October 2010

I found myself  moaning at my kids in school last week to look after their pencils as ‘they don’t grow on trees’, only to be told by one bright spark that, ‘well, sir, actually they kind of do’.

So not only am I using my grandparent’s phrases but I’m also being outwitted by a ten year old. Fabulous!

Further evidence that I’m going to need to break into my 40 therapy fund quite soon is that I went to see ‘Inception’ at the cinema and didn’t have the foggiest idea what was going on.

Now for a self confessed sci-fi geek this is alarming. All I managed to decipher is that it was something about dreams.

My mates and I were more than relieved when the projector broke half way through and we were given complimentary tickets although in retrospect using them on ‘Tamara Drew’ was a complete waste.

Interestingly, my own dreams and sleep patterns over the last month have altered dramatically due to a change in my combination therapy.

I started about 6 years ago on efavirenz and combivir which lowered my viral load almost immediately and the slow ascent on my CD4 count began.

Right from the start I experienced the side effects from efavirenz which equated to being adrift out to sea on a rubber dinghy (and no, that’s not a euphemism).

For a few weeks my head was in a spin and my feet most certainly did not touch the ground as anything more strenuous than getting up from the sofa left me dizzier than a drag queen on diazepam.

This was the first time that living with the virus affected me physically as it was necessary for me to take a couple of weeks off work sick, the irony never ceases to amaze me to this day.

My boss was amazing and very supportive. Although I was under no legal obligation to disclose to my employers (and neither are you) I personally found it helped and prevented me feeling guilty.

The initial side effects passed but weird and wonderful and often sexually charged dreams were left in their place.

How fantastic, I hear you say.

Well, on one hand it was rather nice to regularly have sex with Patrick Swayze (circa Dirty Dancing) and flying back and forth to the moon in a wheelbarrow that was actually made of liquorice was somewhat entertaining.

However waking up feeling like I hadn’t had any sleep and feeling sluggish and hung over every morning was a little boring. The incestuous dreams were also not welcomed.

So I am now on my third combination since diagnosis and my pretty little blue truvada pill and her four white backing singers AKA the etravirines now ensure each day begins like a Kylie video.

So get out of my way, all I want to do is dance...

xxx  

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