Now with bonus crutches

In what is a sure sign from the universe that I have to slow down and stop taking so much on, I have hurt my leg and have been on crutches since Tuesday night. Woe is me. In lieu of flowers, please send chocolate.

But the way in which I have injured myself is so fucking unlikely for me. It might be normal for other people, but having my name and this injury in a sentence will make some people do a double take.

Instead of coming straight out and telling you what I did, I've come up with a list of things MORE LIKELY to see me on crutches than the actual event that caused my hop-a-long status:

1. Getting my big toe caught in my pants leg as I walk. No, really. It is ridiculous how often I do this; I fall, my life flashes before my eyes (kinda boring on reflection), and I somehow unhook the offending piggy and stop myself faceplanting... well I have so far.
   
2. Slipping on a puddle of my own drool as I stare through the glass at the local bakery. I need to carry one of those 'Slippery When Wet' cleaning signs with me whenever I go past.
   
3. Getting run over by my own car. Oh wait I already did that! But it still makes the list, because it happening again is still more likely.
   
4. Sliding down a hill. This was most recently attempted in February and I'll be honest, there were a few close calls. But who doesn't see a grassy slope and a sheet of cardboard and immediately think SLIDE TIME?! The kids had no idea what I was doing at first, but I led by example and hurtled myself down that hill and then gave them a turn. Because safety schmafety. It was disappointing to look up and see everyone else actively discouraging their kids from joining in our fun... keeping a huge part of their culture from them. I mean, skin on knees is important BUT AT WHAT COST? 

No one would blink an eye if I turned up on crutches and said "I got run over in my own driveway again" but when I drop the bombshell that I have a genuine, bone fide, 100% legitimate SPORTS INJURY from doing REAL SPORT it is shocking.

If my highschool had a "Most likely to never ever be injured playing sport" vote, I would have won it right after I won the "Most likely to never ever play a sport or do any physical activity" vote.

But then the whole martial arts things came along and I got bitten by the bug and I'm all sporty and shit now, complete with motherfucking TORN MUSCLES AND TENDONS.

Yep, landing after a switch push kick (a super simple kick that I did properly) my calf decided that the half hour of warm up and activity was not enough and riiiiiiiiip. I looked up at my sparring partner and said "I think I just hurt my leg?". The questioning was because it didn't hurt, but I had felt a ripping sensation that I had never ever felt before (and never ever want to feel again!). I went to walk off the mats and found I couldn't. Ah fuck.

I hobbled off, being held up by two people, and my leg was elevated and iced within a minute or two. It didn't hurt, but it felt really strange. 

My instructor said that if I'd torn it, it would probably start hurting real soon. He went back to the class after making sure I was OK and then the pain started to hit. I came soooo close to crying, partly from pain and partly from how bloody disappointed I felt to be out with an injury when I was really getting in to my training.

At the end of class I tried to stand up to hobble to the car, but it wasn't happening. I couldn't put any weight on my left leg at all and had to be carried, piggy back style, to the car that MG had brought down as close as possible to the door (we train together - nawww). 

I've kept the standard RICE routine going and been for an ultrasound that shows two tears in my gastrocnemius muscle and one tear in my plantaris tendon. They were thinking it was a grade three tear, but now it looks like three grade two tears instead. 

It had stopped hurting on rest and would only hurt if I moved my leg or put my weight down on it, but now, in a somewhat backward step, it has started throbbing all the time. Add sore arms and hands from crutches, my period, and the fact that I cannot unpack the new house or clean the old house, I'm really not a happy chappy right now. 

I start physio in the next week, because if anyone touches me now I will swat them with my crutches. I want to get back to martial arts as quick as I can, because I'm really loving it, and also because I don't want MG to get too many ranks ahead of me.

Priorities, people, priorities. 

Finding my Zen (Do Kai)

I don't look like this. At all.

It may go down as yet another thing I've started and never finished (oh, hello half finished coffee table from my woodworking days), or it may turn out to be that I've finally found something to get me moving, but I've started Zen Do Kai.

I hear you. WTF is Zen Do Kai? 

It's mixed martial arts. Bits of lots of styles thrown in together to suit the environment you're in. It started in Australia in the 70s. 

