Apologising​ is hard, especially when it’s too yourself

Wednesday 20th Feb

Its been two weeks since going down to the House of Lords to pick up yet another national award, recognition for the Sheffield BBN scheme, we were on a roll, truth be told after being recognised for the past three years running, it wasn’t expected, but was gratefully received. 

Its been a week today since the launch of the 10th year of BBN, the run-up to organizing had been both exciting and stressful and whilst I was really looking forward to the awards night, the ceremony, catching up with colleagues, friends, being able to have a few sherbets at the end of the evening to unwind, but what I was most looking forward to, was the two days annual leave days I had treated myself too. Two whole self indulgent days all to myself, no one would be at home, no kids, no pat, no work, I could potter around the house, catch up on some house work, indulge in some writing and basically take some much over due ME time, however it transpires that my body had other plans in store. The weekend was also looking good, well apart from agreeing to attend my nephews engagement party which I imagined as being a cross between shameless and a morning with the Jeremy Kyle show. I had already planned that I wouldn’t be drinking, so offered to be the designated driver, go for a couple of hours, show my face then retreat back home to relax once more. 

The sore throat started to show itself on the afternoon of the awards, we had been busy prepping tables, going through the running order, I had no time to feel shit, I waqs able to scrounge some paracetamol and get me mate Helen to fetch me some more, just in case.  After that the sore throat didn’t interfere with the evening at all, I had no time to think about me, running around on an adrenaline high and a few beers later on in the evening appeared to numb the pain and served as a perfect distraction. 

I woke up in a haze the Thursday morning and was relieved to have slept in until 10.30am and I wasn’t surprised that my voice now resembled and sounded more like Roy Chubby Brown than my own dulcet tones, but it was ok, including the weekend I had a whole four whole days to recover before returning to work Monday. I made a rookie mistake of checking out the BBN Facebook page, as I had received a few notifications, whilst most of the post was really positive there were a number of comments, well three actually that really peed me off and even though the peoples comments had no substance and I truly believe people are entitled to their opinion they left me reflecting and questioning the project I managed and questioning myself, i tried to not let it get to me and whilst I did feel physically rough, I reasoned #hadawordwimesen that taking regular doses of Ibuprofen and Paracetamol, I’d be or reet, life was good and I did have a lot to be thankful for.

Saturday evening soon came around, but during the afternoon my nose had started streaming snot, with the occasional sneeze here and there, but I was ok and whilst I wasn’t looking forward to having get dressed and go out at 7.30pm, (which is far too late for me nowadays, its around this time I’d be in me Pjs) It did feel better being able to leave the confines of the house for a while. Also, truth be told, I didn’t want to let my nephew down, he’s had enough let downs in his life already and I was quite actually looking forward to spending some time with the family, something that doesn’t happen that much. 

So armed with sheets of kitchen roll and me non-alcoholic beers, (just in case the pub didn’t stock em) we arrived at our destination. Everyone was in high spirits, the atmosphere was nice, the only let down was that I felt like fucking shit! I was going through kitchen roll faster than an Andrex puppy and the guy on the TV ads is a f***ing liar — ‘one sheet is not plenty!’ I ended up making umpteen visits to the ladies to restock on dry tissues, my face was starting to feel and look like a baboons ass and I am convinced that I was oozing snot from my eyes too, it was f***ing everywhere. After another visit to the ladies, I also found that I had come on my period too “F***ing Great”! My evening couldn’t be going better!

But it got worse -Later on in the evening, I was introduced to my nephew’s girlfriends mother, who mistook me for my mothers “Partner! Wife” I mean “what the actual F***”, So, ok people have confused me and my mother of being sisters before, but not her f***ing wife! AND I know the short haircut and reluctance to wear a dress may give the impression that I bat for the other team, but this didn’t happen just once and after correcting her in good humour the first time, an hour later she brought over a family member and introduced me again as me mothers bitch AGAIN! (well partner). Much to the amusement of family who will live off that one for years to come, but that’s ok – but it was time to go, time to go home, take me dented pride home with me, get the makeup off, have a shower, sort me monthly torment out, swap me dress for me Pj’s and chill.

Sunday morning came and rather than feeling better, I actually felt worse, my throat felt like it was covered in ulcers and was sore, I was contemplating the walkin centre, until pat pointed out that it would be a waste of tax payers money and the Gps time and that all I had got was a virus, a cold, it was going around. With that in mind I #hadawordwimesen and soldiered on. 

Monday morning came and the thought of work filled me with dread, I didn’t feel any better, this felt more that just a cold and after four days of taking Ibruphen and paracetamol, that only seemed to take the pain off for a couple of couple of hours, opposed to lasting the prescribed four, so I decided I would take me sen off to the doctors, convinced that it might be a mild case of tonsillitis. 

