I’m not talking about a professional curly blow that left my locks all glossy and bouncy, nor am I talking about a sleek straight blow dry finish. I’m talking about a messy but functional blow dry from a man who loves me dearly but who doesn’t believe in the power of using a nozzle to direct the flow.
I’m laughing to myself while writing this as the last memory I have of my Dad even attempting to style my hair was as a child (age 7 or 8). Picture the scene: Mum was working on a night shift and wasn’t home yet. My brother and me were probably being uncooperative and were unaware that Dad would need to go to work or fit with any other schedule other than our own. I’d probably landed it on him without notice that my hair needed to be up for school that day but I didn’t have a bobble. Pretty sure he took to the task with the determination of a ‘stressed out Dad that wanted to look after his little girl’ but executed it like a ‘Dad who had no clue about hair.’ I can remember him trying to grab my hair with his fist and scrunch it in to a ball, twisting it in to a mass that sat lob-sided and messy somewhere on my head. It was held in place with an elastic band and I looked as though I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards.
Back to today. I saw the same desperation in Dad’s eyes, he still wanted to look after his little girl and the only thing that changed since the ‘Dad ponytail’ is that I’m 28. I still needed his help today, same as I did 20ish years ago.
I’ve not done anything at all strenuous for over a week now. Not because I don’t want to do it, but because at the moment, even making a cup of tea is strenuous for me.
Today, on the warped scale of what saps my energy at the moment…I ‘over-exerted’ by having a bath. Yep, I felt like I’d ran a marathon and hadn’t slept for a week. Instead, the grand total of what I’d actually achieved today is getting out of bed and sitting on the sofa for an hour. The bath just finished me off for the day. It’s so hard to eloquently describe how much of a struggle things are at the moment and I think it’s even harder to describe the frustration.
Every single time I have some form of ‘flare up’ with my tracheomalacia, the coughing and breathlessness being the most problematic symptoms. I go right the way back to square one. I can’t walk to the car without being completely shattered. I can’t sleep properly because I cough through the night and I’m pretty sure my trachea flops shut at various points. I feel genuinely knackered and have to really strip back any goals of what I want to achieve each day.
On a better and more normal Friday, I’d wake up around 7.30am and head to work. I’d walk around the building I work in, walk to several meetings across the site, have a walk at lunchtime, complete my work and then take a 3 hour drive to Middlesbrough to see Emily where I’d have dinner and stay up until around midnight. Nothing too wild!
Today I woke up out of breath after a very broken sleep. Went downstairs – about 14 steps, knackered. Sat on the sofa, still shattered. Had a bath, exhausted. Ate breakfast, so tired. Had my Dad blow dry my hair… absolutely shattered.
I keep trying to make sure I do things each day to try to build up some stamina or strength or something/anything?! I don’t want to sit and be a couch potato, that’s not me. I want to keep trying but it’s so frustrating haven’t to start over every single time something like this happens.
Just very thankful for my brilliant and loving family and their unconditional willingness to attempt hairstyling. 😉