Festive Fasting

31st October 2012 Haloween

Today we measure our meals in calories - I look up the value of eggs and tomatoes and fresh haddock and my husband writes it down. He can have 600 and I can have 500. He wants to know how many in jam and mayonnaise. I want to know how many in avocado and olive oil. In the end our fasting day feels quite festive. Apart from a dip this afternoon when I did have a tiny lick of chocolate brownie mixture ( must make a note not to bake on a fasting day) I don’t feel hungry. 

We start with a poached egg on Ryvita crispbread - it’s dry without the butter. Lunch is a quarter of an avocado, a tablespoon of pumpkin seeds - lettuce tomato celery and cucumber  with a dribble of balsamic vinegar. I miss the olive oil in the dressing. Supper is a small piece of smoked haddock,  steamed curly kale and red pepper - saved from being dull by a mega minimal calorie dressing of  chopped parlsely, lemon juice, capers, crushed garlic and roasted cumin. And a cup of tea.

Notice I miss the fat and the oil and the nuts and tahini rather than sugar and fruit and chocolate but knowing I can have them tomorrow makes it easy. .... and I think I’m not as tired as I usually am at this time of night.

Had inspiration in the night about the pussy cat getting wet while he drinks from the tap - put a towel in the bath, the edge tucked into a bin liner where the water drips...It works - he even curled up on the towel and fell asleep and his paws stayed dry. He’s still not using the litter tray properly though - lots of pee on the floor ......

It Could Be Worse

30th October 2012 

A quietly drunk young woman in long dirty clothes walks into the cafe in Totnes  where I’m having lunch - undercooked, underseasoned vegetable curry - with a dear friend.The cafe is crowded - we have an empty seat at our table. She wanders up to us but doesn’t sit down.  All through our meal I’m aware of her at a table near the counter. She orders food, takes off her coat, she’s wearing two negligees, she eats a little and orders more food, she pays for it, she keeps getting up and looking at the cutlery, she staggers a bit, she comes to our table and looks at me, doesn’t say anything. I look away. I could smile at her but I don’t.

This afternoon I make gingerbread. I hole up in the kitchen with the pussy cat. I’m struggling to look after him now.  Because he will pee anywhere in the house we keep him restricted to the kitchen and utility room which have become his domain with his food and bed and litter tray all within staggering distance. He walks very slowly, wobbly, arthritic.  He can go out in the garden but he doesn’t seem to want to. 

What he does want to do is to drink out of the running bath tap. This involves a long slow climb for him up the stairs, I lift him into the bath where he sits, sometime licking at the dripping water but mostly just sitting in it - his fur getting wetter and wetter. You either have to stay with him or close the door so that he doesn’t go and pee on a carpet somewhere - which he did today in the pink room. If you lift him out too soon, sodden feet and bottom, he sits at the kitchen door and squeaks to go back up.

Then all his bedding gets damp so you have to put the heating on to dry it off on the radiators. If I don’t let him drink from the tap I’m afraid he’ll get dehydrated. And every so often you have to sweep up the grey re-cycled cat litter pellets which he trails across the floor, and scoop the poo out, and clean the tray because he always miss fires and it ends up half inside and half outside....and you have to spray away the smell or burn joss sticks to mask it....

And all I want to do is to read gingerbread recipes in peace.

Tonight I set up a convector heater by his bed and leave it on low  - I’m afraid he’ll get cold and his feet and legs never get completely dry.....

I know it could be a thousand times worse though - imagine if he was a sick and disabled child or parent or husband.....

Wading Through Treacle

29th October 2012 Monday

Hard to write tonight  - because although the clock says it’s 10 my body knows it’s 11 and I’ve been running out of steam since 4  - wading through the afternoon like a zombie in treacle.... I think my SAD winter self has crept up on me .....my energy slowly draining away with the fading of the light.... 

Lovely to feel the stretch in my tight calf muscles in our yoga class this morning.....even better when we lie back on our mats at the end and it’s all over....at least I don't start snoring like I did last time.....

 In my coaching session feel sad for the loss of my fiesty younger self who used to play with the boys next door, always outside in the hot garden, who played netball and swam in galas, who wanted to win....think something happened to her when my brother was sent away to school in England.....can’t remember the last time I felt fiesty.....

My husband comes back from the allotment with a monster of a parsnip and I add it - or some of it - to a golden rooty vegetable stew I’m making with carrots, jerusalem artichokes and a white skinned squash spiked up with ginger and garlic....

I can hardly keep my eyes open for Nigella doing her Italian thing on telly including a not at all Italian recipe for chocolate pasta in a butterscotch sauce with toasted pecans, which I do perk up for....

And as I write this ordinariness of my day I try and imagine what it must be like to be in New York  tonight withe Hurricane Sandy hurtling through the streets.....