Twice a week I learn how to kick ass. I've been doing this metaphorically for a while (heh), but now it's literal. 

I've been going for about six weeks now and I've learned a whole bunch of moves and sweated from places I didn't even know had sweat glands. 

MapGuy and I joined up together when the dojo that Tricky trains at had a half price special on. MG was looking for a new activity after growing a little bored with squash and when this 50% off deal came up I flicked it through to him via email saying I'd found his new sport. 

He was very in to it and said I should join too.

Which of course, filled me with absolute dread. Sport and Glow do not mix.

Chronic pain, a fucked up brain that always tell me I suck at everything, and I'm gonna sign up for a six month contract? Pffft you're kidding, right? 

I'd already been to one class with a friend a few months prior to see what it was like, and I went so hard trying to keep up with the others, which was a huuuge mistake. I had to come off the mats, and then puked on my way home. Everyone tells me that spewing when you work out is "weakness leaving the body" and I'm all "no, it's my lunch leaving the body". 

But I joined anyway thinking it's six months and let's give it a whirl.

I was absolutely petrified at my first real class. To the point of tearing up. It was a mixed level class so I was in there with a few other beginners but also some people going for black belts. It was super intimidating at first.

Then I met everyone and those huge guys and gals with their green and brown belts that you would not want to cross turned out to be bloody lovely people who would give me hints and tips whenever the poor bastards happened to be paired with the overweight, middle-aged woman shitting her pants.

So I've learned to take some people down and I gotta say, that feels kinda cool. I'm getting stronger slowly, and, um, I'm actually enjoying going. I come home sometimes with bruises, bloody toes, and grazes... but it's really fun being able to beat people up! 

Tricky thinks it's great that his parents are both learning the sport he is dedicated to... and I'm pretty sure he's well chuffed he's an orange belt while we're still white belts. But we're catching up, Tricks! 

Slow progress is still progress - a #GlowGetsFit update

The last time I joined I gym I was 18 and in my first year of uni. I was around 55kg and thought I was fat (oh, the hilarity!) so I joined the campus gym all "yeah, let's do this, let's get totally smokin' hot".

That feeling lasted about three weeks. After a handful of sessions did not see me looking like a supermodel I gave up. Because motivation and I are not usually on speaking terms.

But this time, something has shifted. I'm enjoying going to the gym. I can hear you now: "Wait, what? Who are you and what have you done with the real Glow? I mean c'mon, really?". But I mean it. At least right now I do, who knows what next week will bring.

It's been about five weeks and I've gone to the gym at least five times a week. More times in the first week than I ever went to the uni gym, actually. I do pump class, combat, yoga, weights, or sometimes I'm just a cardio bunny and I jog on the treadmill. I have no idea about jogging, but I can sustain 7km/hour for 1.6km without stopping. Everyone else on Instagram is running marathons and here I am rejoicing at 1.6km, but for me that is huge. HUGE!

As someone who has suffered from a diagnosed chronic pain disorder for over a decade (and the decade before that when it was non diagnosed and involved a shit load of trips to the childrens' hospital for nuclear scans and what not), exercise is still very new to me.

I mean, I had an ACROD pass for ten years for Christ's sake. Disabled parking! My muscles and ligaments were so pathetic at their job that I was allowed the same parking privileges as those with exploding hearts and peeps in wheelchairs. Granted I rarely used it because I was always abused by people who have no idea what an invisible disability is, but still, I had the pass. I was on a disability pension because I couldn't always get out of bed (I was also a bit crazy at the time, but let's just stick with musculoskeletal shiz right now, OK?) and here I am now, running on a freakin' treadmill and attending pump classes.

I still feel my usual pain, though it has lessened over the years a bit (I gave up my ACROD permit). Well, either that or I just got used to it with the help of hundreds of hours of mindfulness training and therapy. It's definitely still there, but the post exercise pain drowns it out. Like when you're super itchy and you shove your hand under hot water so the heat cancels the itch, the work out pain is cancelling out the "me" pain.

I'm not really sounding like a good advertisement for the gym right now, am I? Go exercise and you'll hurt way more! But it's different pain. It's pain for a reason. I did something kickass to elicit these aching muscles, rather than just waking up unable to walk for no reason.

