me, my hip and i

I lay in bed this morning and thought up the title for this entry, no doubt based on some witty observations and wry comments about the ironic state of affairs in my life right now. Of course I have no idea now what on earth I was thinking was so ironic, but there you go, I guess.

So, where are we up to? Well, the diet thing is going surprisingly well. I have treated myself to some expensive 80% cocoa chocolate and therefore feel slightly deprived than I di, and I haven’t drunk any alcohol for exactly two weeks now. That in itself is a bit of a milestone, bearing in mind my fondness for the stuff and my genetic heritage and so forth. It’s strange, when you have an ongoing physical problem – it doesn’t matter whether it’s a headache or a hangover or dysentery or whatever – but you suddenly find your focus narrows acutely and you become very much in tune with your body and its actions and reactions. I can distinguish many different types of pain now, in much the same way, I imagine, that the Eskimos allegedly distinguish between thirty three different types of snow. Today I’m mostly having shin splint pain. The hip itself is quite mobile. In fact the hip itself has been good for a few days now. I managed a shopping trip round town yesterday where I was convinced I was walking ‘normally’ (ie in such a manner that no-one behind me would confuse me with someone from the Ministry of Funny Walks). It was only after nearly two hours that I started to ache.

But yes, the diet is mostly OK. I also seem to have lost about half a stone, which apart from being a small style and fashion victory also means that’s seven pounds less weight my joints are having to carry. I’m still taking the vast array of supplements; I do have small internal battles with myself about the fact that I’m ostensibly a vegetarian and yet I’m taking a variety of fish-based products but at the moment my mobility and my health has to take precedence. We have been eating lots of quinoa and beans and seeds, and I feel good.

Also, I discovered Arthritis Care and have volunteered my services for their magazine and to talk to the press and do live Tv interviews if anything vaguley arthritis-related makes the headlines. I will be the posterchild for the mobility-deficient. Kerry, my housemate, has given me a natty walking stick that she found in the lost property at her shop, so I am teaching myself not only to wlak elegantly with this but also to strike natty poses which might look good if they decide to stick me in Vogue or something.

Right. I am being harassed by children with hairballs now, so alas I must sign off. Cashew roast for tea. Yum.