Carpe Diem. Or is it ‘strike while the iron is hot?'

Only just recovering from Tara's shock hospitalisation, I barely had a few days to regain my composure. Tara was on a very strictly monitored diet and had to have routine scans to make sure she suffered no internal damage. It was tense times, but I was Tara’s Warrior Mum all over again. Tara was also incredibly obedient and probably scared to death by her experience. Suddenly I had to be cooking a lot more and be more creative as well, to be able to produce the diet required by Tara's doctor. With two poorly functioning painful shoulders.

I saw a doctor in November 2019 to seek relief for my shoulder pain. He said I was depressed and needed anti depressants which he would be happy to prescribe. I was crying in his office because I was in acute long term pain, and I mistakenly thought I had a safe space to share my pain. As soon as tears rolled down my face, he labelled me depressed.  I left his office in disgust, but not before telling the receptionist what I thought. 

December 2019 went downhill as I was very unwell with a strange illness. But as the year was plummeting, something inside me was saying, It’s time, Seize the day! When I called the doctor’s office for an appointment in December, the receptionist booked me in to see this new lady doctor who took genuine interest in my suffering and went about systematically ordering blood tests and scans. She helped me, as I recovered from whatever nasty bug I had, and then went on to discuss my frozen shoulder with me on a very human level. 

Both my shoulders were not as bad as before, but the left side had flared up again. The doctor felt that a cortisone injection was the best way forward. I agreed immediately and in early 2020 went to the hospital and got one injection on my left bicep. I was a bit confused about the location of the shot as the main area of pain was the top of the shoulder. Still, they could stick me with injections anywhere and I would be grateful. The pain of the dreaded cortisone shot was nothing. 

The doctor administering the cortisone had a very hysterical and anxious trainee with her, who I suspect made the doctor a bit uncomfortable too. I on the other hand, was so battered by my life in general, that a hysterical side kick was mildly entertaining and did nothing to upset my mental balance. I lay there calmly while the doctor explained she would inject only one area today. The trainee was writhing in what seemed to be extreme anxiety,

The second injection was to be scheduled if I responded well to the first. As luck might have it, I responded very well to the first injection, and was almost eagerly looking forward to my second one which was more complicated as it had to be injected into the shoulder cavity via ultrasound guidance in an operation theatre. But Luck wasn’t done yet. The pandemic and lockdown started in March 2020. The cortisone shot would have to wait for another whole year.

I made gains that year. With some loss of pain, came great clarity of thought.  Covid19 came, and with it came opportunity. Carpe Diem had a new friend called Strike-while-the- iron- is-hot. I did. 

All workplaces and Schools were on lockdown. The Home was my domain. Over the next few months, The Husband and Tara were officially residents in my domain 24X7. Which way would this go? I was a wounded lioness with a renewed sense of power and self, zero hopes and expectations from anyone, and one cortisone shot. Let the games begin.

Am I imagining this?

It was November 2018 when life as I knew ended. The last one year saw me become the living dead. I approached The Husband one last time and said, if he wants to talk, with or without a counseller, if he wants to make a start at some resolution to our situation, if he was willing to come clean and deal with whatever it was this is. If he loved Tara and much as I did, now was the time to sort things out.

He put on his headphones and walked away. That was last year. I waited for either or both of them to come to me that whole, never-ending year

I have cried every night of the last one year. I have infected sinuses to show for it. When neither The Husband nor Tara came to me, I made up my mind. I will survive this. I will give myself one year to grieve over what I lost, I will pick myself up, learn something new and unlikely as it felt, I will be happy again-with or without anyone. Loving Tara is a biological fact. I will not expect it back, but I will be there for her till she stands on her own feet and leaves home. After that I will travel my own road. Enough.

I made it clear to The Husband that if this is how he wanted it, so be it. From now on, I will take care of Tara’s every need, and do all the work I did for the house but that was about it. I would do nothing else. No more holidays, no more going out and after one particularly humiliating day when he threw out food before I had eaten, I made a vow not to eat or use anything he bought again. Made no difference to them, they were okay with it. If he went out he would have to take Tara. Im not available for all these things I had previously acommodated.

November 2019 arrived, and it did so in a hugely dramatic fashion. Tara and The Husband were carrying on with their respective lives, while I waited for November 2019 as a date of closure and new beginnings. November 8th Tara was rushed to A&E, and what followed is a nightmare of epic proportions..the tail end of which is still ongoing, though mercifully the worst is behind us.

Every resolution of moving on, carrying on, new beginnings evaporated in one second while I was Tara’s warrior Mummy all over again. Nothing mattered as she shivered and convulsed in pain, shunning her father and clinging to me while I half-carried, half-dragged her into the hospital, trying to ignore the agonising pain in my shoulders being weighed down by Tara. Nothing was relevant as I held her hand in the Acute Assessment Unit. I looked in her eyes and said, don’t worry..Mummy’s got you. It will be fine. A few days later when I brought her home and tucked her in bed, I broke down in tears at the foot of my bed. I reached out to The Husband, I looked deep into his eyes and said, I can’t bear this anymore. You’ve got to step up. You’ve got to do something. He just stood there, looked at me and walked away.