If I can't get to the gym, I spend about twenty minutes on the elliptical (the one I scored for free at bulk rubbish which is AWESOME and works perfectly except for the temperature gauge - why do I need one of those though?) and will do some sit ups and kettle bell work at home. Or yoga so the kids can join in.

I haven't weighed myself since I started. I don't feel the need to because this isn't about being skinny. I want to be strong. I want to be fit. And I can feel it happening already, slowly but surely. I can ride further, jog further (the fact I can jog at all is awesome, really), lift heavier things, walk up stairs without needing the handrail. So many things I couldn't do before. But saying that, I wouldn't turn down some associated weight loss, just so I could fit in my damn clothes again. It would be nice, not gonna lie.

So here I am, getting fitter. Getting stronger. Feeling the urge to share inspirational fitness memes (it's a sickness, I apologize). Wanting to buy new workout pants. Listing the pros and cons of Garmins vs Fitbits. Taping my aching feet and shins. And feeling fucking awesome.

When your "health practitioner" is anti vax

Recently I made the decision to go and see a chiropractor. It wasn’t a decision I made lightly because I’ve read so many things about them being quacks. But in my readings I found that they could actually be good for back pain, which is what I was seeking to resolve. I didn’t want it to miraculously change my fertility, or cure my asthma, or any pseudoscience bullshit, I just wanted my back to not keep me awake at night.

I've had a few appointments now and I was really intrigued with how it was all done, and my back was actually feeling a tad better. I went to my appointment the other day and my usual guy wasn't there, so I saw the head honcho of the centre. His treatment room has three beds; he’ll tell you that’s because the treatment isn’t secretive and so that we can all learn from each other. It didn’t bother me at all. I’ve birthed two babes, it takes a lot for me to be embarrassed these days.

So I lay down on the centre bed as indicated, my head through the hole, and listened as the Chiropractor went to work on the lady to my left.

She tells him she’s achy all over because she’d had a flu vax yesterday, but other than that, just her usual pain.

"Well if you get the flu vax you're guaranteed to get the flu, if you don't get the flu vax, there is only a chance" he said.

My head was down, so no one saw me roll my eyes.

The lady went on to tell him she has diminished lung function and that therefore, the flu is really dangerous for her. She continued, saying she got the flu every year until she started getting the jab. She explained that the theory is you get a small dose so that your immune system is trained with how to deal with it, hopefully meaning you'll be able to fight it off better if you do get it.

Quick as a flash he replied "I'm glad you called it a theory, because that's all it is. There's no proof anywhere that it actually works". Those were his exact words.

I’m so glad I was laying down for that, because I might have fallen over.

I didn’t know what to do. Do I get up and storm out? Do I start a huge argument with him? Do I stand up for this woman with diminished lung function who is being told to not have a flu vax in the future?

I was angry but I decided to stay put to hear what he had to say for himself when it was my turn.

After saying his goodbyes to Lung Lady, he walked over to my bed and asked how I was. I said fine. He said he didn’t believe me. What can I say? I suck at lying and it was obvious from my voice that I was not happy.

“I’m just a little upset from the conversation I just heard” I said.

“Ah, yes, vaccination can be an emotive topic. Can I ask why you are upset?”

“Because science” I replied.

He went to work on my back, making strange breathing noises, rubbing my temples, placing glass vials on my throat, a finger in my mouth; a whole heap of weird stuff and dude, I just want my back to stop hurting, thanks. As he worked, he talked.

He told me how he’d never been vaccinated, that his lifelong chiropractic treatments had kept him safe from viruses and diseases. It was really hard to not scream out that actually herd immunity had kept him safe all this time, and now that the herd immunity is lowering we’re seeing an increase in vaccine preventable diseases and deaths.

But I just listened. In fact I stayed, for the most part anyway, completely silent. He took my silence to mean I was agreeing with him, so he kept talking. Digging a little hole for himself.

He told me that food allergies are caused by vaccines. He stopped just short of pulling out the autism link (you know, the one that has been debunked about three million times now), but mentioned that vaccine can cause delays, social problems and behavioural issues.

