Tag Archives: Afternoon tea

FND and Frustration

Blog, Scotland, The Vet Who Came In from the Cold, , , , , ,

I’m a day late in writing this, mostly because I am experiencing what could probably be best described as lassitude: described in the online Oxford Dictionary as “a state of physical or mental weariness; lack of energy.”

Don’t get me wrong, I am still able to function, on the surface. Yesterday and Friday, I met friends and today, I will go to church and walk the dog, but my body feels tired. There is a feeling in my feet and lower legs, as well as in my fingers that is probably best described as if they are fizzing, like I should imagine a glass of cola would feel, if it was able to. If I try to move fast, my body reacts by jerking. That feels similar to the effect you get if you touch an electric fence: the movement comes and there is no control over it. It’s not painful, nor is it alarming these days. It’s just a bit of a bore and rather tiring.

I wondered, for a while, if the fizzing was an anxiety attack. The occupational health doctor told me it wasn’t, one day when I was speaking to her and I said I felt it now. I was speaking and breathing normally, she said; it’s not that.

Looking for patterns, I think this attack is the result of being woken at two in the morning, working a twelve hour day, then having a very hot, hour long walk on the beach, without having any real opportunity to rest afterwards.

Should I have cancelled the friends and going to church? I took Friday off (flexi time) to rest and I would probably feel better now if I had spent a long weekend resting in bed or in front of the TV, but I am reluctant to cancel the things in my life that lift me up, to preserve myself for work.

What didn’t help was that I also spent Friday morning composing a long letter to the neurologist I saw about a month ago. His promised letter reached me on Tuesday and I read through it to the end, including the final paragraph that left me metaphorically gasping.

To go back to the appointment itself, we spent a lot of time discussing history, which inevitably took a while. I was in Norway 15 years, so everything medical that happened there is missing from my files. That part of his letter was reasonable. He didn’t get it all right, but the discrepancies probably aren’t significant enough to be worth arguing about it. As an aside here I will add, that FND is seen by many doctors as akin to hysteria, so I am wary about being seen as fussing too much. If I say that being diagnosed with FND messes with your mind, I hope you can understand what I’m getting at.

He then did something of a physical exam. I’ve had a lot of neurological exams over the years, so I know that he missed a lot out. If I took a positive view, he was concentrating his examination on what our discussion had highlighted as likely areas for assessment. A more negative take would be that he was looking for what he hoped to see, having already decided it was probably FND and needing a positive sign upon which to hang a that diagnosis.

I suspect the latter is nearer to the truth, because as soon as he saw something (head shaking during various exercises where I had to close my eyes to assess balance) he announced the diagnosis and quickly drew the appointment to a close. There was only the briefest discussion on why I was there. I mentioned being sent by occupational health, the problems with having only six sick days before formal proceedings, and how I had been much better in Norway where that didn’t occur, but not really anything about what is actually happening at present, for example as I described above.

His last paragraph then, described what he had heard during that last brief discussion. To my shock, what he wrote was “the biggest problem she has found is that employers in the UK only give six weeks of leave and she had the pattern in Norway where she would work for three weeks, her jerks would start to aggravate and then she had a week off and the jerks settled.”

Having written my response on Friday, I decided to send it on Monday, partly because Friday afternoon is not the best time to send anyone a letter at work and partly to allow myself more reflection time, which has actually been useful.

The real situation is that, in Norway, those physical and mental stressors that trigger the exhaustion (which can eventually require complete rest and absence from work, if I push on too hard) just didn’t happen that often. The job was much more reasonable and we were not chronically understaffed. I took a week off work to rest perhaps four times in three years.

Here in the UK, those events are perhaps coming four times a year and because I haven’t dared to take proper time off to recover, I am probably more susceptible as well. In the last six months, I have probably felt relatively normal for fifty percent of the time. The rest, I experience this weariness. I can still function, but it’s not pleasant and I tend to forget things and make stupid errors, that sometimes I find later and feel glad that nothing serious happened because I couldn’t concentrate properly.

So although I am shocked by what the doctor said, working through what is happening and why has been a useful exercise. I suspect, with all the frustrations in my current job, it is not going to be compatible with my health to continue in the same role, long term. I would add that I know it isn’t me. Many others are circling the drain or (as the health and safety officer corrected me) approaching burnout.

What I am going to do about it remains undecided. I quite like my job and I’m good at it, but my body and mind are not fit enough to tackle it and the risk of staying is that my health could worsen. I am considering reducing my work hours to four days a week, perhaps as a trial. Other alternatives obviously include trying to find something else, either within the civil service or elsewhere. I briefly toyed with the idea of returning to Norway, but I returned to the UK for various reasons and those remain unchanged.

