Here I am, Captain Bligh-like, cast adrift again on the UC (clever, eh!?) whilst my Fletcher Christian of a body chuckles from the bridge of the Bounty...
A tortured analogy/metaphor to describe my current status. Having blind-sided me all weekend by hinting at new pneumonia, I had almost stopped thinking about the UC. Until, that is, Monday when the cold started to subside, and I started to feel a little better: ahhh, yes breathing normal, no lung pain, no coughed up nasties, no feverishness... yep, I'm feeling... well! Wait a minute, what's this? Agonising cramps? Dashing to the loo? Aha, of course! What was I thinking? Of course I'm not well. Bugger.
However, that was not the end. My body always has another little trick up its sleeve... like a cheeky Paul Daniels: "You're gonna like it... but not a lot..."
The cramps and toilet-dashes did not develop over Monday, leading me to believe I may had a little cold-induced aberation to my continuing improvement. Then when I got home from school I noticed a dreaded 'red-spot-type-thing' on the back of my leg. Then I found a little swelling (on my leg - it's not THAT type of blog). Then another... By tuesday morning, they were worse, but not awful, so I manfully went to school anyway. Manfully, but stupidly, wore my normal boots. By the end of the day my feet were threatening to tear open my shoes in a Bruce Banner moment. My left foot had started to swell underneath, making every footstep agonising. Excacerbated by hundreds of little lovely children: "Wotchya dun sir?" "Whyyer limpin?" and the bastard stairs to my bastard classroom. Oh, and having to stay until 8pm for parents evening. By the time I got home my feet were as the pictures above show. And ankles - they don't normally look like that. Honest.
So, I stayed home Wednesday and today. Phoned my GP to ask for a prescription for more prednisolone (checked packet - only 3 left - would have had to have stopped last week anyway). Couldn't speak to my usual Doc, who does at least vaguely recognise me, so no prescription without being examined first. I seemed to make this obstructivist attitude worse by asking if the doctor could make sure she prescribed non-enteric coated preds (enteric coating seems to make my symptoms worse - or this could just be more psychological madness), which she seemed to get really suspicious about. Anyway, after seeing me and hearing me demonstrating huge knowledge in my own condition and managing it, agreed to give me the drugs. Which means I'm back on the preds and self-medicating at 10mgs a day.
A mixed blessing all this. Whilst the arthritic thing is painful and makes me immobile, and in winter means no football, it usually brings an end to any bowel-related symptoms. I think, and I stress the think here, that I prefer hobbling around like an old geezer than rushing to the loo and pooing through the eye of a needle throughout the day. But I reserve the right to change my mind on that regularly and without reason.