At this point I was so angry that I had tears in my eyes and he saw me wipe them away. Again, he took this as passionate agreement.

“Has one of your children had a vaccine reaction?” he queried, with genuine concern.

“No.” I spluttered.

I couldn’t say any more. I was dumbfounded. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.

I have met people who don’t vaccinate before, but they weren’t standing in an office, as a ‘medical professional’ proclaiming that there is no evidence behind immunisations. Interestingly, by the way, there is a heap of studies on how there is no scientific evidence behind chiropractic work helping with anything but back pain.

He talked at length about how the government is taking away the choices of parents by removing Centrelink payments from those who choose to take care of their kids; claimed that pharmaceutical companies only introduced vaccines to make money; and said his mother was brave to make the right decision not to vaccinate him. Spoken like a true conspiracy theorist.

All of this in the space of ten minutes while he manipulated my spine and made me move my legs, open my jaw and put my hands here and there; a game of Twister on myself.

I collected my belongings, paid my fee and walked out the door. I promptly wrote down everything that had happened, not wanting my emotions to cloud my memory, and when I was done, I burst in to tears.

They were angry tears. Embarrassed tears. It took so long for me to come to chiropractic, to embrace a little bit more of the alternative side of life. I ignored all the evidence, all the science, and had treatment anyway, based on anecdotes. In my head I was thinking “what does it say about me if I choose this method?” and at the time my answer was that I was, quite obviously, a dickhead. But I’ve changed my mind since then.

I’m just a person looking for answers. A person with an insanely sore, previously broken back, that just wants to be pain free. I’m desperate, to be honest, and willing to give anything a go, even “alternative medicine”.

Because anything Tim Minchin says is true. Especially if it's on the internet

I had been liking the treatments. My back was actually feeling better, but now I’m just so conflicted. The next day I rang up and cancelled all my future appointments. Then I rang my health fund and told them he should not be on their preferred provider list.

I cannot support a business or practitioner who can advocate to a woman with diminished lung function to not get a flu vaccine, in odds with all medical advice.

I cannot support a business that tells me vaccines are only about making money, particularly when he wasn’t cracking my back for free.

I cannot support a business that says vaccines are not proven; that it is just a “theory”.

I haven't decided yet if I'm going to search for a new Chiropractor that only tries to fix backs and doesn't claim he or she can cure addictions and diseases. Once bitten, twice shy, fool me once, and all that shebang.

As I sit here, contemplating what to do next, I'm staring at an Australian Health Practitioner Regulation Agency complaint form that my health fund has provided for me to fill out. Because if you use your position as a "health practitioner" to spout bullshit about vaccines being unproven, when there is a plethora of scientific evidence that they do work, and recommend people don't get them when there are people who can't get the jab and babies too young to be immunized DYING, you can bet your arse I'm going to make an official complaint about you.

I can't believe what my back xray showed

Photo by Michael Dorausch via Creative Commons. Text added.

The thing with training (and I'm using the term quite loosely) six days a week, is that any past injuries or niggling pains come out of the woodwork. Considering I've got a chronic pain disorder, it means my daily pain level has moved from whinge worthy to GIVE ME DRUGS worthy. It's being managed with strength training and Tramal  - ahhh, Tramal, I love you.

My mid back has been giving me the most grief since #GlowGetsFit started. It has bothered me for years. It feels like my spine isn't moving and my muscles are spasming. Last Saturday I was at friend's house for her 30th and by 9:30pm I sent MapGuy to the playroom to find a ball so I could get some relief. Everyone else was looking glam, and there I was, rolling a tennis ball between my back and a brick wall so that I could stay another hour.

After much deliberation and an embracing of my crunchy mama self, I booked in to see a Chiropractor. I've never been a fan of the profession, and have spent years and hundreds of dollars seeing physiotherapists and being loaded up with anti-inflammatories by GPs. I'm in such agony that I am willing to try anything.

Before my first treatment I was sent for xrays. Standing or sitting in one position kills me (never sit next to me on a plane if you can help it) so the process of getting them done and not being allowed to move almost brought me to tears.

