going to get worse if I didn't start trying to go out more. Now, I feel like my confidence in that endeavour has been staked in the heart because I get the horrors when I think about being caught out in that kind of situation again.

The fact I have felt unsupported in my recent medical treatment just piles it on even more. I already knew I have to be careful whenever I'm making plans. Always having checklists running in my mind of medication I need to have on hand, when and where I can rest if needed etc., that in itself can be boring and exhausting. Brain weasels chattering away about people being fed up with me; "this - still?".

So I'm here to get it out of my head, even if it's into a void, so "the rest is silence..."

Having this quiet weekend to zonk out is probably for the best though. I'm taking my regular codeine but I always try not to overdo it, not just because it can be dangerous and addictive and leads to constipation, but taken too frequently and I lose that soprific effect that drenches any pain in a syrupy haze to the point where I don't care as much.

I'm already thinking about the next time we go out with people. Will it happen again? Will it be too much that I will need to go to A&E even though I know it's pretty much pointless? All I can think to do is if I know I'm going out to dinner and/or the theatre, to take a preemptive Tramadol and make sure I keep it topped up.

My husband has been a big supporter, even though he's been laid up with Covid. When he tested positive with it, I felt so guilty. Convinced he had picked it up at the hospital. He's done his best to be reassuring, with his usual sardonic LOLs, but I still feel it.

We talk about all this stuff a lot though, and that's all we can do really. Keep ourselves on the same page as much as possible, give each other space to feel whatever we feel and leave avenues open to discuss and support each other.