Powering Down

Save for a few hours on the 7th of March when my gorgeous friend Leah was marrying her handsome prince Andrew at Woolwich Town Hall I had not taken a day off in 2013. And I have been ready and willing, just unable with a hectic work schedule. 

First, about the married couple--I kid you not, the bride and groom are lovely in more ways than one . . . she is one of my dearest friends in England and hails from America. We were brought together by a mutual friend who upon finding out I was moving to London sent me a note to say that Leah wasn't "icky" and he thought we'd be well suited to each other--and Paul was right. (And I am ever grateful for his intervention.) Leah is warm, generous, naturally beautiful, smart and grounded and thoughtful. She has a knack for remembering names I mention once in conversation, and always asks after my family. Her husband is funny, dashing, gregarious and most important, deeply caring to her. I love the way Andrew looks at Leah. They glow in each other's presence, and you sense their intimacy in a way that is warm and reassuring that love is splendid.

Andrew, Leah, Leah's mum Susan

Where was I? Yes, the wedding, which included a fantastic trip via an old RouteMaster bus from the town hall to the restaurant where the reception was held. Spectacular mode of transport, both for those of us on board and the onlookers who seemed to get a kick out of The Love Bus. The whole afternoon into early evening was filled with special moments--Leah's mum speaking of her happiness for her daughter, so evident in every word she said with a soft-spoken warmth that drew us all in; Andrew's dad, filled with pride about his son settling down into (married) life. Chatting with friends new and old met through Leah, photos snapped, smiles captured. A delight, and how very special I felt to be invited to be there with Tim.

Fast forward to the next time I was scooting out of the office early--Holy Thursday, off to catch a train and ferry and hopefully beat the mad dash to the Isle of Wight. It's been cold in England--the coldest March on record, in fact--and while it's no warmer in Cowes the exodus was much anticipated and not just by me, as the train even ahead of rush hour was packed and the ferry from Southampton to Cowes had every seat taken.

Bliss? You could say that. Tim has been happily spending hours on the boat, scrubbing down her hull and anti-fouling the area that will soon be below surface. It's messy, smelly work but it puts a smile on Tim's face to be on Coh Karek, even when she's cradled at the marina. Me, I'm just happy idling the days, watching the boats go by, reading the paper, staying indoors from the chilly northeasterly wind with a good book or the newspaper. We will see our friends for a drink at the sailing club, and perhaps have a pub dinner. Easter Sunday will be roast lamb with rosemary and garlic, a lovely pinot noir, and just the two of us. If the weather is nice we'll take a long walk along the sea, warm up with a cup of tea or coffee on our return, and perhaps light a fire--I splurged on a wall-mounted fireplace that burns bio ethanol fuel; there is nothing like a fireplace to warm your senses.

View from my window

And the best part is that, fingers crossed, my urticaria is finally in check. Granted it is with the help of three different medications at the moment, but it has taken a huge amount of stress off my shoulders to know that I will most probably wake up in the morning looking normal. I am due to go back to the doctor next week, and will start down the path of decreasing the dosage of anti-histamines to gauge my ability to keep the redness and swelling at bay with less and then eventually no medication. I plan to be patch tested later next month for contact urticaria, which involves bringing lotions, make up, etc to be sampled on my back to see if any reaction occurs over a series of five days and three visits. The dermatologist, while initially saying it wasn't about the make up, is puzzled by the localization of the outbreaks, and I suppose better safe than sorry to have the patch tests rule out any issues. I have moved from restricting my diet to re-introducing foods known to be higher in histamine back into my meals, one every other day, and so far with success. Of course it's hard to know if it's the medicine that's preventing the flares, but at this point I'm happy to be eating fish and drinking wine with dinner. Urticaria has a way of showing up, exhausting your patience and then quietly departing without rhyme or reason. I'll be glad when it's grown tired of me.

Bliss? Yeah, and for a lot of reasons. But mostly because I have absolutely nothing to do for a few days but to watch the boats, to smile at the gulls shrieking as they fly overhead, and to stroll by the sea when I feel so inclined. 

If only I could remember how to sleep in!

You Are What You Eat

I suppose I always knew that what you take in has a profound impact on what you look like, but never has it been more apparent than in the last three months.

Having seen several doctors and read hundreds of pages of information on the internet, I have come to the conclusion that the urticaria I’ve been diagnosed with—after ruling out all types of allergens—is directly related to the foods I take in, and the only way to help myself is to take in less of those that make a bad situation worse.

