collateral damage/ october blues

Shivery and cold, from the change in weather, from the fact that I'm fast running out of Tramadol, from my own defences being down.

October blues set in good and proper.

This time last year Interstitial Cystitis had not yet struck but I was ill, ill, ill; just out of hospital with an inflamed stomach and bowel, on so many painkillers that much of the month of last October is permanently erased from my memory, too ill to look after my poor confused children who were staying at my parents. Sleezeball 'dumped' me, like dropping me off a high building, out of a high window, and not even bothering to stick around to watch the splattered mess he left behind.

November was worse - freezing in my parents' huge house, unable to do even the smallest things, and then just when 'better' started to come - I could eat, I started to gain weight, my stomach started to heal- the problem spread to my bladder. And what I thought was a minor secondary problem has turned into a major life challenge; a horrendous chronic illness which is easily the hardest thing I've ever gone through.

So today we go to the hospital, to the Big Cheese. I am full of hope that the answer will be yes, I can have the Elmiron, it might make me better; I am full of anxiety that the answer will be no. But at least there will be an answer.

I take another good friend with me, she's practical and tough and strong and has always had my back, so if I fall apart she'll be good to have there, but I don't fall apart, because THERE IS NO ANSWER. They haven't even got the bloody question of whether I can take Elmiron to the Health Trust yet.

It took the pharmacy 6 weeks just to 'cost' it. (something I could do on the internet in an hour no doubt). Good old NHS. And meanwhile he says please come back in two months. I will let you know if I hear anything sooner. No other suggestions. No other ideas.

In delayed shock we went into town to have a cuppa and buy some herbs; and we walked straight past Mr Sleezeball in the street. This is the first time this has happened to me, though of course I've seen his car around - we don't live in the biggest of cities and his car is old and stands out, like him.

And there he was: large as life, vital, striding along the road. Not a care in the world. Breathing in the sweet autumn air. Looking forward to his lunch, no doubt; gazing at the beautiful women. Living his life, having stolen mine. If he'd raped me, he'd be in prison; but for stealing my health and vitality, he walks free. If he saw me, he didn't let on. If he saw me, I hope he felt guilty. But somehow I know he feels nothing at all.

I am just a minor insignificance in his past; just another woman he's fucked and fucked over.

I am just collateral damage.

And that's exactly how I feel: like something dropped from a great height and left to die, and yet somehow expected to get up and drag myself through the days and - oh yes - raise two children.

I cried for two hours this afternoon. I don't feel any better. Tonight I'm in paralysing pain, on the toilet every fifteen minutes, wondering how I will get through this and then tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeping in this petty pace...............

Because even if life's just a walking shadow, when you have two little children there is no exit button.