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Posts Tagged ‘health’

Of all the people…

Most of my recovery was spent inside. The other one had the car, we live way up a hill, and so there was me and the cat, and a few visitors who very kindly came to visit. I didn’t mind at all, and in fact I think I’d make quite a good hermit, basically you’re never far from food, drink, TV, books and bed. What’s not to like?

Anyway, after nearly another week had passed since the excitement of having a haircut and lunch on one day, I ventured into Victoria with the other one. I was reminded of the daily frustrations that can come from living here (more on that later) and we decided to recover and refresh ourselves at a new cafe that had opened in town (more on that later too). Standing outside what I thought might be the cafe, the door swung open and a bright and breezy hello was offered to me – from the boss’ wife. Of all the people…. It got better, ‘guess who I’m meeting for lunch, we hardly ever get to meet, he’s in the back’ she said. Yup, the boss. My second visit in town since the operation, of all the people…

I shuffled in, and there he was, and there the other one and I spent 20 minutes chatting away. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with the boss, I just felt totally bogus. I was at the end of week three of my six week sick leave, and I was still sore, but I didn’t look awfully ill. And never having had more than one day sick in my life, I felt guilty, that I should for his benefit be looking really really rough. As it was he said, I looked very well. That had me pecking the other one’s head all the way home – what to you think he meant by that? Do you think , he thinks I’m not really ill? blah blah blah blah.

Being a hermit really does make life simpler. The other one seemed quite an advocate too – of me being one that is, not him.

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Body sneezing

In the weeks after the op, one of the most painful things I could imagine about the recovery was coughing or sneezing as the area was so sore anyway.A mate who’d had caesarian said that her doc recommended holding a cushion against your belly if the urge should take you, but the funny thing was, it didn’t. I sneeze a lot, and when I do, it can never be one, it’s four at a minimum.  And yet I didn’t sneeze once, nor did I cough, or blow my nose. So either the body really is wonderful machine, or I’v e been allergic to work all this time and it’s taken the first time I’ve ever been sick for more than a day, to realise this.

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A fair exchange…

The idea is that if you’re having an operation at Victoria Hospital, they ask you if you can bring along 2 blood donors to give blood. This I think makes complete sense, it seems
a fair social exchange and way to help keep the blood bank levels up (see previous post). It appealed to me.  It doesn’t have to people of the same blood type – as panicked me as I had no idea what my blood type is nor how I’d bloody find people an exact match – but I was worrying a little too much, but that’s maybe because for the first time since having had my tonsils out when I was 8, I was going into hospital – in a strange country that doesn’t have a snappy brand ‘NHS’ that in the UK we all like to moan about but take far too much for granted.

I’ve already had the operation and back at home recovering – as regular readers will know I’m usually a bit late with posts and well I wasn’t going to jinx it by talking about it beforehand was I? So, the next few posts you’ll have to imagine in flashback mode…

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Blood donors in Seychelles

The other one – what a hero. He hates needles, and never have I seen him look so nervous as he did at Victoria Hospital waiting to give blood. Apparently, he looked that bad that the nurses very nearly didn’t let him do it at all. The guy’s been in Seychelles nearly three years and he’s as tanned as he’s ever going to get, which isn’t much, but he might as well have just emerged from the depths of the UK winter. Being a trooper, he gulped down his juice and disappeared into a room full of nurses – can’t think where he got his courage from…

Anyway, he did it and emerged some 15 minutes later having given half a litre, needle went in first time, the nurses chatted to him to distract him and afterwards he was seated in a room with a plate of digestives, juice and water.

They’re desperate for blood donors in Seychelles and if you live here and haven’t given any please do.The facilities are clean, they’re very efficient, blood is screened etc. There are some conditions that apply as we found out – my mate who’d had a baby couldn’t give and if you’ve been out of the country in the past few months, you may not be able to, but its worth checking. Call the hospital on 4388000 and ask for transfusions unit.

Now you might be wondering why I didn’t do it…

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Body protest

It doesn’t like having to exercise again. I couldn’t manage my ‘usual’ two laps round Roche Caiman, collapsing, rasping, after a lap and a half and sweating more in the car home than I would have sat on the top bench, in the hottest of saunas with a bobble hat, fleece and jogging pants. How I love the pimp mobile but if only it had air con…

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We’re not British…I couldn’t #2

I couldn’t make this up…

29 June 2011 was a national holiday in Seychelles celebrating 35 years of independence from the British (who it seems were keen to hang onto a slice of a paradise for as long as possible – and being a Brit I can see why – but still it’s no excuse…)

To celebrate this auspicious occasion, tradition it seems dictates that the country holds a national inter-schools sports day at the National Sports Stadium at Roche Caiman. No harm in this you might think, and I fully agree, encouraging sports and achievement is brilliant, especially when in western countries the dire truth is that kids average life expectancy will be less than ours because of obesity.

No, my problem was with it being broadcast live from 10am-4pm on SBC.