Anyway, enough of that heavy stuff and self analysis. We had another fun training session on Wednesday with Josephine. She sadly only has two months left in her temporary role and they’ve only just started to advertise for a permanent replacement, so it looks like I may be left again without a veterinary mentor/guide while the civil service procrastinates. However, for now, she is a breath of fresh air and great at building up the team.

The exercise involved toy animals again. She set up various scenes, where there were disease outbreaks and we had to look for information and describe how we would go about diagnosis and putting the information onto the inevitable forms.

At the top of the page is a scene where there is an outbreak of avian influenza. That was slightly complicated because of these guys:

I assume that group had to discuss what to do about local wildlife, but my group had to investigate and record a possible bluetongue sampling at this lovely farm:

I got extra brownie points for querying the assorted carrots and other vegetables in the yellow box. This farmer may be feeding kitchen scraps, which is illegal in the UK!

There has also been some amusement at work this week, because of some seagulls which have been nesting somewhere on or near the building where I work. Perhaps others have not been so amused as a couple of people have been dive bombed or poohed on, but a theory of mine was confirmed when we had a number of extra staff visiting on Wednesday for a meeting. These are sexist seagulls and while I have passed out of the door, watched over by a relatively benign beady eye, all the actual attacks have been on men. Clearly there are some advantages to being female!

I’m not going to finish without giving high praise to The Boathouse restaurant at Glencaple. Regular readers may recall a lovely Christmas meal Donna and I had there back in December. I suggested a revisit, having seen an advertisement on Facebook for afternoon tea. It would be an understatement to say that it did not disappoint! As with the Christmas dinner, I took home enough food to last me until the next day and it really did taste as good as it looks!

Anyway, I shall go now. Thanks for reading and have a good week!

Neurological Fatigue and Ice Cream

Blog, Scotland, The Vet Who Came In from the Cold, Vet, Writing, , ,

Hello again! I’m going to start this week’s post with an apology and with thanks. It’s been three weeks since my last post and I know that was unusual enough that Mary, who reads it regularly (and once sent me the wonderful Norge i Fest book) was worried enough to check on me. There have also been others looking out for me, both at and outside of work, and to them, thank you.

Per and Tor: Norge I Fest

I’m not sure if it was Valerie who introduced me to the concept of neurological fatigue, but she works with patients within a physiotherapy and occupational therapy department in the NHS and she has spent some time working through a course to help me deal with it better. Those who read regularly will know I’ve been affected by some odd, undiagnosed neuro problems for eight or nine years.

Most of the time, it’s not visible to those around me, but it never completely goes away and sometimes, it returns with a vengeance and becomes highly visible as I twitch and stamp my way around. Because it means I struggle sometimes at work, occupational health want me to try and get a diagnosis, so I am now seven months into the year-long NHS waiting list.

I can see that, in my last blog, I mentioned the welfare case that has, most likely, been the biggest trigger in this episode. With the best will in the world, dealing with sad and difficult cases is always mentally exhausting. I finally got out there two weeks ago on Friday and on Saturday, the whole thing was preying on my mind so much that writing anything here was beyond me.

It’s weird, because my body went on functioning. I went out for afternoon tea for a friend’s birthday on Saturday afternoon, then down to Mum and Dad’s as Mum’s 82nd birthday was coming up. I did comment to Mum that, when I took Triar for his daily walks, I did worry that I would collapse at some point. Not sure what she made of that, not sure how much is wishful thinking (it would push me up that waiting list, at the very least), but I have, twice in the last year, had one of my legs simply give way when I tried to take a step, so I ended up sprawling on the pavement.

I should probably have taken time off work the week after that visit. Had I done so, I probably would be fine by now, but with the prospect of formal attendance meetings, and in the knowledge that I probably could function at work, at least, I pushed on through. I’d actually taken Monday off as a flexi day and normally would have enjoyed the shorter week, but I actually didn’t notice it was shorter. By then, I was on autopilot.

I feel I’m not describing this well. I think, up until a couple of days ago, I was managing to function at work, to the point where most people wouldn’t know anything was up. The noticeable changes were at home. I’ve been working on building good habits: eating more healthily, writing a bit each day, walking for half an hour. One by one, those stopped.

Other things stopped too. Wiping the kitchen surfaces and clearing away is something I normally do as I go along, but my kitchen was starting to resemble a student flat. I didn’t like seeing it, but couldn’t find the energy to do anything about it. It’s really difficult to describe, but work was simply taking everything I had and in between, I was barely existing.