I am a proud person. I had backed off just as Tara and The Husband had wanted all of last year. November 2019 was supposed to be a milestone in my recovery. I had never backed down to anyone in the face of injustice or when it came to my dignity. In a second I surrendered it all for Tara - pride, self respect, ego-everything. I looked after her 24 hours a day for the last month or so. I hugged and cuddled her every night. Like I didn’t have time. Like I wouldn’t have tomorrow. It didnt matter whether she approached me, apologised or not, I was her Warrior Mummy. My job is to love and protect her no matter what. The Husband uses Tara like a shield that he knows I will never attack. I got that.

In the last one year after separating me from my Tara, I expected that he would love her and look after her just like I did…and hoped he could be better at it than I. I was wrong. He spiralled into an vortex of selfishness and I watched utterly devastated as Tara was neglected. They both chose to live like that, rather than approach me to work out a way forward. I must have been a nasty piece of work, but I still couldn’t see how…or why.

Fast forward to today. After sorting Tara out, finishing dinner, I sat down to watch the news with a cup of coffee. The Husband knocks on the door. The first time in the last year. He says-The new Star Wars movie is out and I really want to see it. Can I go? I blinked a few times and recovered quickly enough to say he didn't need my permission, he and Tara could go wherever they wanted. He mumbled that Tara wouldn't want to see this movie. I was stunned. After one year what made him approach me was not a desire to resolve this seriously dysfunctional life, but a movie he wanted to see so badly, and he wanted me to look after her.

Did I just imagine this? I got up and quietly walked out of the room and started typing this. I will come back tomorrow and check if it was real or one of those absurd dreams.

Be Strong !

What if being strong is not so much a character trait, but a survival instinct?

What if being strong is not an option?

What if you’re tired of being strong?

Whenever someone tells me, “You’re the strongest person I know…,” there is an instant reflex action to stop sharing what I was saying. It’s as if vulnerability should not be demonstrated, or that being strong disallows a person a comforting hug or a 'soft place' to fall on.

I’m going to practice not saying “you’re the strongest person I know” to another person who has given me the privilege of listening to their difficulties. There must be a reason a “strong” person is letting their guard down and talking to you. Does it make them less strong? Absolutely not. A “strong" person is as human as anyone else. It is dehumanising to block them, even if our intention is to be supportive.

Frozen Shoulder - Part 2

 I researched a lot of places to find out the cause of the Frozen Shoulder. There is no scientific reason that is conclusive. It's just one of those things. For something so excruciating, it is astonishing that so little is known.

A friend told me cynically that Frozen Shoulder is experienced more by women than men, so there is less funding for finding out more about the condition. Among all the cancers, she predicts, prostate cancer will be the first to have a breakthrough treatment, because it is a man’s disease. 

What we do know about Frozen shoulder is that usually :

More women get it than men

There may be a genetic component, i.e. it runs in the family

It is very rare to get it twice

It is also very rare to get it in both shoulders.

So with that knowledge I was navigating my life, keeping my eye out for a ray of hope as my left shoulder started improving. Then I woke up a few days later, with a twinge on my right shoulder. No way, i thought. Surely not.

I went sliding downhill rapidly after that. The Right shoulder was officially frozen. Hell was back and I have to once again figure out what I was going to do for the next few years. 

Living with anxiety

Spare a moment and ponder over this. Imagine you live your life every single day, with the same levels of anxiety you feel perched on the edge, ready for a bungee jump; or at the doorway of a plane,  several feet up in the air ready to tumble out for a sky dive.

Now imagine doing nothing like that, but feeling all those emotions when you wake up and remember, that after school you have to take your child for their weekly swimming lesson in the local gym - five minutes away.

Keep imagining feeling like that every morning before the school run, every afternoon after the school run, going to the corner shop to pick up some milk, picking up the phone to make/cancel a routine appointment, going unexpectedly to the library or a shop.

How exhausting to go through life feeling like that - and keep up appearances for your family, co-workers and the world in general.

Is it any wonder that so many people opt for numbing medication fully aware of the risks and side effects, because they cannot deal with life any other way? The only feeling directed at anxious people should be compassion and affection. At the risk of simplifying things, I will say that personally, it works better than anything else.

I go through life, with no medication. I am functional, and very “normal”. Ever since I was little, I tried to handle everything my life threw at me, and managed (a very debatable) reasonable life. What made this management possible was having someone with me. Family, friends, anyone loving and friendly, an arm around me, a warm hug, all made this anxiety temporarily subside. Today I have none of that support. So I struggle along. But I'm still saying no to medication. I don’t want to be numb, especially when I know that my anxiety can be disarmed when I have some support.

