Let Me Out

The seven steps of stir-craziness

Stuck indoors thanks to having a cold-weather-triggered chronic illness and I’m starting to lose my marbles.

I often forgo this rule (staying indoors unless necessary) for the sake of the children. Weekends when Chris is working become a bit of an internal struggle. I know if I go out today I’ll be in pain, but, but … they’re driving me crazy and they clearly need fresh air (I’ve said it once but I’ll say it again: little kids are like puppies. They need a lot of exercise.) So I took them out last weekend. They loved it, careering around the park like little spinning tops. I loved watching them. It was all good, really, until the evening came and I had to sit with a hot water bottle on my face.

Today, it’s the tenth of January. The tenth. I can’t even really count this as mid-January. It’s beg-January. I’m already starting to get sick of my house. Suddenly I recognise what’s going on: I’m starting to get sick of being indoors all the time. I’m further along the ‘stages of cold weather feelings’ than I should be.

Here’s the stages:

1. Denial (the whole of December). Yes, I’m in pain every time I step out of the door, but look! Twinkly lights! Excitement! Cheese! And so on.
2. Eating As Therapy (the bit between Christmas and the 2nd of January). Okay, Christmas is over. Everyone’s feeling a bit flat. I’m starting to get fed up with staying indoors all the time. I combat this by eating everything in sight. I drink rum and I eat copious amounts of chocolate and I don’t even have to go outdoors, really.
3. A Begrudging Return to Reality (The beginning of January). Once January hits I no longer feel comfortable with eating my daily calories in one sitting and drinking like a pirate. We clean out the fridge. I sip resentfully on a smoothie and fend off helpful suggestions from well-meaning family members (‘bit nippy out, make sure you wrap up your face.’)
4. A Growing Sense of Impending Doom (Mid-to-end of January). Every school run is peppered with either frost or horribly cold, driving rain. Every time I leave the house I have a minor TN attack, so I retreat indoors. At this stage (the pain stage) I start to grow sick at the sight of my house, and try to appease this by rearranging the furniture. Only the mini Bounty bars remain from the Christmas chocolate stash, so I can no longer eat for comfort.
5. I Hate Everything In My House and I Need to Get Out Of Here (All of February). Sometimes, we get snow. Mostly, we get ice. I can’t do the school run without wrapping my face up in a scarf and popping my hood up, so you can only see my eyes peeping out. Somehow, cold air gets in and triggers an attack. I start to notice every tiny flaw in my home. Cracks in the paintwork. Cobwebs I can’t reach. I contemplate moving us all to a warmer country, but even Googling it takes too much effort.
6. I’m Terribly Misunderstood (Beginning of March). Sometimes we get snow here, too. I’ve reached breaking point: I cannot bear avoiding the outdoors for much longer. I also can’t bear being in pain anymore. I get fed up of having the same conversations:
   Them: ‘How’s your face?’
   Me: ‘Bad again.’
   Them: ‘Can you go to the doctors?’
   Me: ‘There’s nothing they can do.’
   Them: ‘What, NOTHING? There must be SOMETHING.’
   Me: ‘No, really, if there was something I would know about it. Remember when I saw the neurologist? Remember the MRI scan? All the previous doctor’s appointments?’
   Them: ‘But — but — there can’t be NOTHING’.
   Imagine this conversation times a thousand and you’ll see what I mean.
   I start to resent all the healthy adults around me who don’t even know how lucky they are to go outdoors as though it means nothing. I’m sick of hearing myself moan about it. I’m lonely in my pain, and I feel so emo I’m tempted to comb my fringe over my eyes and listen to The Used (but I don’t).
7. Zen-Like Acceptance Brought On By Surge of Vitamin D (mid-to-end of March). The sun! What is this? Warmth? I see flowers beginning to unfurl, having forced their way through the cold earth. The days grow longer. My heart starts to soar. I linger on the way home from the school run instead of rushing. I go for walks midway through my working day just to get some fresh air. Soon, I won’t need to wear a scarf outdoors. I imagine myself going on long summer walks, singing and being at one with the wildlife in the manner of Cinderella. Suddenly, I feel much better about my TN (even though I still keep getting intermittent pain attacks). So what if I have TN? I’m a strong person and I can deal with this. Suddenly I feel like a wise old woman passing on advice to my four-month-younger self.

And then I repeat the whole thing the following winter. Currently, I should be on stage 3, but I think mentally I’m approaching stage 5 already.

Ughhhhh. It’s going to be a long, long winter.