Day 353-357: My Body Has Apparently Subscribed To The Premium Chaos Package

You know when people say, “Things come in threes”?

Cute.

My body clearly misunderstood the assignment and went for the unlimited subscription.

At this point I don’t wake up in the morning…

I log in.

Every day starts with me wondering which part of my body has submitted a complaint overnight.

Heart?

Blood pressure?

Brain?

Shoulder?

Eyes?

Energy?

Let’s spin the Wheel of Medical Misfortune and find out!

Honestly, if my autonomic nervous system worked in an office, HR would’ve marched it out carrying a cardboard box months ago.

For anyone who’s new here (welcome… and sorry 😂), I have PoTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome) and Orthostatic Hypotension - both forms of dysautonomia.

Dysautonomia basically means the automatic part of your body - he bit that’s supposed to quietly run everything in the background like a competent IT department - has completely lost the plot.

Heart rate?

Random.

Blood pressure?

Optional.

Temperature regulation?

Absolutely not.

Digestion?

We’ll see.

Sweating?

Sometimes.

Circulation?

LOL.

It turns out your body relies on this stuff more than you’d think.

Who knew?

So every time I stand up, my nervous system behaves as though I’ve just announced I’m climbing Mount Everest carrying a wardrobe.

Blood pressure plummets.

Heart rate takes off.

Vision starts buffering.

Brain disconnects from the Wi-Fi.

Legs forget their job description.

It’s honestly exhausting being this dramatic.

The worst bit isn’t even the racing heart anymore.

It’s everything else.

The chronic fatigue that feels like someone has replaced your blood with wet concrete.

The crushing exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix.

The head pressure.

The dizziness.

The brain fog.

The random nausea.

The shaking.

The heavy legs.

The feeling that gravity has quietly been turned up by about 400%.

The double vision that suddenly appears because apparently one world isn’t confusing enough.

And there have genuinely been days where I haven’t been able to get out of bed.

Not because I didn’t want to.

Because my body simply refused to participate.

It’s a strange feeling wanting to get up… and your nervous system replying…

“Nah.”

Then there are the crashes.

Nobody prepares you for the crashes.

Especially the delayed ones.

You think you’ve had a brilliant day.

You went shopping.

Had a shower.

Answered emails.

Loaded the dishwasher.

Maybe even watered a plant.

You start feeling quite smug.

Then…

Twenty-four hours later…

PoTS sends you an invoice.

Dear Customer,

Thank you for using your body yesterday.

Unfortunately you exceeded your monthly standing allowance.

Your account has now been suspended.

Kind regards,

Your Nervous System.

Honestly… one step forward, three steps backwards.

Every.

Single.

Time.

I’ve also worked out my biggest enemies.

Heat.

Humidity.

Stress.

Basically… summer itself.

Everyone else is posting photos drinking Aperol Spritz in beer gardens.

Meanwhile I’m sitting in front of a fan drinking electrolytes like they’re vintage champagne and wondering whether standing up is worth the risk.

The hotter it gets…

The worse everything becomes.

My blood pressure disappears.

My heart starts remixing drum & bass.

My energy packs a suitcase and leaves.

I’ve barely been able to go into the office because of the weather.

Imagine telling your younger self…

“I can’t go to work because it’s sunny.”

You’d laugh.

Now it’s a genuine occupational hazard.

And here’s something nobody really tells you about PoTS and Orthostatic Hypotension.

You start grieving tiny things.

Standing to cook.

Having a hot shower.

Queueing.

Walking around shops.

Going out spontaneously.

Being able to trust your own body.

Everything suddenly needs planning.

Where can I sit?

Is there air conditioning?

How far is the walk?

Will there be stairs?

Have I got enough water?

Salt tablets?

Electrolytes?

Compression socks?

Portable fan?

Basically I now prepare for Tesco like I’m attempting Everest Base Camp.

Meanwhile…

The Cat Podcasts are still being recorded daily.

Honestly, they’ve become less of a podcast and more of a full-scale broadcasting corporation.

There’s now breaking news…

Exclusive interviews…

Panel discussions…

Emergency bulletins…

Public complaints…

And approximately seventeen hours of live screaming because someone walked past the window.

Molly is the investigative journalist.

