Monday, 19 February 2007

Lumbago, lumbago, they drink it in Tobago...

Or not, as the case may be.

You know that old saying about trouble coming in threes? Well, if this isn't my third, then I dread to think of what's next. Oh yes, I have lumbago (or sciatica or whatever the hell the diagnosis du jour happens to be) caused by a slipped disc. Actually it's a ruptured or 'herniated' disc, according to NHSDirect. Whoo.

Anyway, the fact remains that I am now stuck at home, unable to walk very far, unable to stand for terribly long and only able to sit for a minute or two at a time. It's a vast improvement on this time last week, when it all started. I never, ever want to experience another Sunday like that, it was terrifying.

The worst of it all was that I thought I'd just strained my back. On the Tuesday I'd been shifting some crates (after our very temporary office move - we moved again the next weekend so didn't bother unpacking) and felt a bit of a twinge. It got worse on Wednesday, so I ended up staying at home Thursday and Friday. I thought it would just go away on its own, y'see, so just dosed myself up with painkillers and heatpads. And until the Sunday, it seemed to be working.

However, one very restless night later, I'm left with crippling pain in the back of my leg, virtually unable to move. The only position that seemed to bring any respite at all was lying face down across my bed. Oh yeah, tres attractive. So, after a hysterical phone call to my aunt, and a panicky phone call to a friend begging for more painkillers, I managed to call out the local emergency doctor. Who was ace. Diagnosed it straight away, gave me a prescription for painkillers and managed to calm me down, which was no mean feat in itself.

Suffice to say that I'm still off work, though thankfully able to at least communicate with the outside world via the gift of broadband (and a very, very long cable). It's uncomfortable to type though, so I'll leave it there for the moment and tell you the saga of my sick note next time.

Friday, 2 February 2007

Housing woe

I think this will probably be the theme of 2007, by the looks of things. Not content with replacing the boiler - which now is a thing of beauty and oh, so quiet - I now have to have a new bathroom ceiling, as mine collapsed two weeks ago.

The feeling of utter dread as I gazed upon the rubble strewn floor is one I simply cannot describe. No words would do it justice.

However, I am proud that I didn't sink into a snotty, crying heap on the floor. I simply informed the neighbours, took some photographs (insurance purposes - though they've been handy for sharing the pain) and then started clearing up.

Our glorious managing agents sent some folks round to have a look-see on the Saturday morning. Whereupon they announced that they would be 'making it safe'. This pretty much meant that they just pulled down some more of the ceiling. Woo. And, indeed, yay. Would have been nice had they put some covering down, but what the hell, I must look like I need practice at cleaning.

And now I don't know what's happening. I need to talk to the people upstairs again (leaking bath caused the problem and is fixed, but temporarily so, as far as I'm aware) because after two weeks of having a gaping hole in the ceiling (and stopping the odd rubble fall with my head) I really, really want it sorting out.

Anyway, photos. Feel free to gasp in horror (Does she really use that shampoo? Blimey!) or shake your head sadly in sympathy. Either's good.