Yesterday I got the results:

Query for Ankylosing Spondilitis. Big words for chronic inflammatory disease of the spine. Suspected because of the degeneration of my vertebrae. Apparently it has a large genetic component, and since my dad has it, I'm off for further tests.

Osteophytes. Big word for extra bone growth on my vertebrae. Also known as "parrot beaks". There are parrot beaks on my spine. Bwaarrk.

I thought that sounded bad, but then I was in for the shock of my life.

"Have you been in a car accident? A while ago?" he asked.

I thought back and remembered that I had actually been in a car vs bus crash. It was 1996 and my sports class was returning to school from swimming lessons. There were 30 of us crammed in to a 21 seat bus, meaning kids were in the aisles and my best friend and I, being the last to board, were on the steps. Totally sounds safe, right? Our teacher pulled out... smack, bang, straight in to a car traveling at 70km/h.

I was thrown against the doors of the bus and came back down, my mid back landing on the edge of the step, my head snapped back and hit the knee of a girl behind me, knocking me, momentarily, unconscious. I don't remember the impact, but my cuts and bruises told the story. All I remember was seeing a couple of blokes trying to force the bus doors open, and wondering why on earth were they doing that for. Ambulances turned up, a bunch of kids were loaded in to them and taken to hospitals around Perth. After a bit of poking and prodding, I was told I was fine, and sent home.

Bizarrely, the things I remember most about the crash is the blood on my stretcher from a small head wound, the cuts on my leg that were the exact shape of the door opening mechanism and my school skirt covered in grease from the door hinges.

"Yeah, almost 20 years ago... " I replied

"It's likely you had a vertebral wedge fracture."

Registering my blank look, he continued.

"At some point, you've broken your back. It's healed now, but this vertebrae is 7mm shorter on this side than the other."

HOLY SHIT, I BROKE MY BACK?!?!

That is INSANE!

He went on to explain that it's a compression fracture, and it could have been missed on initial xrays for a bunch of reasons, including if a scared 14 year old was crying a bit when they were being taken.

He let the news sink in and asked how I felt about that.

"I bloody told you it hurt!"

If I'm honest, I'm a bit pissed off that there is nothing much that can be done for the majority of the issues the xray showed, but at the same time, knowing there is a reason for my pain other than me just being weak and whingey, is actually reassuring. Hooray, I'm not (very) pathetic.

For the rest of the issues, like the wonky hips and stuff, I'm going to see a Chiropractor. I am scared and a little skeptical, but I'm so sick of this pain that I'd try almost anything right now to ease it.

Walking is Full Of Rubbish

I've started walking. Well, I could walk before, so it's not like I've risen from a wheelchair all "praise cheesus" and the like, but I've started walking just for walking's sake.

Normally any time I mention "for sake" it's for fuck's sake, so this is quite a leap.

I joined Operation Move in the hopes that my mates Kate and Zoey and the people who have joined the newbie move group would motivate me to keep going with pom poms and cheers and Facebook likes on my "I walked to the shops" posts. That and I spent money, and I'm such a tight ass that I have to do it now.

So I've been walking. And then my stupid muscle fibres decided that it was time to just tear whenever they felt like it again, bringing on a massive pain flare and I had to stop for a couple of weeks while it all healed and my old person medication kicked in. All the woe.

I started again today. I walked to the shops with Tricky by my side and Bobbin in her pram/my walking frame. I always notice the rubbish when I walk my neighbourhood and today was no different. Discarded TAB stubs, cigarette butts, wrappers emblazoned with the golden arches and a shit heap of beer bottles and UDL cans. If the litter is anything to go by, people in my neighbourhood are struggling with addiction (says the binge eater who drinks too much).

There we were, walking along, and I just got a bit pissed off seeing so much crap everywhere. I like my street. I don't live in a fancy area but I like it. I believe that things are only as a good as the effort you put in, so it was time to do something about it. We grabbed some trash bags and gloves and cleared as much of the rubbish as we could on one side of the road between our house and the shops.

Tricks loved it. Who can spot the most bottles? How many pieces can you pick up in a minute? The first person to find a Maccas wrapper and so on became our games.

People stopped to comment.

"Oh, you're doing such a great job" and "You should be careful of syringes" were the two most common. One man even took our photo and wanted to put it on Facebook which was strangely embarrassing despite plastering my own photos all over the 'book every day.

