Well the drugs do work (on being forced to rest)

I woke up at 3am Thursday morning feeling like one of my organs was trying to explode out of my back. I’d been to the doctors the previous day complaining of a weird pain under my ribs and was quickly told “maybe you’ve pulled a muscle”. I feel deeply mortified any time I see any sort of medical professional - some sort of imposter syndrome for illness? Shame at asking for help? Not sure - and so I just nodded and said he was probably right. So at 3am writhing around in pain I just thought I was either a total wimp, or newly dying.

I went to A&E in desperation solo with baby in tow, because he relies on my boobs still and the other kids were asleep. After five hours I started crying at the impossibility of stopping the baby also crying in a brightly lit ward while my body was on fire. They rushed me up the list a bit, looked at my back, and immediately told me I had shingles.

I’d always thought it was either some sort of sailor related phenomenon (ooh ahh me shingle) or “just a rash”. Turns out no sailors involved, yes a big rash, but also excruciating nerve pain that lasts for possibly quite a long time. If you’ve ever had chicken pox the virus lies dormant and can be reactivated in adulthood with stress or low immunity. The only cure is antivirals (which I’m now taking), strong pain meds (more on that later), and… rest. For weeks on end, maybe months. Hmmm…

As soon as I was diagnosed I obviously turned to my two main sources of information: Reddit and Mumsnet. Turns out that while you can’t get a shingles vaccine until your 60s because it’s an old people illness, lots of young(er) people come down with it because they’re deeply stressed and can’t switch off. Oh.

I always get sick after wrapping a film, in the way a lot of people with 9-5s get sick as soon as they land at their exotic holiday destination. The body finally switches off and you get the sniffles or maybe some tonsillitis. This time I feel like my body has gone aaaemfjeienamsmcksllaksnfejs what the fuck are you doing SIT DOWN WOMAN. I suppose it’s the price you pay for shooting one film 8 months pregnant and then another with a 3-6 month old. But also it feels like a good time to take stock generally.

I took my first strong painkiller Friday morning on a field, keeping my distance from everyone at the school sports day. By the time we’d got home I couldn’t walk straight but I felt… serene! The anxious hum of thoughts in my head had… disappeared! I just wanted to lie flat and watch TV and I didn’t care! Wow. The drug is used to treat epilepsy and anxiety as well as shingles and boy did that anxiety go. Everything felt clear. All that mattered was sitting down and enjoying not being in pain.

Back on Reddit it became clear that if you don’t take your resting seriously, not only will you prolong your recovery (by months not weeks), but you also risk having another condition where the pain just doesn’t stop after the rash goes - for months or years. So like any Type A Eldest Daughter my mission now became (becomes): rest like your life depends on it. Because it kind of does. But the problem is - I literally don’t know how to fucking do it.

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As an unpopular kid with an overactive brain  (cough: ND) and natural tendency towards being a nerd, the only option in my youth was to work hard. I enjoyed it and I got rewarded. And it was something to do. In secondary school the trend persisted. Even fewer friends, but way more subjects and more exams to indulge in. I even took some absolutely pointless exams calls AEAs (advanced extension awards) on top of my A Levels just because. Why settle with an A* in English when you can get more than that!

I knew how to relax a bit better then - I could lose ten hours playing the Sims or watching movies. But the baseline was always: (home)work. Then university: you’re literally there to overachieve! Everyone glorified the all nighter. Thankfully the thought of that repulsed me because I like a routine. And I had a Professor in my first term who told me I had the potential to get a First and he wanted me to follow one rule to achieve that: stop working at 7pm each night, and never work on Sundays. Or I would burn out. I followed his advice religiously and it was easy to do, and easy to have fun. Every night could be party night. I joined multiple societies. Socialising was also what we were there for so it had to be done full throttle. And we had people serve us dinner and clean our bedsheets so I was hardly bogged down by the responsibilities of adulthood. We were also told not to have a part time job because Cambridge degrees are intense and the terms are short - so other than taking paid research work (and the odd stint in Wetherspoons) during holidays, I was a free agent.

I used those three years to maximise the fuck out of my efficiency. I got my weekly essay routine down: three days reading the ten books required, one day condensing, and then, four hours before essay hand in time, I would get a pen and paper out and just write the thing down. No faffing, no editing, great exam practice. I’d drop it in the right pigeon hole, take a day off ahead of the supervision the next day. Bish bash bosh. The method worked and I was on track for that First and so in my third year I added in another element: being Director of a student film festival. So for the two terms before exam term I did essentially a full time job and my degree. I felt ALIVE! Full of purpose. Firing on all cylinders etc etc etc. Again, I still wasn’t cooking for myself lol.

After university I indulged a bit more in the whole sitting around thing but then entered a career that was so without boundaries or clear end goals or working hours that I felt a bit adrift. It seemed like the only answer was to work whenever humanly possible - because you never knew what might lead to success. Having a baby at 24 meant that I had approximately three years of “pissing around” before I had total responsibility for a human life as well as my own laundry, cooking and cleaning. And I also had to provide - so I had to work and work hard, wherever and whenever I could. And work in this industry, household running, child rearing - all of it has no end. You could keep doing it 24 hours a day and it still wouldn’t be “done”. So you never know when to stop.

And now eight years later I have shingles.

Look it could be a lot worse but I’m taking it as a wake up call. And I think it’s something lots of my friends and fellow parents and colleagues could steal as a wake up call too because we’re all very tired. And being tired while your back feels like it’s being stabbed at the same time as being impossibly itchy is frankly even worse.

We’ve decided to be spontaneous and go away for half term. Change of scene, reset the brain. And now I’m trying to relax and also create a new plan for rest and recovery while also accepting I’m insane and struggle to sit still.

Here’s where I’ve got to so far but it’s a work in progress. Tips and tricks appreciated.

1. No arseholes allowed. Life is too short and I’ve spent enough time working with lovely people now to really recoil when I encounter the not so lovely ones. Trust your gut. Ignore their drama.

2. Follow your old (slightly inappropriate but that’s for another post) Professor’s advice and don’t work on Sundays, or after 7pm. Sorry LA friends. (At least for a while).

3. Buy and play all the video games recommended by friends. Play board games. Watch The Kardashians and Real Housewives. Do all of this like it’s a contractual obligation.

4. Set iron clad boundaries. Don’t reply just because they’ve emailed. Quiet mode your life a bit. There’s a lot of people in this industry (and many others I’m sure) I’ve come to realise love to tell you how much they’re working but really aren’t doing much at all. They’re the ones most likely to email on a Sunday morning just to piss you off.

5. Walk on the beach. Go for dinner with the friends you barely see. Play Barbies with your daughter. Actually do date night.

6. Prioritise. And prioritise the projects which call to your heart with the people you love. Also prioritise the projects that don’t have the pressing deadlines but make you happy, too. Write because you love it not just because now you get paid to do it.

7. Breathe. Breathe again.

So there we go. Week one of the rest of my rebalanced life possibly begins. I’m sure a lot of this is as obvious as 2 + 2 = 4 but knowing something is not the same as being able to actually do it. Wish me luck (and more drugs).