Only Me In The Way

28th October 2012

Tired and happy.....tired because my body clock is all over the place with the loss/gain of an hour in a different place......happy because I spent the day in the company of dear friends celebrating my birthday again with a table of glorious homemade food, wine and sweet gifts, loving words in cards, a beautiful lemon candle- lit cake, silly games, talking and laughing. Being cherished.

So, much later when it’s nearly dark and we open the front door and the smell of pussy cat poo assaults us like a bad wind, I won’t let it spoil my day......feel I can cope with anything when I remember how much goodness I have in my life - always there in easy reach with only me in the way thinking I have to do something to deserve it..... 

Scrubbing The Bedstead

27th October 2012 Saturday

Our old pine bedstead looks very grubby against the newly painted sea and sky walls of our bedroom. I start scrubbing it with lemon scented cream cleaner and a green scratchie. I hope I’ve done this before otherwise I’m removing 26 years worth of stuck on dirt. I keep remembering my father and the morning I spent with him years ago cleaning the coiled iron springs in the base of their bed. I was in awe of his patience and thoroughness. I was ready to give up within 5 minutes - so much dust, so hard to get at...

The sun filters in through the bamboo blinds, my back hurts, I abandon my scrubbing and curl up on the carpet in slatted sunlight and cry for my parents  - for the people they were and for the person I’m not - for feeling small and for wanting to give up - for wanting them to still be here - to tell me what to do...

Then I hear my mother’s voice saying, 

Oh jigger this....

and  I haul myself up and scour the top of my bedside cabinet imagining the cup of hot chocolate I’m going to reward myself with afterwards......because I think that’s what my father would do.

Cold And Calories

26th October 2012 Friday

My neighbour rings the front door bell. She is returning a glass vase which I’d forgotten I’d lent her. I stand on the doorstep and she stands outside, the lavender bush floating its scent between us. It’s nearly dark, if you squeezed the air it would drip a stream of rain drops. We talk on and on and I don’t know why I don’t ask her in. When she goes I have to  boil a kettle and fill a hot water bottle to warm my blue and white hands.

This new cold is like an alarming visitor - you know it’s coming but are never quite ready for it. We had the bedroom decorated when we were in France - all those years of gold and yellow transformed into pale Fern Frosts - but still no curtains so it’s like sleeping in a echoey draughty fridge. I notice how I close down and somehow feel smaller when I’m trying to keep warm as if I’m giving the temperature some power over me - like fighting the air with a sword. Like being a victim.

In Sainsbury’s today I start looking at the food labels for calorie values. Next week we are planning a regime of includng two days of very low calorie eating -  500 for me and 600 for my husband and eating normally the rest of the time - fasting and feasting. We have been inspired by some of our friends who have had amazing results. 

Tonight as I throw away the 200g packet of salted cashews my husband has been snacking on I ask him to guess how many calories they have. A quarter of the packet is 300 calories - half his allowance for a whole day. He says he's getting the message.

I can see how much fun I’m going to have making courgettes and cucumbers and tomatoes taste delicious without their sprinkling of salted cashew nuts or drizzles of olive oil, although it’s hard to believe a clove of garlic is 60 calories. Which is probably why I gave up this kind of counting years ago.....

The Judge and the Doctor

25th October 2012 Thursday

The Judge - neat white hair -  and the Doctor - kind lined face -   sit behind a big desk raised on a dias. We four sit in a row of chairs in front of them - more desks and a lake of space between us. The clerk sits with his computer to our left. The room is fed with light from generous windows. My husband asks for the air conditioning - cold, noisy -  above his head to be turned off. The atmosphere is sober, not smiley. I thought I would but I don’t feel intimidated because my husband and I are flanked by our two dear friends -  strong as angel wings beside us.

The judge asks my husband questions like,

If the phone rings would you answer it?

Yes, but I may not know who is speaking, or understand what they say.

If your wife was out and the plumber was coming would you be able to....

What’s a plumber?

The judge asks me,

Would your husband be able tell someone that the house was on fire.

Yes but he wouldn’t be able to say, “Get the fire extinguisher”.

When the judge says he can’t understand how my husband can still drive which is a complex and  potentially dangerous activity our friend who is representing us and has already made wonderful interventions and should be a lawyer, steps in and explains about how semantic dementia doesn’t affect motor ability. The Doctor on the dias nods his head - he has already told the judge that it is a rare condition - I'm sure he's on our side.

In the end - less than an hour - but it feels like much more - we win. Which means the appeal is allowed and my husband is entitled to Employment and Support Allowance and should have been put in the Support group in the first place which means he could continue to get a higher level of benefit.  Even the Judge smiles when he has to translate the result for my husband who looks confused. 

We celebrate with coffe and pannini and luscious cakes at Carluccios.

Later at home we read the decision letter and in the notes at the end it says that the Tribunal has no powers to enforce its decisions and that the DWP can suspend payment of any benefit awarded to you if they appeal againt the Tribunal’s decision.

Well there you go....