Saturday 5 November 2011

ME/CFS-Induced Crashes

Those of us with ME/CFS often have difficulty explaining our symptoms to others.

I frequently suffer from what I call "crashes". For me, a crash typically lasts for about four hours, and involve me lying in bed with the duvet over my head, my blindfold on, my earplugs in, the curtains shut, and the door shut, whilst either unconscious (distinct from sleeping) or in a semi-conscious stupor, barely able to speak or move.

So far, so good, you may say. But how to explain that actual feeling that I get whilst lying there? So I've devised a way of helping our loved ones experience that feeling, in five easy steps.


ME/CFS-Induced Crash Simulation Guide

Step 1


Make a cut in the left side of the body and remove the liver, lungs, stomach and intestines.


Step 2



Wash these internal organs, and pack them in natron, to dry them out. If you're out of natron, rock salt is an acceptable substitute.



Step 3



Using a lon
g hook, smash the brain and pull it out through the nose. This can be discarded, since it will no longer be required.





Step 4



Stuff and cover the body with natron and set it aside, to dry out. Reserve all of the fluids and rags for later.


Step 5



Once thoroughly dried-out, remove all natron from the body. Wrap the dehydrated internal organs in linen, and return them to the body. Stuff the body with dry materials, such as sawdust, leaves and linen, so that it looks lifelike.

And you're done! That wasn't so bad, was it? Your loved one is now ready to experience an ME/CFS crash.



This procedure is recommended for friends, relatives, or even perfect strangers. Anyone, really, who regards you with disdain as you try to explain what it's like.

Plans are afoot to experiment on some Atos examiners, since it has been suggested that they, too, may benefit.

Thursday 3 November 2011

Christmas Checklist

Having ME, many of us have memory problems. So here's a checklist for Christmas Day, to help you get through it. Many of the items will be par for the course, so you can simply tick them off once you've done them. Other items can be treated as reminders. Others still, as suggestions.

You'll soon notice that it's based on a fairly typical, traditional, British, vaguely Christian, family Christmas. But there should still be something in there for everyone, even if your own circumstances on the Day are very different.

And if you're on your own for Christmas Day, maybe you could come on the HFwME Facebook group, if you are able, for a bit of human contact.

Essential Christmas Day Checklist
  • Give someone the gift of socks
  • Repeatedly tell the kids to open the card before the present
  • Feign gratitude for a present you don't like
  • Gorge more roast potatoes than should be humanly possible
  • Consume numerous Brussels sprouts
  • Repeatedly tell the kids to actually read the card
  • Pass wind in a strategic location, thus ensuring someone else gets the blame
  • Take a tactical nap, eg to avoid washing-up
  • Eat seconds of Christmas pudding, even though you already feel bloated
  • Repeatedly tell the kids not to be so ungrateful, and that some children don't even get presents
  • Ask yourself why you're having turkey, when nobody particularly likes it
  • Insist everyone eats breakfast before anyone is allowed to open a present
  • Pledge to buy less presents next year, just like you did last year
  • Vow to go out for Christmas lunch next year, in the full knowledge that you'll never do it
  • Drink some sherry, even though you don't like it
  • Repeatedly tell the kids that Father Christmas won't give them any presents at all next year if they don't stop being so ungrateful
  • Wonder why, every year, you buy brandy butter and rum sauce, even though nobody ever eats it
  • Have a discussion about the merits of goose fat versus beef dripping
  • Make some mulled wine, and watch people grimace as they politely drink it
  • Give someone the gift of handkerchiefs, even though you know, and they know, they'll never use them
  • Complain about how Christmas has become so materialistic
  • Suggest a game of charades, as though, somehow, you're living in the 19th century in a manor house
  • Remark on how old the Queen looks, and isn't it time she stepped-down
  • Give commentary on how the excesses of the day are likely to affect your bowel movements
  • Make some eggnog, before remembering that it has the consistency of snot
  • Watch the Corrie Christmas Special, whilst questioning how they can all afford to be in the Rovers the whole time
  • Watch the Eastenders Christmas Special, whilst criticising the storyline for being morose
  • Initiate a sing-along
  • Drink some Baileys after Christmas lunch, even though you already feel sick
  • Make a secret stash of your favourite Quality Streets / Roses / Heroes / Celebrations, before all the good ones are gone
  • Have an argument about something that you've kept bottled-up since just after last Christmas
  • Question why Cadbury even bother putting Fingers of Fudge in tins of Heroes
  • Play some dreadful new board game with the kids, made worse by them having an insufficient attention span to listen to the rules
  • Lament the loss of the Only Fools & Horses Christmas Specials
  • Tell the kids that Christmas isn't just about presents
  • Ask why on Earth they substituted Galaxy Truffles for Twix
  • Use the phrase "it's all about giving, not receiving" at every conceivable opportunity, whilst not believing it for a minute
  • Decry the well-meaning but sadly-misguided friend who adopted a donkey on your behalf
  • Realise, once again, why it is that you only see those relatives at Christmas
  • Ask why they never put any decent films on any more
  • Spend ages wrapping streaky bacon round cocktail sausages
  • Realise that Delia's surname seems to have been dropped, and vow to doggedly reinstate it, every time you refer to her, because what makes her think she's like Cher or Madonna?
  • Curse the smug TV chefs for making you feel so inadequate, especially Delia (Smith)
  • Contemplate the names of other TV chefs, and whether they too are known by forename alone, eventually concluding that it's only the very smuggest who are referred to as would-be pop stars
  • Conclude that, actually, all TV chefs are smug, except perhaps Keith Floyd, but he's dead
  • Resist the urge to batter your mother
  • Be told by the kids that Christmas is, in fact, just about presents, and realise they're right
  • Succumb to the urge to batter your mother-in-law
  • Go to bed feeling thoroughly exhausted, thoroughly sick, and thoroughly cheesed-off
Okay, so it may have been somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but I hope it gave you a laugh. Merry Christmas!