At what point, in that scenario, do you take time off? Logically, and indeed in Norway, the right time to stop and rest was as soon as I became dysfunctional at home, but in the UK, the pressure to work until you literally can’t is quite high. That day came on Wednesday this week as I woke up and could barely drag myself out of bed.

Even on Thursday morning, having spent Wednesday mostly lying down, I was swithering as to whether I should try to work from home. Again with the comparison with Norway – there, if you are on sick leave and feel like doing a bit of work, it’s allowed. So on Thursday, I wrote up some details of what I was working on on Tuesday afternoon, in case someone else had to take over that case, and I replied to a couple of easy e-mails, because that was no hassle and would mean that coming back to work would be easier.

In the early hours of Friday morning, I was plagued with a blinking session. I have looked this up and found out what I was experiencing was called blepharospasm. I’ve had it a few times before, but it’s never been a significant symptom, but it’s disorienting and tiring and it kept me awake, so there was no chance of me working yesterday. That said, by yesterday afternoon, I found the energy to tidy the kitchen, which is honestly a load off my mind, every time I walk in there.

Slightly worrying is that blepharospasm has to be reported to the DVLA, so I guess I’m going to have to go to the doctor next week and ask about that. Just another complication to add to the list. It’s not an immediate suspension from driving, but the doctor will have to decide that one, I think.

My line manager, has been very supportive, thank goodness, though I imagine we are going to have to go through another formal attendance meeting. I’ve already asked him for another occupational health referral as I need to know how I can handle this situation. I want to work, but when I need to rest, I would like to do so without worrying I’m going to lose my job. Preemptive rest twice a year is better than crashing. I know some people abuse the system, but the system needs to work for me as well as them.

So where does the ice cream come in? I went to Valerie’s last weekend and rested there. Getting there was difficult. Even though I knew where I was heading, my mind was plagued with intrusive thoughts (another distressing symptom which I’m not going to describe – my Norwegian doctor told me a long time ago to ignore them as they are not dangerous) as I drove up the road.

It was worth it though, as Valerie and Charles offer me a wonderful haven where I feel surrounded by peace, not least when sitting in the hot tub with a mug of hot chocolate and Bailey’s! Saturday afternoon, the ice cream van drove round, playing his tinkling music, and Valerie suggested an ice cream. We were sitting in the garden at the time. Charles had lit the chiminea and we were listening to the birds and when Valerie heard the ice-cream van, she suggested buying one and I agreed. This is what she came back with! A lovely, whippy ice cream with a 99flake. I haven’t had one for years and it was delicious.

So, I hope that was all coherent and not too weird, but that’s where I am. Hopefully by Monday I will be back at work, though I will need to address some things, such as a doctor’s appointment. I can recommend afternoon tea at the Hetland Hall Hotel, though the bitter soup in a coffee cup was a step too far, that would probably have been better forgotten!

Have a good week all and thanks for reading.

Afternoon Tea in Langcliffe

Holiday, Travel, , ,

I thought I’d share a few photos from yesterday. Mum, Dad and I walked from Settle to Langcliffe, where we had afternoon tea in the village institute. I felt I was wandering through a James Herriot book!

There were flowers everywhere.

Dry stone walls scaled the heights of the fells, we heard the lambs bleating for their mothers and we looked down over stone barns and tiled rooftops.

The afternoon tea was a selection of homemade cakes. There’s afternoon tea every Sunday afternoon in Langcliffe. The cakes were delicious, though I should have got there earlier to photograph them in their full, delicious glory!

And to top it all off, there was a gorgeous Border Collie called Jess, slumbering under one of the tables.

Today we are going to a book fair in the Victoria Hall. See you soon!

The Beautiful South

Blog, Holiday, In Darkness and In Light, Travel, , , , ,

Sunrise/sunset: 08:25/16:37 Daylength: 8hr12min

It seems like ages ago already, but last Sunday I took off from Bardufoss Airport and flew (via Oslo) to London Heathrow. Quite a change of scenery!

It’s been one of those magical weeks. One of the hardest things about living in Arctic Norway (apart from the weather) is that it’s a long way from the UK and family. It’s only a couple of flights, obviously, but there’s a limit to how many times I can manage it each year. So it was a big deal to visit Anna, partly for her graduation, but also because things are moving along in her life and I wanted to catch up in a way that just isn’t possible in a phone call.

In addition, when I visited Anna earlier in the year, my co-author for the Hope Meadows series, Vicky Holmes, had pointed out that Winchester was within relatively easy driving distance from where she lives. That time I hadn’t hired a car, so this time I had rectified that.