Today I have no support, so my options are :

Carry on
Take medication
Try and find some support

I ruled out option 2
I would love option 3
But option 1 is where I’m currently at

Frozen Shoulder - Progress

I think I see a glimmer on the horizon.

Over the past month or so, the pain in my arm and shoulder subsided to virtually nil! Over the past few weeks it sporadically flared up, oddly to the left, outside of the left shoulder, then switched suddenly to the right side of the left shoulder. Then I had family visiting me for 10 days during which time I was running around doing everything for them. (They are elderly, with mobility issues). I got a bit nervous when the shooting pains returned down the length of the arm and into the fore-arm. It’s the kind of pain that is deep, and you want to massage it with your thumb. (That does help, if you can do it without damaging your thumb in the process).

When the visitors left, I instinctively slowed down. The pain subsided again. It is now month four of year two. Another year and  half to go before I expect full recovery. Good progress in my opinion. I still do Tai chi and have noticed an element of flexibility and mobility. I am still guarded, but hopeful. The physiotherapist at the hospital discharged me, and I am a bit ashamed to say that I have stopped all exercises. Maybe because I’ve been tired with all the hard exercises I have done diligently, or that I'm mentally exhausted and just want to take some time off to reduce my anxiety levels before I start exercising again.

Hang in there all you Fellow Freezers! If I can survive this alone, Im sure you regular folk have some regular friends and family who are supporting you through this challenging time. If not, here’s a hug from me !

I am ME, inspite of everything.

I am a kind, loving and loyal person. What I've endured in life caused me deep pain, but didn't define me. I choose to acknowledge and honour my struggles; I can't change them, instead I credit them with being the fire that made gold pure.

I have an unfortunate memory-photographic and crystal clear. While it torments me every now and again, it shows me clearly what a human being isn't meant to be. The only baggage I carry is Anger. Not a crazy, illogical kind. It's got triggers. I've challenged it this year and so far I'm winning. Maybe because my grief has taken the place allocated to anger.

Phase three

My life before marriage was Phase One. Intensely difficult, physically and mentally, but there was Courage and Hope. I got back up and tried again

The last twenty years of marriage, and ongoing, are Phase Two. Free of physical danger, but still very difficult and lonely. I still got up and forged ahead. My Tara became my driving force.

God probably dragged me over Phase One, He then got busy elsewhere in Phase Two...Now I can't reach Him at all. I still join my hands everyday and say thank you; it could have been worse. But I've stopped talking to Him.

I want a Phase Three. I really do. Only this time my grief over estrangement with my Tara, has punched the air out of body, and I can't get up again. Im afraid I may need a mentor, a soft place to fall on, someone who can help me back on my feet and nudge me in the right direction. Maybe what I need is to be able to earn money again, so the fear of being hungry or homeless doesn't cloud my judgement, and allows me to live a life with dignity and self respect.

Maybe its okay to cut people out of my life. It's not because I don't love them anymore, it's because I want to preserve my self respect and human dignity.

I dream of falling into my Mum and Dad's arms, unburdening decades of tears and horror, while they just allow me to sleep in their arms-unquestioning and accepting.

I know it's all imaginary...but I feel beaten...tired...that's all I've got today and it will take me to tomorrow.

Can't shake this one off

Sisters are supposed to be a blessing. Your partner in crime, your back-up, your best friend.

My sister is three years older than me. She was the first child in the family and everyone's favourite. I was one of the many middle ones including cousins that came along, so nothing much to talk about there. My earliest memories have no recollection of my sister being around me. We had a strange family set up. It's called a joint family. Led by my grandfather, who had four children, (including my father), everyone lived in the same large family home till they got married and left.

I attempted to establish some camaraderie with my sister for several years, but was met with disinterest. Later, she had her own set of friends, who alongwith her self-absorbtion filled up her days. For years there was no hostility between us, but no bonding either. At some point, maybe after she got married and left, she entered our lives as the self proclaimed custodian of my parents well being and master bully. The fact that my parents were in dire financial straits, and she was a support,  (being married to a wealthy banker) may have contributed to her rising power and mind numbing rudeness. I put up with it, because by and large I didn't matter in her head, and our paths rarely crossed.

I may have mentioned earlier that my early life in this manic house was distressing and troubled. I never had anyone to turn to. There was just one time when I approached her over a boy-servant exposing himself to me. She did accompany me to our mother to share the same. No one did anything about it, and I just moved on to living the next day...and the next. 

Over the years my sister has been very unkind and judgemental towards me. I always took her harshness with a pinch of salt and carried on. So I don't consider it at all odd that I never spoke to her about any issues or challenges I faced in what I call the second phase of life. 

Recently with the problems with Tara and The Husband, it was very obvious to people around us that there were issues. Out of the blue she called one day, warning me to sort myself out as I was hurting Tara-her niece. I calmly told her to leave it alone as it was complex, and I was still trying to figure it out myself. She wouldn't stop. She poked and prodded and made very sort of judgement I told her to leave it alone as she had no idea of the back ground or the dynamics at play. She said she was always there so I could tell her what the  problems were. Exactly twenty years ago she pushed me out of my parents home. I was lost, cornered and frightened into making a decision for myself. The decision of marrying The Husband. More on that later.