850 metres gave a yield of five bags so full of rubbish that two burst open (thankfully when we were in our driveway already).

Most of it is now in my recycling and the few bits that can't be recycled (baby wipes and even a nappy - ew!) is in the bin and no longer on the side of the road. And I feel fan-bloody-tastic for it.

Tricks is learning the importance of recycling, caring for the environment, taking an active role in the neighbourhood and what not, but all he cares about is that he gets to wear cool little gloves and pick up things covered in muck. We're gonna keep doing it.

Go grab some gloves, some bags, go for a walk and pick up some rubbish. I promise you'll feel awesome.

My hips don't lie. They don't work, either.

You know the film clip for Shakira's My Hips Don't Lie? The one where it looks like her hips are disembodied and have a life of their own? Well, I'm currently imitating that video clip with every step.

Now I don't look anywhere near as attractive as Shakira (plus I don't have some weird undead mummy-boy standing in the background to make me look more youthful and... alive?) and I can only put it down to the fact that I don't have rhinestones stuck to my back and that my movements are involuntary. And painful. But other than our marked physical differences, our hips move in the exact same way.

I'm suffering yet again from Pelvic Girdle Pain with a side dish of Pubic Symphysis Pain. Because the world obviously doesn't think I say Girdle and Pubic enough. I could call it PGP and PSP but I just think of mining companies and gaming consoles when I hear that. And my hips aren't a gaming console... well *ahem* not when they hurt this much.

I had it last time around and even had my ass taped to prevent my hips rotating. This time I knew the first warning signs it was happening (it was inevitable with my super stretchy ligaments - my body does not do pregnancy well at all) so sought treatment really early. Early treatment means I can still walk most of the time, hurrah!

This time, rather than having adhesive strapped to my backside, I'm relying on weekly physio, yoga and pregnancy Pilates plus a super tight belly belt that manages to make my baby bump look like a giant muffin top the way it suddenly juts out over the top. But for the mild relief the brace brings, I will be muffin-y with pride. Besides, muffins are delicious, right?

And did I mention the part time crutches? OH a preggo on crutches is quite the sight, let me tell you! If you thought people moved out of your way when you were pregnant, you should see the enormously wide berth they give you when your growing bump comes hobbling along with support sticks and a face that says "if I stop I may never start again". Shop assistants come out of nowhere to help you out of their stores lest you be stuck in them and actually give birth next to the sales rack. I can't blame them, amniotic fluid is a bitch to get out of carpet. So far I've only needed them a few times though. Phew.

People tell me not to wish this pregnancy away and I'm not. I'm just wishing it speed. Light speed.

Did pregnancy screw with your body?

How to be a goddess in the kitchen

This is a C1 post

For full details please see my disclosure policy

So you want to know how to be a goddess in the kitchen? Well from everything I can see in my very limited Googling, a lot of goddesses have multiple arms, so by rights if you got an extra set to say, stir dinner with, then whammo, you’re a goddess.

I’ve been playing with the Jamie Oliver HomeCooker for a while now and my first thought was that it gave me an extra set of hands and ipso facto, am now obviously a goddess.

My second thought was “Myself (am a goddess, so can now say this)! That is one gigantic contraption!”. Yes, the HomeCooker has taken the size matters mantra to heart and does look rather imposing on the bench. If you have the all the steaming baskets and the cutting tower too, it, well, definitely towers.

But most of the time I was just using the main pot and the chopping tower and found the pot a really good size for a big family meal – which in this house translates to meal & then leftovers for lunch.

The cutting tower slices and grates with a range of different blades, but if it was up to me, I’d make the feed for the chopping tower much wider as I even had trouble with some carrots being too thick to fit through it. I thought I was going to snap the rotating disk as I inserted the blades but it turns out it was just me being afraid of breaking my new toy and once I got the hang of it, it took a second to do.

As dinner simmered away I’d come back to check on the meal (OK I admit I also came back to just watch it stir a few times) and other than scraping down the sides once or twice because I’m incapable of leaving anything alone, dinner would be ready without any of the food catching on the bottom and burning. Meaning I had a half hour or so to do a quick tidy up and set the table, play with the Trickster or just SIT DOWN.