Ruby is clearly the dramatic weather presenter.

Together they provide wall-to-wall coverage of absolutely nothing.

Every pigeon gets analysed.

Every fly becomes national news.

Every squirrel deserves a live commentary.

And if one of them meows…

The other immediately joins in because apparently they’re contractually obliged to co-host.

Bless them though.

They’re absolutely melting.

British Shorthairs and British summers are not compatible.

Poor little fluffy potatoes.

My boyfriend has now started his bi-weekly house music show on FreshSoundz Radio.

While my heart keeps dropping questionable blood pressure remixes…

He’s dropping proper house music every other Wednesday.

One of us is mixing tracks.

The other nearly faints trying to put knickers on.

Life is all about balance.

People also keep asking me about Mounjaro.

The honest answer?

It’s expensive.

Like… “I hope this injection also pays my mortgage” expensive.

But I genuinely don’t regret it.

It completely changed my relationship with food and helped me lose over two stone.

Worth every penny.

Work…

Let’s just leave that there before HR starts sweating.

I also bought one of those AI Magic Mirrors.

You know…

The clever fitness mirrors that analyse your posture, coach your workouts and tell you how amazing you’re doing.

Mine currently serves as a very expensive full-length mirror reminding me I can’t lift my left arm.

Money well spent.

Hopefully that’ll change.

Because the MRI results are finally back.

And the verdict?

Severe acute adhesive capsulitis.

Otherwise known as frozen shoulder.

Which sounds adorable.

Like Elsa gave me a cuddle.

In reality…

It’s one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced.

The MRI showed severe inflammation throughout the shoulder joint and capsule.

Everything hurts.

Sleeping hurts.

Getting dressed hurts.

Taking a bra off should qualify for hazard pay.

Washing my hair feels like CrossFit.

Reaching for a mug?

Absolutely not.

Putting on deodorant?

Depends whether I fancy crying today.

I genuinely think the constant pain and lack of sleep are making my PoTS even worse.

When you’re awake half the night because every tiny movement feels like someone’s attacking your shoulder with a cheese grater, your body never gets a chance to recover.

The really frustrating part is that severe adhesive capsulitis doesn’t just magically get better overnight. Without treatment it can continue to become more painful and stiffer, making even the simplest things impossible. I already can’t sleep properly, get dressed without swearing, or lift my arm, so I’m really hoping tomorrow is the beginning of turning this around.

Years ago, the treatment was to put patients under a general anaesthetic and literally force the shoulder capsule to move.

Thankfully we’ve progressed slightly.

Tomorrow I’m having a hydrodilatation.

They inject local anaesthetic, corticosteroid and a load of sterile saline into the joint to stretch the tight capsule from the inside.

The hope is it’ll reduce the inflammation, break up the stiffness and finally let me start getting my shoulder - and hopefully my life - back.

I can’t drive afterwards for about twelve hours.

So my boyfriend is coming with me.

He’s going to hold my hand.

And possibly stop me making a dramatic escape through the fire exit.

Am I absolutely shitting myself?

Without question.

Do I desperately hope this works?

More than I can explain.

Because I’m so tired.

Not just tired…

Tired.

The kind of tired that reaches your bones.

The kind where getting dressed feels like you’ve completed a marathon before breakfast.

So wish me luck.

By the time you’re reading this, hopefully I’ve survived.

Hopefully my shoulder hasn’t declared war.

Hopefully I haven’t invented seventeen new swear words.

Oh… and because apparently I enjoy keeping life interesting…

I jumped back onto 7.5 mg of Mounjaro today and did my jab.

Perfect timing, right?

A shoulder procedure and increasing my Mounjaro dose.

What could possibly go wrong?

So over the next few days I’m fully expecting the return of my old friends…

No appetite.

Random nausea.

The occasional “why does even the thought of food offend me?” feeling.

I have a feeling that by the time my shoulder starts settling down, the Mounjaro side effects will be doing the opposite.

Honestly, if anyone needs me, I’ll be drinking electrolytes by the gallon, cuddling two overheated British Shorthairs, cheering my boyfriend on during his bi-weekly house music radio shows, trying to convince my shoulder to cooperate… and wondering what ridiculous plot twist my body has planned for me next...

With Love,

JABatha Christie