I declined her matter of fact offer, saying that from my point of view I didn't think I could share anything with her. She proved me right within thirty seconds. She launched a searing verbal attack on me like no other. I listened to her acid laced diatribe about how I was difficult and useless, etc. I let it all slide, because it has never been possible to engage in a logical discussion with her. She denies the phrase 'her way or the highway.' Things would have been no different, until her last few words rolled out. In that moment in time, her words turned into slow motion as the full impact of them left a deep scar in me that Im afraid will never heal.

My sister said I was a ridiculous, neurotic, fantasist...and she hung up. I sat there, each of those words wafting into my perception like uncurling smoke from a candle. I processed them in order.

Ridiculous ; Deserving or inviting derision or mockery; Absurd. If even the mention of not sharing something with my sister makes me invite ridicule, it was a good thing I didn't attempt to share.

Neurotic: Mentally deranged; Paranoid. I'm obviously not in my senses according to her.

but

Fantasist: A serial liar, who imagines or makes up events. There is no come back from this one.

I was sexually abused from the age of maybe six...or seven, regularly, by male family members. Fact. It was done, continuously- in public. Fact. I was bullied, continuously, till I was much older, in public. Fact. I was denied an education, which I fought tooth and nail for - and achieved. Fact. I was pressurised into getting an arranged marriage, incessantly. I resisted. Fact. I found my feet, and an outlet in playing sport. I was not supported much inspite of showing talent. Fact. I won tournaments on my own steam, which I did because it gave me scholarship to university. Fact. 

FACT! FACT! FACT! MANY MORE FACTS THAT CAME ALONG AFTER MARRIAGE.

I can be anything, but I AM NOT A FANTASIST.

One more try

Everyone says I'm the adult. Im Mum. If there is a problem with a child, I have to swallow my hurt, self respect  and any other feelings, and open a door for my child to enter. I agree. It's true.

This is a new experience for me. What I will do for Tara, I would not do for any person. If someone disrespects, hurts, or abuses me, in theory, there is no way I would return repeatedly to face more of it. The truth of the matter is, in the past-I have. The reasons, the background etc are too complicated to go into. I did eventually break away from the people who caused me so much agony. Somewhat.

My Tara is the very air I breathe. Only now, it's a grief stricken, quivering breath, not the heady intoxicating loving breath, that made life feel like a reward for living a deeply anguished life before she came along.

With all that in my mind, I planned everything out in my head. Last week, after pick up from school, instead of going into the house, I stayed in the car with her. I had decided not to hide behind a facade of a controlled exterior in case Tara thought I didn't care. I spoke from my heart about how hurt I was and more than anything how bewildered I was, that the two of us who were partners in crime in everything till a few months ago, could now not have any sort of communication other than cold, curt sentences from Tara.

I asked her if anything had happened at school, if someone had said something, or if I had done or said anything different that made her exclude me from her life so abruptly. She sat listening quietly, and after a few seconds of silence I couldn't hold back my tears. I'd cried for hours in my bed every night since November, but I held my chin up every day, hoping to hang on to my self respect. These tears streaming down my face, felt like acid eating up what was left of my dignity. I deserved an answer. I got none.

I drew my breath in, and in that deafening silence I looked at Tara and told her I wouldn't ask her anything else. I only need an answer. Why? With that we went in and the matter ended there.

Dinner was as usual, her sweet banter with her father was as usual, they both watched tv as usual. I was not part of anything as usual. I have survived a lot of situations since I was a toddler. My body and soul were ravaged. I survived it. This pain I feel is worse than that. I did nothing to deserve any of it. If I did, I needed to know. I don't know if  I can come back again and again to face this torture like Ive done most of my life. For that, if I am now crucified for being a bad Mum, maybe I will accept it.

Life goes on. We wake up the next day,  I still fill Tara's water bottle and pack her a snack, I drive her to school and pick her up every day. I still clean her room, do her washing, iron her clothes, I change her bed linen, cook her dinner. I do everything, Im just not her Mum.

What I don't do, is pull her curtains open every morning, block out the sun and kiss her cheek as her arms tumble around my neck for those few seconds of bliss. What we don't do is discuss and analyse her theatrical dreams while she wakes up. What I don't do is lay her uniform out and brush her hair into one pony-tail or two depending on what Tara wants that day. What we don't do is leave for school discussing the songs playing on the radio, or the quiz that is too easy. What we don't do is hug goodbye as she goes into school and hug again when she come out. What I don't do is study for two hours everyday so I can ensure Tara is never lacking support with her school work. What I don't do is rehearse all her Drama and Speech class poems and prose, so we can discuss what the best way to perform the pieces on stage would be. What we don't do is talk about who did what in school, or what a teacher said or what drama played out at break. What we don't do is chat in the kitchen while I prepare her dinner. What I don't do is take photographs of Tara, one for every day since the day she was born. What we don't do is snuggle up on the sofa watching our favourite shows-laughing at the same jokes at the same time. What I don't do is brush her hair again at night, off-loading any cares and concerns on Mum while her hair is done into a little braid. What we don't do is say our evening prayers together and tuck her to bed.