In all seriousness, my pain levels have been flaring terribly this pregnancy and standing up to cook dinner at the end of the day is bloody killing me. If something can keep a constant temperature and stir itself while I just have a few minutes of rest then it gets the thumbs up from me. Or perhaps that should be feet up since it is normally how I look when cooking dinner these days.

PROS:

• Great for when you have little ones around your feet wanting cuddles
• Handy if you’re knackered and need to sit down
• Huge 3L bowl
• Goes up to 250 degrees C
• Can cook multiple things at a time with the steaming baskets
• Comes with a Jamie Oliver cookbook full of HomeCooker specific recipes that are amazeballs
• Retractable cord – Philips do this a lot, it helps so much with storage
• Timer with automatic shut off

CONS:

• Cutting tower is quite narrow
• Takes up a lot of bench/cupboard space

Even though I wasn't a fan of the cutting tower, overall I think the HomeCooker is great for when you need to be doing something other than standing over the stove stirring and I can see it coming in to its element when Bobbin is born!

Want to be a goddess in the kitchen too? You can win a Jamie Oliver HomeCooker from Philips by telling me in 25 words or less what you would do with a spare half hour while your HomeCooker stirred dinner for you via the ENTRY FORM HERE. If you don't have a Facebook account and still wish to enter please email me with the subject line "HomeCooker Competition" and include your name, delivery address and answer to the question.

This competition is now closed 

Full terms and conditions here.

Pregnancy, Pain and Pilates

This is a C2 post

For full details see my disclosure policy

Exercise and I do not mix. Unless you count walking on a completely flat surface at a leisurely pace, my body does not like to move and I end up in so much pain that I can't get out of bed for a few days. The only vigorous activity you will see me doing is dancing with much help from alcohol and shed load of pain killers to numb me to my eyeballs. Because sometimes even I need to let my hair down. Healthy, huh?

I've struggled with chronic pain since I was little. I was shipped around to all sorts of doctors and specialists, my favourite of which said it was all in my head and I need a psychiatrist immediately. To which I replied, of COURSE I need a fucking psychiatrist, but that is actually a separate matter to the whole can't move my legs thing. The two are related (I get sore, it's depressing, duh) but they are not mutually exclusive.

So for donkey's years I've been through all sorts of treatments including major opioids, mindfulness training, orthotics, you name it, and nothing has helped. Well, OK, the drugs definitely helped, but they screwed with me a lot and I quite like the ability to digest food so I had to stop taking them. I had given up. This was just how I was.

Then Jacqui Gilmour from Queens Road Physiotherapy offered me a rehabilitative physio pilates session. Other than it being a mouthful I thought "well it can't hurt to try" and then laughed my ass off because yes, yes it can hurt to try if you're me. But I went along anyway.

Jacqui offers pilates for chronic pain, lower back pain and the like, but also specifically for women's health: think pilates for pelvic floor, pregnancy, incontinence, prolapse and all those fabulous things that sometimes come after carrying a watermelon in your uterus for nine months. 

 

She watched me walk, asked me a few questions, prodded me (gently) then proceeded to tell me where I hurt... and WHY. How many bloody years have I been asking these questions and in a matter of minutes she had answered them.

Turns out I don't activate my muscles correctly - I use the wrong ones to do certain movements so they're having a serious marathon workout every time I take a step and other muscles just aren't working and are wasting away, getting weaker and weaker (meaning the other muscles have to do even more work to make up for it). It's a vicious cycle... but it can be corrected.

I got on "The Reformer" and after singing Reformer to the tune of Informer a few times I started figuring out how to use the muscles that don't want to move... and... I DIDN'T DIE!! Although I nearly wet myself laughing when Jacqui kept telling me to "Spread your butt! Relax it! Relaxed bum!" - so maybe I should see her for some pelvic floor work too. 
 

I left feeling elated and then promptly burst in to tears. Could this be the answer that has eluded me for over half of my life? Could this lead to a reduction in pain? And if so, why the fuck hadn't any of these specialists over the years told me to do it? They just repeated their stock standard response of "try water aerobics" despite me letting them know that anything in water hurts twice as much. There was only one way to find out: keep going back.