Go on, give everyone a day off and they switch on the TV to find the only chuffing thing on is a load of kids, playing at athletics for seven hours!! I mean, no offence but it’s not like they’re even going to be that good, and well, when the other one exclaims ‘they’re all lying down’ you have to wonder – but it then it all made sense, apparently they were just getting into their sacks! Yes, my friends, they had a sack race and also an egg and spoon race, to which the other one then cried ‘they’re showing it in slow motion!!’. That I actually missed it, I realise now is something of a tragedy.

I think maybe what was really going on was subversive stuff, what they were doing is making people want to go to work the next day.

And just to be sure, in case people hadn’t realised…THEY REPEATED IT IN FULL THE NEXT DAY.

And I still missed it.

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Odd running regimens

Bored of the run from near our house, we’ve recently been back to the running track around Roche Caiman and it’s great, why?

It’s got no piggin hills… flat all the way baby…(not that I’ve noticed any discernible improvement in my running time). It also doesn’t have any cars intent on running me off the road, which thinking about it, I should have maybe mentioned first.

What has piqued my curiosity is a number of slightly rotund men walking round the track (occasionally at a jog) clad in shorts and…anoraks. ANORAKS. This is Seychelles, weather between 28-32 degrees, pretty much ALL year round (though I admit to having worn a jumper in the office recently -a very thin one – but still there’s no aircon outside is there?).

I’m not suggesting that in any way that these men are dodgy  and can only deduce that they’re doing some mad keep fit thing (you’d have to be, an anorak/exercise/this heat?) . My main concern is that they don’t take off their anoraks in a confined space nor lend the offending garment to anyone, ever. I also wonder if they’re wrapped in cling film underneath, if not, clearly they’re not trying hard enough.

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Trim the tum #2 Yoga

I have a love/hate relationship with yoga. I can be utterly bored by it and I can be utterly bored by a lot of the people who do it but sometimes, you can’t beat a good old stretch. And when your body starts to give up the fight against gravity, you grab any opportunity to convince it otherwise. So when the other one suggested that we try a new yoga class run by one of the scooby gang (that I’d been resisting on account of the fact that it costs the same for one class as it does for a whole month at the Indian High Commission) I gave in.

You get the idea although its not near the beach

I’d been worried that it would be full of skinny minny, expat wives with busy beach lives, preferring to nail my colours to the affordable, mixed community alternative at the Indian High Commission but I’ve had my head turned. I can go to yoga in a community hall, inches from the next person, no air con, the odd working fan in a class of about 25-30 and work hard for an hour  or go to a gazebo, surrounded by richly green wetland, chirruping birds,a cooling breeze, five other people, the odd mossie and work hard, but chilled, for an hour and a half.

It’s like the Indian High is the backpackers, Nature Seychelles, the four star hotel. They both are brilliantly good at what they do but it just depends what you’re in the mood for.

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Trim the tum #1 Skipping

Mortified by my stealth weight gain, I’ve been trying to get back into the routine of keeping fit, which ain’t that easy when you only have one car, a rubbish public transport system that finishes at 7pm, 30 celsius and humidity until 6pm and ‘lazy ass’ as your default setting. Phase 1 involved digging out the skipping rope – it is a proper one, not one of those ones with wooden handles (I’d kneecap myself guaranteed) – and though some might scoff, it’s brilliantly low tech, you can skip anywhere, you just have to have a thick skin and not feel too stupid (but don’t try to get round this by doing it inside, especially if you have low ceilings, you might inadvertently nearly hang yourself). I’ve done it  a few times now (skipping not hanging) and out on the balcony, view to the sea, tunes in my ear, it’s pretty cool – for the five minutes I skip before collapsing.

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Adventures in yoga

I’ve never been a big yoga fan, I know its great for you and its good to stretch the old body but I prefer my exercise fun and with a beat. Sometimes it can be a little too earnest for my liking. Then again, one thing I’ve learned from being here is  ‘you might as well’ – what else are you going to do? Besides, the older I get, I care less how I might get rid of the bingo wings, I just want to get rid.

Our new mate R is a qualified yoga instructor and part of his promotional plan was to create a flyer flogging his lessons – and for this he needed some willing volunteers. We were happy to help but not entirely sure we’d help his cause. Still, we turned up as requested in Beau Vallon ready to strike some yoga poses on the beach (trying not to feel like complete idiots). As it was, we were saved the humiliation as some people more flaky than us cancelled and so the whole shebang was cancelled. Saved having to do hanging dog on a public beach, phew.

Striking such poses in the sweaty environs of the outbuilding behind the Indian High Commission was less embarrassing but lacked the glamour quotient. Unfortunately, the usual instructor who’d come highly recommended wasn’t there and so we muddled through the class, doing more poses than I’d ever done in six months of the class that I went to in Crystal Palace.  I enjoyed the push and pull of the stretching but it was piggin tougher than it used to be and as for the chanting, much as I’ve been told I like the sound of my own voice, really I don’t.

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