Dangers of Doing New Things

Content warning : Just a massive whinge including disgusting descriptions of my bum infection. Enjoy.

My recent blogs have been pretty emotionally neutral lately so I think I can justify a massive ranty moan.

Coming out of lockdown and deciding to try new things and be an “interesting” person has absolutely fucked me over.

Sleep deprived, life exhausted mothers of toddlers do not get to be interesting people who do fun new things. Those who try it get a bum infection the size of a golf ball that leaks blood and pus for three weeks straight (and I do NOT exaggerate).

It was all going so well a month or two ago, pole dancing and mountain hikes and art galleries. Steak for breakfast. I think a little potter around a museum followed by a coffee is not to blame.

Running is evil

During the long boring lockdown at the start of this year I tried couch to 5k. It is hard to find time to go running but squeezing it into lunch breaks and child free Sundays the odd time was relatively satisfying. However only a few runs in I got a cold that lasted on and off for six weeks. Not even a proper, time off work justifying cold. Just a feel crap whilst going about everyday life cold.

Pole dancing is the worst

Like a fool I decided cardio isn’t for me but pole dancing would be fun… as exercise that is fun doesn’t count as exercise and therefore cannot hurt you.

Wrong.

Pole dancers are insane muscle machines. And whilst my left arm can prop a chunky toddler up for a while, my body is otherwise a flimsy, exercise hating squish. I felt so wobbly and nauseous after the sessions and then the following days walking like I had an embarrassing bum problem. I then had a genuine embarrassing bum problem.

It started with a sore little red spot which I didn’t think much of one Saturday morning. Sunday morning I was getting sore and whiney. Monday and Tuesday I was sitting wonky and fighting the urge not to compain the office due to the piss taking that would follow.

All the time it was getting bigger and redder and more swollen. When I called the doctor on Tuesday they wanted a bum selfie so I had to balance my phone on the windowsill in the shower room and take the most unflattering photo of my life.

Trying to get back to my desk before anyone questioned what I was doing I forgot to clear my screen…so my colleagues may potentially have seen it. No one assumes you have a huge swollen growth on your bum cheek (and the GP wants a photo), so it looked like I was sending sexy photos with absolutely no awareness of what is in fact sexy.

The GP gave me a double dose of antibiotics with did nothing to reduce the swelling and by Wednesday I had diarrhoea and thrush to add on to the fact I could no longer sit down. So Thursday and Friday were spent lying on my side in bed, doing a single hand type on a laptop, while a hot compress balanced on my ever growing swollen bum cheek.

The swelling was so big and sore all I could do was waddle around the house in baggy jogging bottoms, swearing all the way. I assumed it was a boil, which can get really painful.

By Saturday I woke up feeling hot and sweaty and dizzy, my daily bum inspection showed that it wasn’t in fact one boil but a collection of four boils clustered together and the whole thing looked ready to burst. So I almost fainted. The pain was ridiculous, bearable lying on my side but walking around was comparable to childbirth. But I didn’t have to entertain and feed a toddler for the day during childbirth. So I called for reinforcements and my mum came over and I resumed lying on my side.

Finally in the morning there was a boil explosion and the pain relieved significantly. However there was a steady stream of blood for hours.

I initially thought I would wait it out, and frankly thought the sight of it would make me pass out if I moved anyway. After two hours diarrhoea joined the game so I waddled to the bathroom with a handful of kitchen towel to catch the blood. In the few seconds spent washing my hands when my bum was free it looked like someone had slashed a vein in my bathroom.

After most of a day spent waiting for my bum cheek to drain I gave up and put a dressing on but the story didn’t end there and I had three long, long weeks of changing dressings regularly as so much blood kept on draining out. Altogether I had about three weeks where I couldn’t sit down easily and only managed the two minute drive to nursery by balancing all my weight on my one healthy bum cheek.

So after three weeks of not sitting down, two weeks on antibiotics, three packs of Caneston duo and an unquantifiable amount of time on the toilet I finally had a healed wound.

Pole dancing doesn’t hate me, my body does

Before I give pole dancing a bad press, my tale of woe was not a result of rubbing my bare bum on a dirty pole. It was (and I should have learnt my lesson from attempting to learn to run) my body telling me to sit down and chill the fuck out.

Boils and carbuncles come from bacteria that lives on the skin naturally somehow getting into the skin, potentially from a small nick, ingrain hair or spot. If your immune system is struggling anyway it can turn into an infection, which is common for people with HIV or diabetes. And apparently exhausted mothers.

I’d like to say that this is almost an old memory but my ‘nurse’ Emily is constantly asking me ‘if my poorly bottom is feeling better’ which is one of the more embarrassing things a child can announce on public. So the fun just keeps coming.

And whilst I have had all the joys of being able to sit on my bum for the last month I’m now in a cycle of getting a nasty cold, feeling ropey and spending a weekend in bed, getting to the point of being nearly a well human and then getting ill again.

I can’t even find anyone to blame my most recent cold on, I’m just a mucusy, pissed off, barely functional zombie nowadays.

Excluding a trip to the cinema, every Sunday planned out for ‘fun new things’ has been spent in bed or on the sofa trying to pull together enough energy to survive the coming week.

So all in all I’m feeling a bit fed up and pessimistic about there ever being a time when my body will approve of working full time, with a big commute, managing a toddler alone and getting horribly interrupted sleep.

The good news is that my default mentality would be to wallow in self pity thinking poor me, poor single mother me, no one doing regular overnights so I can sleep, my life is so unfair. But I’m so bloody tired I just can’t be bothered with self pity anymore.

I just mindlessly scroll tik tok or find a ridiculous dating show on Netflix and then watch the more ridiculous reunion of the ridiculous dating show.

So becoming a functioning zombie with poor taste is a…kind of silver lining. Two years ago I was doing a lot of angry crying and getting jealous of 90% of the people on social media so I’m going to take functional zombie as progress.