What I don't do is return to her room every night after her father has kissed her goodnight and shut the door, so that Tara gets her final kiss from me, as she whispered conspiratorially "save the best for last, Mum".

Moving meditation

It's been called 'moving meditation'. After one year of learning, I understand why.

Just before the start of my left Frozen Shoulder in March or April last year, I was reaching the end of two to three years of suffering with my right shoulder and collar bone. I had seen doctors, been in MRI machines, had X-rays, finally saw a physio for 12 weeks but the shoulder and collar bone took their own time in getting better. Finally around March 2018 I felt the problem had gone. I was very weak, but nervous about starting any enthusiastic exercise programme that could injure my body again. So I researched a bit and discovered a gentle exercise called Tai Chi. The description suited my requirements. No previous experience was needed and it was suited to all ages and abilities-including the disabled who were invited to practice, seated on a chair. This sounded like a good start for me.

I signed up for a free taster, around the same time my left shoulder started feeling funny. I noticed a catching sensation during my first lesson. I was a complete beginner. I didn't know anything about Tai Chi, but it was gentle enough for me to do. I spoke to my teacher, and told her my left shoulder was behaving strangely, so she kept that in mind through our lessons. Every week the magnitude of pain and freezing in movement increased. But I stuck at it. In a way it probably kept me sane. In addition to the body movements of Tai Chi there is a great deal of memory and thinking involved to remember and repeat the slow but controlled movements. In that one hour my physical pain was deliberately downgraded in importance while my mental focus was prioritised.

At one point I continued the lesson moving only my right arm, while keeping my left shoulder and arm uselessly by my side. I didn't give up. I will give a lot of credit the gentle martial art of Tai Chi.

When I practice Tai Chi, I am a warrior and a monk. I learn the skills of the martial art, while meditating in motion. In a way I found Tai Chi because of my shoulder problems. We meet people, have life experiences, suffer losses and tragedies, have setbacks etc. Life moves in ways we never anticipate. When Frozen Shoulder entered my life, so did Tai Chi. One was an attacker , the other a shield.

Adhesive Capsulitis a.k.a. Frozen Shoulder

If you have it, you'll know it. No...you'll REALLY know it.

It was one year ago, around March or April 2018, as I pulled my seat belt on, ready to take Tara to school. I picked up a book from the seat next to me, and put my arm back to gently toss it on the back seat next to Tara. As I brought my arm back, I felt a twinge on my left shoulder joint. I grimaced, but carried on. This went on for a few days. At that time I was also starting a Tai chi lesson, once a week. I remember thinking, that the gentle exercise will soothe my mind, make me breathe better and work out these annoying twinges and aches.

As days went by I noticed that my left shoulder felt tighter and seemed to catch during the Tai chi class. No grace and beauty would happen in my Tai chi lesson anytime soon. One evening I was playing on the bed with Tara. We rolled around laughing and giggling when suddenly I crumpled up with a huge gasp. That night I couldn't undo my bra, the left hand just wouldn't go up behind my back anymore. I noticed I had to ease my coat sleeve up my left arm  and wriggle about to get my right arm in. I couldn't raise my arm to thank motorists for giving way as I merged, and got honks and dirty glares as they revved past me. A friend taught me to flash lights as a thank you instead. After a while, the arm couldn't lift to open a cupboard door, to turn on the tap or reach for an object.

Within a few weeks the pain went from an annoying twinge to the most excruciating, debilitating and mind blowing kind of pain I have experienced. That pain was accompanied by an alarming reduction in arm movement. I've experienced many terrible pains, but this one ranked up there with the best of them. Everyday life became unbearable, school runs had to be done, gears, hand-brakes, steering wheel and all. I wasn't going to let the home front slip, so continued doing everything-cooking, laundry, cleaning and above all Tara's education and lessons, clubs etc.

Those that know me well, know that I don't cut myself any slack. I genuinely believe that I should be able to do everything I'm supposed to do. One evening I found myself most uncharacteristically sobbing aloud, tears streamed down from my face. I couldn't sleep. My left shoulder had to be raised on two pillows and if I were to turn to my right, I needed another pillow wedged under my arm to maintain a gap between the shoulder and my body. (Pillows and their positioning during a frozen shoulder could be a whole new topic). Tara was worried so called her father to check me out. I screamed at the lightest touch. There was nothing anyone could do. After everyone was asleep, I got out of bed and started researching what was happening to me.

It turned out to be something called Adhesive Capsulitis, commonly called Frozen Shoulder. Just my luck that at present, in the medical field :

There is no known cause

There is no known cure and

It may sort itself out in around three years, irrespective of whether you seek treatment or leave it alone. (Did they say 'may' sort itself out?)

I felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under my feet. This couldn't be happening. I researched further.

Women get it far more than men

It may run in families

The pain would subside after a year

The shoulder remains frozen in the second year

It starts de-frosting in year three.

I cried all night-partly because of the unbelievable pain, and partly because I couldn't get my head around being so unwell for at least three years. In a way, that night's crying was a good thing. I tend to move through the whole cycle of denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance in a hurry - if there is action to be taken at the other end. Not doing anything is never an option for me, regardless of any expert anywhere in the world. I ended up doing a lot of research and reading. I put myself on the waiting list for physiotherapy knowing it will take a few months of waiting before I even saw someone.

Then something alarming started happening to my arm. It became emaciated. What on earth was happening? At the start of the year, I had the beginnings of "bingo wings" that used to annoy me, now one arm was rapidly turning into a twig. Fashion, or the cosmetic horror of my arm was furthest from my mind.  I remembered feeling the same way when I had Alopecia a few years ago and I had crumpled down, sobbing in the shower as bunches of hair just let go of my head leaving large, smooth bald patches. It isn't vanity, this unfamiliar cauldron on emotion is much bigger than that. It is a traumatic feeling that can be best understood when experienced.

Three or Four months had passed. I would like to mention at this point that The Husband offered virtually zero emotional or physical support during this time. A couple of nights when I was in a frenzy of pain, I did ask him to put some pain ointment in my arm, and he obliged. I hated myself for asking for physical help, when there was no voluntary, human support. So I stopped asking. The quality of the pain in the first stage of frozen shoulder is very strange. In addition to the overall pain, there were spontaneous patches of nerve shocks that pulsated - like searing painful shocks -non stop. These were interspersed with the kind of pain you get when a muscular injection goes wrong, only a hundred times worse. Non-stop. None of the usual pain killers made a dent, so I stopped taking them.

Then there was a new hygiene issue. I like to believe that I am fundamentally a clean person. No one told me that Frozen shoulder can make you smelly. That's right. Smelly. Due to the nature of the condition, the arm is almost always pressed against the body, and since the arm doesn't lift, the armpit is, shall we say-not aired enough. No matter how I scrubbed in the shower my armpit wasn't fresh and I felt smelly. That didn't help my mental state.

After a few months I started physiotherapy. At that point the young physio didn't declare my condition to be frozen shoulder. She chose instead to begin by strengthening my rotator cuff muscle, which had just stopped working. I did as she said. All of last year I worked though the pain, surprising even the physio who said that I was among the very few patients she had met who never complained about the pain no matter how much she poked, pulled or prodded. Occasionally tears ran down my face-a combination of the obvious pain and mostly the mental sadness, but I never let out as much as a whimper. I was on a mission. I had to defeat this thing-whatever it was.

I can honestly say that I was a lot more short tempered than usual. I wasn't patient when every week I begged Tara to sit still while I shampooed her hair in terrible pain, then untangled and brushed it for her every day before school and every night before bed, my arm a mangle of pain with every stroke. She didn't co-operate. I barely slept, so when Tara and The Husband didn't appear on the table at meal times I was snappy. Why was no one sitting down together address how they could help in the situation? Why were there no plans of action to adjust a little bit? I had set the routine, made planners for the new school, prepared study charts etc. yet Tara was not doing any of it till I raised my voice. At my lowest why was there so much of obscene taking for granted? Finally, when I swallowed what was left of my pride and asked The Husband to step in and back me up in correcting Tara, why did he step back?

The final straw was a combination of incessant acute pain, and a deep hurt at the lack of compassion or demonstration of any ongoing, proactive concern from the two people I most craved it from. Then, I broke, and the rest if history. November 2018 my estrangement with my Tara began along with gut wrenching crying every night. All that crying caused my sinuses to get inflamed, so I decided to stop crying every night.  It was hard as my sadness was like a bereavement. It was also my replacement of anger. So what does one do? January 2019 I resolved to use my grief and pain to defeat my arch enemy - rage and anger. As of today I can confirm that it's been four months and no visible flare of anger. The crying still happens, but not every night.

I completed one year of my frozen shoulder last month. I can now confirm that the excruciating pain has dissipated. The nerve twinges have disappeared. My arm is no longer a twig and looks like my old arm again. I am now officially in Stage two, so still have lack of movement but the pain is behind me. There are still dull aches and the odd soreness, but nothing unbearable. I have a new physio now, who is working on releasing the tightness and freezing. Apparently my brain needs to believe that my shoulder can move and function. This message has to be sent through my subconscious, and my shoulder has to "believe" it. I thought that Me, my brain and my shoulder were all the same person. Apparently not...what do ya know!

During my research and speaking to other people who've had Frozen Shoulder I think there is a case to be made for a Cortisone injection at the very start of this condition. While there is no conclusive study to back this up, Ive spoken to people who within one or two months of the condition setting in, got guided, precise cortisone injections in their shoulder cavity. Some of them recovered completely in six months. Others had no where the level of pain I experienced. Experts opine that those cases may not have been Frozen Shoulders to begin with. In hindsight, if I knew about the injection at the start, I would definitely have it.