Urticaria and its companion angioedema have plagued me on and off since just after Christmas. The former is often controlled with antihistamines, as it is related to histamine intolerance. I won’t bore you with the details; suffice to say that my body is producing more histamine than it knows what to do with, and while large doses of anti-histamines have been prescribed, it’s not been enough to control the problem. It seems like every week I have a flare up, with swelling above and below my eyes (the angioedema part) and a deep redness around my eyes, usually starting in the outer corners and spreading below. It ain’t pretty.

When I visited the dermatologist who diagnosed me with urticaria, we briefly discussed a few foods I should stay away from—citrus, sugar, fizzy drinks, and aspirin or aspirin substitutes—none of which were part of my regular diet anyway. A substantial dose of anti-histamines to take for four weeks was meant to control the problem—you never cure urticaria, you simply tolerate it by keeping it in check.

But then I’d wake up one morning with the red swollen eyes all over again, wondering what might have been the “trigger” and knowing I didn’t eat any of the taboo foods. More reading on the internet and I found a restricted diet on the Urticaria Society web page that included most of what I in fact did have in my regular diet—fish, tea, chocolate, wine, eggplant (aubergine), spinach, soya, tomatoes or tomato products like sauce, most berries, yogurt, leftover meat, olives, vinegar, mustard—and that’s not all of it. While wheat was specifically mentioned, the breads and cereals section suggest “plain” breads and pasta, while I have generally gravitated to the whole-wheat kinds for both flavour and fibre.

The idea is to restrict one’s diet of the “trigger” foods for one month and then slowly re-introduce foods to see which ones your body can tolerate. It has been slightly daunting thus far to introduce variety—a lot of porridge (aka oatmeal) for breakfast, plain pasta for dinner with a variety of vegetables like broccoli or peas or bok choy with garlic and olive oil, and a simple salad with olive oil, salt and pepper—no bottled dressing allowed.

Perhaps some of you are not challenged by the list—I have to admit the hardest part of the day is actually lunch, where four days a week I would usually head out for a sandwich (alas, no processed meats or fish these days) or a salad (and no cheese or tomatoes); there’s not much left on offer! I have found a vegetarian wrap of falafel that has the smallest amount of yogurt, at the EAT takeaway just across the road, and for now that will suffice. There was one day last week where I went to four places near the office to find something that had only the allowable ingredients, and came up empty and marched back to EAT. I would have settled for oatmeal again, but most places stop serving porridge, typically a breakfast meal, at 11 am. I think I will start making lunch at home, or having cereal at midday, which thankfully has always been a favourite no matter what time it is!

I returned to the doctor today and requested blood tests to rule out an auto-immune disorder or a thyroid problem, whose symptoms are not all that dissimilar to what I’m experiencing. If nothing else, I’ll be relieved to know I’ve had some additional testing and perhaps it’s just this chronic urticaria that I will have to learn to live with. I also asked the doctor to consider a second anti-histamine—not that I want to be pill-popping, but combination therapy to mediate the inflammation while also treat the symptoms sounded like an approach worth taking after reading about it and having a chat with a few people at the office who have similar issues or know others who do. Fingers crossed, as they say.

Time heals, and I keep digging down for a bit more patience and strength to just keep calm and carry on. It is the chronic nature of this urticarial that makes it so frustrating, and while it is not life-threatening or even remotely a terrible disease, it distorts my ordered life in the smallest of ways that drives me crazy. Right now my eyes are sore, red, and probably a half day away from being swollen. I will not sleep well—it’s hard when your eyes feel odd, as though they do not fit properly in your head.

I will of course persevere. Tim has adjusted beautifully to my (or shall I say our) eating habits and is genuinely wonderful about bringing home the right kind of oatcakes and beans and apples along with a dozen roses to lift my spirits. The other night he called my sister Robyn to have her chat with me, one of those nights when I was really feeling a bit sorry for myself and lost about what to do but crawl under the duvet and pout. And you know what? It was terrific to hear her voice, to get a little of the angst off my chest, and to laugh again with my best friend. Gosh I needed it, and it worked a treat.

Even in my most miserable moods, Tim offers a hug, an embracing solace. And when I am in that way, there is nothing that beats the feel, the smell of a warm hug—a lean on the shoulder, breathing in the odour of warm cotton on warm skin. That will make me smile no matter what the day brings.