Where D'Ya Go, Rho? Ep3 Sick Doon At The CIC

As you probably know by now I am a rather lost 40 something on the hunt for my mojo, my essence, my sense of self. I have been vanishing for the past 7 years now and enough is enough. Action is required.

One of my avenues was a referral to the last chance saloon at the GP for people with chronic conditions such as long term pain, long covid or in my case a bone/connective disorder causing multiple joint pain and MH issues- low mood/depression/SAD (seasonal affective disorder, although it is a great name because SAD does indeed make you sad). Now I hope this NHS hail Mary may also assist me on the hunt for where I’ve gone. So, Rhona, where is this final frontier for the medical end of the liners? The Centre for Integrative Care (CIC) AKA The Homoeopathic Hospital.

I have been attending Gartnavel Hospital’s CIC for a number of weeks and I have been pleasantly surprised by the place. For one it has the air of wellness about it. It has a calmness not experienced in the main building. I think it has taken a page out of the Beatson and Maggie’s handbook and is concerned with creating an atmosphere conducive to care similar to that for patients with cancer. The windows look out on a pleasant garden landscape and I often get distracted watching the birds and squirrels play so much so I can miss my name being called as I wonder at Cyril the Squirrel playing in the trees. BTW They are all named Cyril to me, I don’t just have a favourite named one I look out for.

My consultant is a lovely, quiet spoken lady who you’d think was an aromatherapist or counsellor by her tone. She is a Dr who specialises in homoeopathy and seeking ways to make us enduring NHS quandaries feel a little better. She takes her time not just in her cadence of speaking but also in finding out why you are at the end of the pier and a bawhair from diving in over the edge.

I have already filled out a large questionnaire and detailed the various places I've been and consultants I’ve seen already. My own GP has been amazing and even he has been frustrated at the amount of times he has had the door slammed in his face because I don’t fit the specific pigeon hole for help. Ah, the joys of a rare disease. This has been the usual for me to be sent away while experts scratch their heads or gimme the look of “I barely know what the hell your thing is let alone how to treat it?” after they had googled osteogenesis imperfecta just a few minutes prior to my entering the room. I’m used to being the most clued up in the room but not always respected for that as this can set the heckles up a certain type of doctor who feels that their years of training supersedes my own. Their arrogance blinds them from the fact their afternoon lecture on rare conditions during training is far outweighed by my 46 years of lived experience. I am a multigenerational mutant and have been brought up since birth questioning how to manage myself. My body is a bit of a lemon but so far I’ve managed to make a fairly decent lemonade thanks to aids, adaptations and a whole lot of trial and error. However, this consultant isn’t running for the hills or giving me the stink eye. Progress right there.

She concludes that it is trial and error for her too and gives me a few options. I am to be enrolled in a week-long course for chronic conditions. It will be a small group and will explore mindfulness, breathing techniques and various coping techniques. I am aware It may be like teaching my granny to suck eggs given I trained as an holistic therapist and know I have a few moves of my own. However it is hard to massage yourself. Yes, I can do reiki, Indian head massage, aromatherapy, Swedish massage, thermo auricular therapy and reflexology among others but when you can truly relax and give yourself to the therapist it makes for a better experience. Also, I am game to try anything as my mood is to the floor and I can't be arsed to brush my own teeth let alone give myself a wee pamper. Thankfully there is a session coming up in a week or two and a space for me so that’s encouraging.

She also isn’t stopping there; she suggests there are holistic physiotherapists in the building. The difference between them and a normal physio is they aren’t constrained to treat me one dodgy joint at a time. I’ve often gone for acute pain following an injury but by the next appointment my acute pain has died down and I have perhaps compensated elsewhere in my body or managed to injure a new place or two creating multiple hotspots and like on Strike It Lucky- What’s a hotspot not? Not a good spot! The physio typically says I am there for the acute thing or will need a new referral for a new body part. This red tape means I often go out limping, gimping and griping about the system rather than getting any relief. Back home to the epsom salt lobster hot baths and my various home treatments. The CIC physio is different altogether; they look at you as a whole person treating whatever ailment is most pressing or covering more than one part at a time. I am totally game for that. Let’s get physical, Olivia Newton John.

I’m ready to head with two new avenues to explore but haud the no. 97 through the Clyde tunnel Wee Yin, the consultant has mair tricks up her sleeve than Paul Daniels. Have I tried homoeopathy? Like Paul Daniels, I’ll like this… not a lot. I haven't really found any great evidence for the efficacy of homoeopathy being someone with a bachelor of science degree and being used to facts, blind studies, peer review and such but given she was a medical doctor herself and as yet not showing herself to be a total quack then I thought, what the hell? In for a penny, Rhona. I said I was open to anything new and if it didn't work I had nothing to lose. She prescribed me Sepia pillules- like a normal prescription but I had to get it filled in Busby, a posh suburb across town. Aye I didn’t think the Govan chemist would be stocking Sepia among the Immodium, Calpol and Methadone it was used to. I was also told it would cost me but for £12 I was willing to see if a pilule of Sepia could turn my grey a little bit brighter. My only worry now was would I turn sepia itself and become a real life Simpson. Only time would tell.

So with my arm in my coat ready to go, the consultant utters a sentence that for the last few years has had me cowering in fear. Would you be up for a drama class? My reaction- my brain takes me back to the Olivier awards of 2017. Where I had been invited on purpose and not as a wind up as I’d first thought, My professional acting debut was nominated for an award for a brilliant ensemble piece we’d performed around England, including the Royal Stratford in London. I tread the boards graced by Barbara Windsor and the great director Joan Littlewood. I was in awe and aware of how lucky I was to get a chance to act in such a wonderful place. I played theatres like the Everyman. I imagined Julie Walters in her early days in Liverpool and couldn't believe I was even allowed in the building let alone the actual stage. I even played the Sheffield crucible, mind you I was more fangirling on the fact Ronnie O’Sullivan played there too. Wee Roo hanging in the corridors that Rocket Ronnie paced prior to a speedy 147 break. I felt so lucky to be there acting, never mind being invited to the Oscars of the UK Theatre scene with the chance to pick up an award.

I didn’t win but truly to be nominated was an honour. I got the chance to go to The Royal albert Hall, walk a red carpet next to some proper talent and be at an event alongside some of my personal heroes, David Baddiel, Jason Manford, Tim Minchin (comedy heroes first) but also acting royalty like Sir Ian McKellen and Derek Jacobi. Just the event itself was a dream but not long after that amazing night my confidence was shattered and I had barely set foot properly on stage since. My mojo had been depleted and my get up and go had got up and gone. Now I was confronted with a very low stake drama group in hospital and I was swithering if I’d have anything to contribute. What a change a few years can make.

I said I would think about it and left the CIC far more optimistic than I had been in a while but still acutely aware how fast my life had been one way then did a 180 into oblivion. I used to tell jokes on stage and reached a fairly decent level. I had tread the boards and was lucky to get a seat to witness the top tier of the profession but could I find the spark again that got a plucky wee naebody to such places again? Right now I wasn’t sure I had the guts to go to Busby to get my Sepia pillules. That was enough drama. Where did you go, Rho? Buggered if I know but thanks to the NHS and the CIC I had few new places to hunt for answers.