If this is the year of the Freeze, I accept it. It's a vast improvement from the past year of Pain, in so many ways. Next year will be the year of Hope.

My final comment on the Frozen Shoulder condition is that it should be renamed. It is misleading to think that it involves only a freeze on movement. There is no indication in it's name, of the level of pain involved. So whoever does the naming, please make note. To those that will unfortunately get Frozen Shoulder, I send out a great big hug and a message of courage. This too shall pass.

Defining moments in life

It must have been 1998 or 1999, my bossy, over bearing sister loomed menacingly over me. I was unmarried, and lived with my parents. She was married and had come down for a visit. We were sitting together with my Mum and Dad.

"Well you don't have a choice!" she shrieked. "Either you get married, or get out of my parents house as you are causing too much stress to them."

I was used to my sister and her ways in my growing up years, but she had crossed a line that day. I adored my parents, I worked hard and never intentionally caused them bother. I wasn't married because I had no one to marry. I knew it was a source of tension for my mother who constantly sought out suitors for me, but she had never told me to get out of her house. I would have married someone had I liked them remotely, but I wasn't going to marry just anyone.

As I  heard my sister's voice attack me, I suddenly blazed back at her. I told her she was married and in her own home, but I was at my parents place and it shouldn't bother her too much.

She continued her corrosive attack and said, it bothered her because I was causing stress to HER parents (who as it happens are my parents too). That was it, I turned to my Mum and Dad, and asked if I was a problem for them.

SILENCE

I was shocked. I asked again if they would let her speak to me this way

SILENCE.

I felt my life slipping away as I weakly said that their silence at that point meant my sister was right. They could just say a word or two that it wasn't like that.

SILENCE.

Raised in a house full of extraordinary events I never blamed my parents for things others would have easily held them accountable for. I genuinely didn't. That day, their silence shifted life as never before. I felt the panic of a helpless person. It's amazing how life gets re-written and redefined in a moment. Who you are changes. Your life choices change.

I confided in my best friend as I always did. My life, my insecurities, and now this - how my home was no longer my home. It was the biggest mistake I made. When the best friend went on to become The Husband, he knew my Achilles' heels - all of them. Here again Life could go two ways. The person who knows your weak spots could either become your shield for life, or use their knowledge of these weak spots to control you.

The Husband was a remarkable best friend, but he couldn't handle the power he wielded when he became The Husband. A loss. For him and me.

I had trial by fire most of my early life. As with most metals thrust into this fire, I could have disintegrated if I wasn't pure, or be fashioned into the strongest weapon by that fire. I was the latter. I can proudly say I was...probably still am. Just need a polish and a reminder.

Kingdom of Isolation, and it looks like I'm the Queen

Where did those words from "Frozen" pop into my head from?

As it stands today, I am alone. I still got The Husband and Tara around here somewhere, but Im now alone. Im trying to be positive, to pull myself together and make a plan, or find a purpose. Most important I'm trying to stop my record breaking, self destructive crying spell of five months now, as it has caused my sinuses to be inflamed and making me feel very unwell.

September 2018 was the culmination of Tara's dream-to go to the top grammar school in the area. I remember being excited, pulling out out the stops, re-educating myself so I could teach her everything so she could achieve what she wanted. I will say that again, what SHE wanted. Given my own background of having to fight for my education, I wanted to make sure nothing would come in the way of my daughter's education if that was what SHE wanted. And she did.

She passed her entrance exam, and came second. A few points away from the first spot and not happy about it. I praised her for she had achieved; she sulked over what she had missed. Personality probably. Come September a new, highly academic grammar school and a huge, very steep learning curve, for all of us. It's been me and only me so far in Tara's academic life. The Husband was not in the picture so far. He went to work every morning, got a wage at the end of the month and if I made plans for Tara on the weekends he would drive us. That's about it. Not very pro-active.

Expectations and the huge work load from school hit us like a ton of bricks. I had heard from other mums that the first term in secondary school was a huge transition for children in primary school. It's true. I sat down and explained to Tara that if she got her act together in these crucial months, it would be easier after that. I was frantically trying to get Tara to organise herself. I printed new time tables, which I made late at night, flowers and hearts interspersed amongst the few available time slots between school and bedtime. I cleared shelves and drawers, making separate sections for different subjects, explained to Tara that getting into Grammar school was the start of a journey, not the end of it etc. etc.

There were two other factors that overlapped with this chaotic beginning.

1. Tara was 11, and increasingly moody and sulky.

2. I had entered Stage 1 of Adhesive Capsulitis, commonly known as Frozen shoulder. More about that later, but suffice to say the pain and helplessness of this condition is right up there among the most painful conditions known to humans.

