Crazy Days

I’ve been thinking of various ways to describe a crazy person and my favourite by far is the beautifully British,

mad as a box of frogs.

Pretty descriptive of my past few days.  I’m only writing today because I seem to have found myself in a period of calm.  I’m glad that I have an iota of self-knowledge – mostly that worrying about anything makes that thing and everything else a hundred times worse.  If I don’t check that anxiety, I head right into mad frog box mode.

In saner times I assume that aches, pains and other weird symptoms are either hormonal or stress related – or both- and to be ignored till they go away, which they almost always do.  But on box of frog days, all aches, pains and weird symptoms are something to be noted, analysed for intensity and, much worse, Googled!  Oh dear.

So for today,  Google is banished and I am assuming that the new twinges and pangs are related to this most hormonal of weeks.

Meanwhile, the husband has declared it my birthday because the real one rolls around while I’m out of the country. The fake birthday comes complete with friends over for a special dinner and the cake of my choice – which is, of course, the only cake that the husband knows how to bake.  Luckily it’s the one I really want. I’m also not allowed to clean the house  – a treat that I frequently bestow on myself anyway, but I appreciate the sentiment.

Tomorrow I will give the specialist one last call before I fly away just to see if he’s made his mind up yet.  The more I talk to people about my current experience, the more I realise I’m just very unlucky with this particular doctor.