what's important

is something I've been thinking a lot about lately.

Facing the very real possibility

that my Homeboy Husband may not get a visa to stay here

and would have to return to Tonga......

without me,

has meant I've been examining very closely what is truly important to me.

This also maybe my mid life crisis..... being over 40 now.

 

 

This beach in Tonga is where my Homeboy and I sat making promises

to each other when we first met.

And to where he would return to.

 

I know!

Us city dwelling, 9 to 5 wage slaves are like WTF?

Why isn't he there now?

 

Let me tell you,

as beautiful and tropical,

sunny drenched and blissed out you may think the islands are,

they are still a small island surrounded by ocean

with no way off unless you can get a visa to somewhere else.

 

A prison without walls.

  

We do want to return there but we want to do so on our own terms,

ready to build a good life there.

Not because a visa was not given.

 

So our stress levels are up, up, up!

This brings learning to be married to a whole new level.

I am pleased to report we pull together for the most part,

rather than pull apart.

 

However a week and a half ago

I started breaking out in urticaria

(that's not a term 'in urticaria" by the way)

you'd know it as hives.

 

I have hives for no apparent reason.

I wake up and within 20 minutes I have hives

all over my legs,

sometimes on my arms

and sometimes on my tummy and bottom*

So pretty!

 

The hives themselves aren't very itchy,

but itchy enough.

They are ug-ugly.

It doesn't matter if I wake up at 4am or 10am,

I get hives.

I have a rosy glow of a rash all the time,

though most people think I've had a touch of the sun,

my skin and nerve endings tingle non-stop,

I'm a little bit puffy

and food is like lead to me.

 

Now that I've been keeping a food diary,

there is no particular food that brings them on more than others.

I am probably allergic a heap of things

but nothing singularly obvious.

I've vacuumed our mattresses and pillows,

washed bedding,

checked washing powders,

checked house cleaning products,

and many more things.

 

Idiopathic will be the answer to my blood tests.

Non-specific urticaria will be the diagnosis.

I know this because my very thorough doctor warned me this is likely to be the case.

 

What to do? What to do?

This is where my "what is truly important to me" quest

has risen in my complicated and muddled head.

I'm sick because there is something wrong.

As I believe that mind and body are well linked

I need to check my mental and emotional health to understand my physical health.

And to stop the periodic, overwhelming need to scratch.

Or bite my nails down so I can only rub.

 

I first visited an after hour clinic
(within  hours though, but not any cheaper)

because my regular doctor was overwhelmed with the measles outbreak in Hamilton.

So no appointment for me there,

they recommended I see anyone I could.

So I did and in the process was exposed to measles

(thank you public health system, always perpetuating yourself)

 

I was well checked out and sent home with a script for prednisone.

My medical mother explained that prednisone is a heavy hitter

and will suppress the reaction well.

But what she didn't tell me is the side effects,

which read like a horror story of everything you don't want.

Mind you the doctor didn't tell me either.

 

Yes, the prednisone worked.

But the hives are tougher,

they are still here and

I will not be taking prednisone ever again.

 

My regular doctor was much more helpful.

Upshot of what ever it is happening in my body is

doctors don't know,

could be one or a million things,

but likely it's stress,

a sad diet,

lack of exercise,

stress,

poor diet,

and so on.

 

What to do? What to do?

Well right now,

I'm going to wear gloves so I can only rub these suckers.

This morning I decided that we need to eat better,

so clean eating for us,

I ordered a meat pack from Green Meadows Beef

cause I quite like knowing my grass fed beef

has been grown on Taranaki coastal paddocks
that I can visit anytime I want

(plus they are twitter buddies of mine).

We will only eat food we have made ourselves.

 

I'm going to organise a cleaning lady

so there is one less thing to stress me out.

 

I'm going to get my hair cut and get my legs waxed

cause I can't shave them cause *spoiler alert* hives bleed when shaved.

 

I'm going to go home and hug my husband

and pray for the best outcome there can possibly be.

And I am going to remind myself to trust in the Lord.

And to not be mad with Him when things don't go our way.

And be ok with the big fat warning sign these hives are.

And figure out how to look after myself

so one day I will be able to shave my legs again.

 

*I've not acctually seen the hives on my bottom myself.  Homeboy reckons they are there but I think he may be confusing my cellulite with hives.



farmer wellness

On Wednesday I was in Hamilton.

That alone will call for questions about my own wellness.

Hamilton or the 'tron

is considered a nonentity of a backwater city.

We all have them.

I attended a workshop on farmer wellness,

primarily about farmer stress.

I've not been to a mental and physical health workshop before.

Thankfully, for the most part the people were sane.

And the few who were questionable were able to prove their sanity

with the certificates of release.

There's light at the end of the tunnel for stressed farmers.

So we talked about lots of aspects of farmer wellness.

Because we were in the Waikato

(the home of dairy farming in NZ)

we talked about statistics and studies of dairy farmers.

The most interesting stats I remember

was that only 9.5% of dairy farmers

and 20% of the urban population smoke.

The average dairy farmer is overweight

and they talk to the friends rather than professionals.

Those of us familiar with the industry can explain all of these

quite logically and rationally.

The smoking - who wants to smoke with cow poo on their hands.

The fatness - dairy farming has anti-social hours

so no rugby team involvementt please and now days

nobody walks or rides horses on farm,

it's all tractors and ATVs.

The talking to friends rather than professionals?

Who the heck has the time to take half a day off to drive into

town to talk to a shrink?

Who has the consistent phone coverage to phone the 0800 numbers?

Friends are easier.

When a rural person commits suicide

it impacts the whole community.

It's very close to us all.

Everyone I know who lives outside the cities

can tell stories of clusters of suicides,

mostly young males

and I would say mostly due to isolation,

perceived and real.

Farmer's work situation doesn't have numerous co-workers.

Farmer's living situations many have a strong community

but because of physical distance between homes,

the concept of how well others are doing

is that they are totally handling their stuff.

(its not fun in town to overhear domestic arguments

but at least it helps you keep it real knowing that no-one is perfect).

Often, it's like the idea of suicide as an answer to your problems

is like a virus and is catching.

All the Young Farmers I spoke to about

what stresses them and other farmers

mentioned clusters of suicides and many of them not long ago.

AgResearch and the Rural Support Trust

are working together and

inviting all farmer network groups to join in

to come up with some viable answers

for improving farmer's physical and mental health.

There's lots of research and communities are

good at pulling together during droughts and disasters

to support each other

but how do we create a sustainable and educated

healthy rural population?