Where earlier I was rushing around between school, various clubs, house work, cooking etc. I was now doing all that, along with the challenges of a recalcitrant 11 year old who was refusing to learn to shampoo her own hair or pack her school bag or show me her work to sign off her school planner. While driving was excruciatingly painful, trying to shampoo Tara's hair made me want to pass out with the sheer white hot (that's the best colour I can associate with this pain) agony of just moving my arm.

There had to be a breaking point, and mine came when I reached out to The Husband for support. I started calmly but ended up raging like a lunatic at the sheer lack of support or co-operation from either Him or Tara. I complained that I was in enormous pain, that I was struggling, that I needed Tara to step up and take more responsibility, that I can't be signing her school planner if she hasn't brought her work to show me as her Form tutor expected her to do. After all of that The Husband , who had never raised one finger in raising Tara, gave a huge sigh, and signed Tara's planner and walked away, saying he couldn't stand all these arguments, and how he felt stuck between the two of us.

It is a blur how it happened, but after a massive blow up with The Husband, and an even bigger explosion when he brought my 11 year old to witness our heated exchange- something snapped. He showed my precious Tara what a crazy person her Mum was. I saw her eyes widen as she shrunk away from me. He turned to the weeping child, and said, "Look, Im sorry I took your side over your mother"and with drooping shoulders, walked away, our little girl running after him.

I was shocked. I went after him and said if that was the best he could do, maybe he should do everything for Tara now. He said fine. Just like that I was no longer Tara's Mum. I think I was fired from being Tara's Mum in a way I still can't get my head around.

November 27th 2018 was the last time my child hugged me, or we kissed good night. I died that day.

The Husband took over everything. I backed off more out of shock than anything else.

Bedtime for Tara has slowly shifted to 10:30 pm sometimes 11 pm. I remember I used to be very particular about children needing good, regular sleep to function well. I remember running around trying to wind up the evening, school bag packed for the next day, showers and teeth brushing completed by 8:30, then saying our thank yous to God and cuddling and chatting about what happened in school that day, handing over worries and concerns to Mum, then hugs and kisses and tuck in for bedtime. Every day for the last 11 years.

Now both of them say their goodnights together, and sometimes in passing I hear Tara saying the thank you prayer I had created when my baby was an infant.

He tugged at her long hair and brought tears to her eyes when he first started attempting to do her hair. He stopped doing that shortly after and she now goes uncombed or brushed.

Gaps in the day or weekends where we used to paint, do arts and crafts or go walking are replaced by The Husband's first love-The iPad

Any other gap in the day or night is filled by voracious reading-a habit I introduced to Tara, but now being done on an epic, unhealthy and uncontrolled scale.

Clothes are mismatched, shoes are too tight, her skin is dry

I must be a bad mother. I thought I was the best Mum for my Tara, but if I was, wouldn't she have come after me? The Husband played his part in separating a Mum and her little heartbeat, but how could my heartbeat leave me?

I did try at the start. But The Husband had now taken it upon himself to erase every bit of my existence in Tara's life, but only where convenient for him. He still lets me drive her to school and do the pick up because he has to work, he lets me cook the meals, because he doesn't want to or know how to. Every gap in Tara's life that was my place, was replaced by the iPad, books or television. My Tara is a zombie, a bedraggled one at that.

On my birthday he brought in a few presents to my room, which I said I didn't want and he should leave. As I said it, Tara slipped out from behind him, her face falling. At some level I think I was being played. Another part of me had broken. The old me was a fiery Mum. I loved with a passion, and was full of hugs and kisses, but also bellowed to get order and routine in place. Now I stopped saying anything. I retreated into my room. No one came after me. I cry every night. I stopped talking to God.

A few days later I told The Husband that I had given up work to raise Tara, and if that purpose was gone, I need to find a new purpose, maybe go back to work. He said I should - it would be "good for me".

There was no Christmas, no one came to me on Mother's day. For all of Tara's primary school life, I attended every show, every parent's evening, every performance, every sport's day, every swimming race where she came last, beaming and cheering at my child's proud face. This school year I've had no invitation for anything. No handmade gifts, Nothing. I'm always in my room when they are both in the house. The Husband and I just text each other if we have to, mainly related to household matters, Amazon parcel, electricity reading, school pick up etc. Tara speaks a couple of words to me a day  "Can I have dinner now?" "Could you get me cereal?"

As I write this, two thoughts are uppermost in my mind:

I must have been the world's worst Mum whose only child never came after her...even a little bit.

or

I hope Karma is a bigger game player than The Husband

I am now in Stage two of this life changing Frozen Shoulder experience. I don't speak anymore. Ive survived my early life - not lived it. I wanted different for Tara. When I had her, I spent the next 11 years protecting and raising her to hopefully be a strong, loving and independent woman. I now have no purpose. I am a one handed driver, cleaner, cook and overall Plan B to everyone.

All I want is find purpose and direction. I am aware that no one reads this blog. But if someone does chance upon it, please leave me some strength, some prayers and some loving energy.