Up The Farway Tree

My chest was still playing up after a week on the antibiotics, so being my usual patient self, I made an appointment at clinic to review the situation thinking I may need to start some IV antibiotics. Fortunately my tiny lung function was remaining stable and my oxygen levels were better. I explained that despite this encouraging news, I was still coughing excessively, felt out of breath and generally 'didn't feel too well'. She sat pensively for a few moments, contemplating the situation, then with an almost wistful look turned and said "you know Jacqueline, that at this stage, 'generally not feeling too well' is to be expected and something you need to accept". I was slightly taken aback, but recovered long enough to throw back my plea of "..but I don't feel well enough to go to work". Clearly in my head this is the medical yard stick by which the severity of infections are measured. She looked at me, one eyebrow raised in a quizzical fashion and said nothing. I could feel my face flush with embarrassment as I thought about the conversation we had just a week previously regarding work and its effect on health. Sheepishly I conceded that 'not feeling able to go to work' perhaps called for a lifestyle adjustment and not necessarily more drugs. After mulling this concept over and trying to look at the situation objectively, and not emotionally, I have decided to take some extended time off work..perhaps a month or two..and see what effect that has on my general well being. In that time I plan to mainly focus on two things; exercise and eating. I will also make enquiries into reducing my hours at work, so that my plans to go back are not completely unrealistic. At the moment I just need some time; time to contemplate and time to accept.

I mentioned the plan to increase my exercise and I am seeing the physiotherapist weekly to work on this. At my last visit she suggested we could join the cardiac rehab class, which is essentially a gentle exercise class mainly for patients recovering from heart attacks. You can therefore imagine that the average age of participant is well over 60, and some looking more like 80. So there we all are, about 30 oldies and me, littered round the gym hall all watching the physiotherapist intently and attempting to copy her moves. It started ok..stepping sideways, forwards, backwards and marching on the spot, all in time to some cheesy 60's classics blaring from the tape deck. Then we had to add in the arms. Now I always thought I was reasonably coordinated, having taken some dance classes as a child, but I discovered that, I am in fact, not. My feet and arms appeared to be incapable of moving in unison, and should the move involve the feet and the arms going in different directions it was fairly disastrous. Being very mature, I stared to giggle and behave in an inappropriate manner, exaggerating all the moves and making faces at my physiotherapist. Realising I may be disrupting the class and showing up my physio, I tried to control myself and stifle the sniggers. That was until I stopped to catch my breath and standing at the side of the class, scanned the room. Rod Stewart was blasting out 'Pretty Woman' and everyone was attempting a sort of knees bending and punching arms out in front at the same time maneouvre. One particular man, who looked in his late 70s, was going great guns; knees bending in time to the music, stooped over with his head down and enthusiastically punching the air with vigor. I think he was so caught in the moment he even had his eyes shut and may in fact have thought he was Rod Stewart. Looking round the room, it really was reminiscent of bad Christmas party where everyone has had a bit too much to drink. It all proved too much. I had an uncontrollable fit of the giggles and had to move to the seated area and compose myself. I was in fact unable to rejoin the class. Surprisingly I think the physio wants me to try the class out again, so in future, I best learn how to behave in public.

Lastly I better update you on Sebs little eyes. He was pleased to find it was the vet with the cookie jar and I was pleased to find his eyes looked much better and I could stop the drops. The vet has suggested I try to get Seb used to having his eyes examined, by rewarding him for letting me poke and prod at his face (well thats not exactly how the vet phrased it). This should be achievable, as Seb loves to perform in return for rewards. Sometimes when he is perfoming tricks, I think he is the smartest dog I know and then sometimes he clearly reminds me of his limitations. For example, in the morning he loves to come upstairs and burrow under the duvet, where he mashes himself against my legs and goes to sleep. The other morning it was hot and I was lying with my legs on top of the duvet. He came bounding onto the bed where he then stopped abruptly and stared at my legs. He sniffed at them, he pawed at them and had a good look round before deciding his best bet was to try and mash himself against them anyway. He lay there for a few seconds before deciding that this wasn't quite right. He tried all sorts.. draping a paw over my leg, draping two paws over, and resting his head on my leg before finally trying to clamber on top of them. Still thoroughly confused he rolled off and began alternating between frantically pawing my leg and the duvet, as if this action would somehow get my legs to go under the duvet. By this stage, I was feeling a bit sorry for him, so put both legs back under the duvet and pulled it back so he could climb under. He just stood in the middle of the bed looking completely bewildered and staring at where the legs had been, before throwing me a look that seemed to say " I dont know what you're playing at but its not funny". He then ran off to find Andrew. That dog has no sense of humour.