I've been back weekly for sessions (that I pay for) and do a lot of "homework" on a giant rolling pin thing and what looks suspiciously like a dog toy (I'm assured they're actually pilates equipment) and I have had LESS PAIN! HALLE-FREKAIN'-LUJAH!

Because I have private health cover that pays for some of it, the sessions are costing me less than $30. I will keep going back in the hope that the pain reduction continues and that it stops my hip separating like it did when I was preggers with Tricky so I don't have to have my ass taped again.

Have you tried pilates for an injury or pain condition? Did you cry like me?

The blog post to break the blog break

OHAI! Fancy seeing you here! Long time no see. Or write. Or read. Whatever.

It has been a while, indeed. I gave myself a lovely bloggy break over Christmas and New Year and if I'm completely honest I Loved the time off. See that? Capital L, Loved. I adore blogging but I also really enjoyed living in the moment without the constant ticking over of my brain thinking "I could totally blog the crap outta this". It was all Zen and shit.

But how exactly does one come back from an extended blog break? And yes, I consider a month extended because the blogosphere moves so damn quick if you blink you've missed 300,000 posts and your Google Reader is bursting at the seams.

There are just so many strings of stories running through my head from the last month that they're all jumbling up together and looking like a failed Cat's Cradle that is in dire need of being cut off your fingers because they're starting to turn purple.

Maybe I should tell you about the pest inspector man who came and out of nowhere started banging on about how religious people were ruining the world and how I should really start hitting Tricks if I wanted him to grow up right? What, right like you, pal? Errmmm no.

Or maybe I should mention that on Boxing Day we went out to Map Guy's Aunty and Uncle's farm and we all got to have a go in a gigantic bloody harvester? I could even tell you how we actually had to jump-start it from the Land Cruiser first because it had a flat battery and how I never in my wildest dreams ever imagined jump starting a machine that could have cut us all up so fast it would put Dexter to shame.

But that just won't do. Even a giant mofo harvester is not big enough to break a blog break.

So instead, I'll cut to the chase and mention that I've been really sick. I've been spending a lot of time in bed over the last month and even more time with my head hung over a toilet bowl calling for Ruth. Because I'm in The John Hurt Way again.

Yep, my friends, that is how you come back from a blog break with a bang.

Spawn2.0 is currently taking up prime uterine real estate at this very moment and causing this Mama to be sucking back on Maxolon like they're orange flavoured Tic Tacs. Sadly they've done almost nothing for me and I spend most of my days wallowing in self pity and complaining to Map Guy that it is cruel and unusual punishment to be starving hungry and aversive to food all at the same time all the while clutching my spew bucket. Classy.

Cletus the Fetus has already managed to give us a scare with a suspected ectopic, on my bloody birthday no less (yeah remember that appendix thing on Facebook? Yeah, that was a fabulous night). On a side note, you go straight to the front of the triage list and personally escorted to a private nook of the emergency room and filled with tubes if you rock up preggers with a pain in your side, a previous ectopic on your file and only one fallopian tube.

We were going to wait until the obligatory 12/13 weeks but I am terrible at keeping my own secrets (tell me yours and I'll take 'em to the grave, but mine? BLABBERMOUTH!). It turns out Map Guy is terrible at keeping secrets too, because at work when he announced it on Friday half the office knew already after he'd blurted it out after a few drinks at the office Christmas party.

It truly has been the worst kept secret. Half the Perth Blogging scene had a suspicion when I wasn't drinking at the W.O.M.B.A.T. Chrissie shin dig because hello, free drinks. I had to tell my work early on because it's caused my chronic pain condition to flare uncontrollably and I'm unable to stand up for a whole shift any more without the need for major drugs and a weeklong stay in bed.

But despite my body not doing the whole hormone thing too well, I'm happy. And when Tricks rubs my belly and leans in to kiss the baby I'm deliriously happy. He says it's a boy and it's name should be Spotty Dog or Tractor.

So it does appear that 2013 will be a big year. I can't wait and I'm shit scared at the same time.

But what I want to know, what I've always wanted to know, is WHERE'S MY FUCKING GLOW?