I confess I was slightly nervous about driving. The roads around Heathrow couldn’t be much more different from the roads around Bardufoss. The national speed limit in Norway is 50mph and there are no motorways within easy driving distance. I’m generally more worried about ice on the road than about what the other vehicles around me are doing. On top of that, driving on the other side of the road is always challenging, and so I had booked an automatic. Not having to reach for the gearstick (and banging your hand into the door) was one less thing to think about. I had declined the offer of paying an extra £50 for GPS. I feel that GPS in a hire car should come as standard in this day and age, but I was wondering whether it was a decision I would come to regret.

So when I arrived I was pleased to find they were offering to upgrade me to a car with GPS. Better still, they had moved me up a class, so the car I drove out of Heathrow was a nice little Mercedes A200. I guess some of the local drivers must have been mystified at the sight of me driving a neat sports car at 60 mph as I navigated from the M4 to the M3 via a short section of the M25, but I arrived safely at my hotel about an hour and a half later, feeling both relieved and proud.

Having endured the slowest check-in ever (computerised systems are great until they’re not) I went round to collect Anna and her lovely girlfriend Lauren. It’s odd, being on the other end of that “meeting the parents” situation. It didn’t cross my mind until I was on the way, that Lauren might actually be nervous about meeting me, but if she was, I hope the worry was swiftly put aside. We had sharing plates at Weatherspoon’s, which was a lovely, relaxed way to begin our few days together.

Anna’s graduation was on Tuesday, so we had arranged to go to Stonehenge on Monday morning, then we were to meet up with Vicky for afternoon tea later in the day. I hadn’t been sure that Stonehenge would be the most interesting place for Lauren to visit (I know Anna loves ancient monuments as much as I do) but I needn’t have worried. Lauren was soon reading up on the history and telling us fascinating information as we walked round. Stonehenge in the modern age is frequented by people keen to experience the summer solstice, but I was intrigued (and quietly pleased) to find out that, in ancient times, the winter solstice was actually more important. There used to be huge gatherings there, with people coming from as far afield as Scotland with their animals each year. What a tradition that must have been!

The stones themselves were fascinating, not least because they were occupied by a flock of starlings, who called loudly throughout the time we were there, except for on a couple of odd moments when something disturbed them. When that happened, the entire flock (along with a few ravens) took off with an intense rush of wings. They performed a few acrobatic manoeuvres in the sky, then flew back in and the chittering and chirping would start again.

A rush of wings: starlings and ravens take flight over Stonehenge

It was amazing to meet Vicky after all these years. Vicky and I wrote six books together, starting in 2016. We were meant to meet in Oslo years ago, but just before the trip, Vicky was diagnosed with cancer. Since then we have been through a pandemic and it had begun to seem likely we would never meet.

It turned into the most perfect afternoon. Vicky had found a lovely hotel in a village not too far from Stonehenge and we were soon deep in scones with cream and lively conversation.

As well as Hope Meadows, I knew that Vicky had been the driving force behind the Warrior Cats/Erin Hunter series. What hadn’t crossed my mind was that she had also been the creator of other, very popular, children’s’ books, but she looked at Lauren, who is studying creative writing, and diagnosed that Lauren might be of an age to have read Daisy Meadows’ Rainbow Magic series. It turned out that these were some of Lauren’s favourite books as a child and she confessed on the return journey that she had recently put some of her favourites into a box, in case she has children. So not only did I meet a friend I’ve been chatting to for six years without meeting, quite unexpectedly, Lauren also met one of her favourite authors. Here is Vicky, smiling that wonderful smile as she peeps out from behind the two enormous stands of afternoon tea!

Vicky Holmes and the Afternoon Tea!

Tuesday was the day of Anna’s graduation – another wonderful occasion. It was heartwarming to see her looking so happy. Her years at university couldn’t have been much more overshadowed, with the pandemic dictating that she spent most of her second year with us in Norway. It was lovely to see her with her university friends, and with Lauren. Charlie came too and it ended up being another perfect day.

Anna and Lauren outside Winchester Cathedral

The hardest thing, as ever, was leaving. Anna won’t be coming home for Christmas as she is working, so it could be quite a while until we meet again. It was also a tug leaving Winchester. It really is the most wonderful example of a small, cosy, English city. They were setting up the huts for a Christmas market near the cathedral and of course, I want to visit that now! Maybe sometime in the future, I will be able to walk among the weathered sarsens of Stonehenge on the winter solstice and visit the stalls in Winchester on Christmas eve, but all that will probably have to wait a few years. For now, I am back in Norway, listening to the rain on the metal roof of my house, with Triar snuggling beside me, and that will have to do.

Snuggly Triar