But even the thought of that, filled me with dread! The fear of going and being told my diagnosis was that I was just being a mardy bastard wasn’t appealing, after 38 attempts at getting through to the GP I was informed that were no doctors appointments available so I had to make do with the Nurse, but I double checked that nurses could prescribe antibiotics, otherwise what would be the actual point! I wasn’t walking to the doctors so ordered a taxi, feeling ashamed of the short journey and found myself apologising and assuring the taxi driver I would make it worth his while. I was dreading seeing someone who I might have known in the waiting room, cos I looked like absolute shit! But was lucky to be called after only 10 minutes wait. 

How come when you call the docs, they say they are fully booked but when you get to the surgery there are only about 5 people sat there and they don’t seem pulled out with it at all? – just saying 

The nurse was nice, she asked me about my symptoms and started to check me vitals, temperature ok, blood pressure ok, she then checked me throat and concluded that looked ok? “Fucking great” I thought “I am just a hypochondriac mardy bastard after all” she then inspected my ears and immediately concluded I had a nasty ear infection! Halla fucking hula! I knew it, I fucking knew it I hadn’t been making it up, I wasn’t being a mardy bastard, I would have never thought it was me ears though, after all apart from feeling tender I just put it down to my sore throat! I couldn’t wait to tell pat or any other fucker who thought that I was “just being a mardy bastard” that I was actually ILL. 

Vindicated and armed with me antibiotics I took my sorry ass home, I called work explained my diagnosis and agreed with the prediction from my manager that I ought to be feeling better by the Wednesday after the antibiotics have kicked in to return to work.

• 

Alas, its Wednesday and I am still not back at work, I called in this morning and explained I still wasn’t right, I hated letting work down, in the back of my mind imagined the disappointment from my manager that I still wasn’t coming back to work! 

I agreed that it would be easier for me to cancel the two appointments scheduled in my diary for today. The only one that concerned me was a meeting where I had agreed to brief a group of volunteers from the Red Cross about SPICE use and the Help us Help. However before I could make contact to rearrange I got a call from one of the managers asking more about the training for later that day because the guy had been on the phone double checking I was still on for it. There was confusion with my calendar because there were two meetings scheduled in, one tentatively (put in by me) and another that said I was training until 10pm that evening, transpires that this was actually a calendar invite from the Red Cross that hadn’t been accepted yet. 

Helen my manager explained that she would cover the session on my behalf, but just needed to know more about what I had agreed to cover. Knowing how busy she already was, realising from the calendar invitation that the session didn’t start until 7 AND wasn’t being held in the city centre as I thought it was, made me feel like absolute SHIT! It wasn’t bad enough that I wasn’t in work, now someone had to pick up my shit too on top of their own too! I don’t know whats worse, the physical symptom’s of being unwell or the physiological turmoil, mental torture and torment my brain goes through when I’m not able to deliver on a commitment I had committed too. 

Hence today’s offload, I know I’m not good mentally when I’m feeling physically ill, in fact, I can turn into one of life’s biggest victims. I don’t like this about myself, one of the things that I have learned from writing the book and my early childhood is that I do have an underlying fear of letting people down, including myself. There is no one other person that could beat myself up any more than I can. Its crazy because if the shoe was on the other foot, should a friend be going through the same feelings as me, I would be the first to be saying “let it go and look after you” in fact I was only saying the other day to a colleague who was ill, stressing about having to take time off due to ill health that “nobody died, a meeting can always be rearranged” so then why when it’s me, does it feel harder to do and practice what I preach? and with that in mind, i thought back to a previous post What’s in your filling cabinet?

So today is the first time in three days that I have actually taken some time out and spent it reflecting on me #Havingawordwimesen talking myself down like I would a good friend who might be feeling low. So after a couple of weeks of riding the high, cruising on the crest of an amazing wave, I finally crashed and burned AGAIN. The saying is true“ what goes up must come down” AND I know this to be true, but I also know that when you are entrenched in pity mode, some days its harder to pull yourself out more than others. This time its taken me over three days of self-pity, to then look in the mirror and have a serious f***ing word wi me sen. 

Q. Is it just me? – A. no its not, you are not well 

Q. Do I over think? –  A. you might have a tendancy to! but at least you do think?

Q. Do I care to much? – A. yes, but is that a bad thing?

Q. Do I expect too much of myself? – A. possibly but at least you are working on it!

So that’s enough of the self-berating and self-pity shit it only serves to make you feel even worse, so my next dilemma is to focus on being nicer to myself and taking time to look after me for a change… So on that note, I am going to download myself a new memoir to read, to help inspire and take my mind off being a mardy cow and stop apologiesing for being ill