Diabetes, emotions, resilience and mental health - DBlog Week Day 4

Today's Diabetes Blog Week topic recognises that living with type 1 diabetes is not just about looking after our physical health,  "What things can make dealing with diabetes an emotional issue for you and / or your loved one, and how do you cope?". Read how others have responded to this topic by visiting the Day 4 link list.

Today is also described as 'Throwback Thursday' in that this topic was also covered a few years ago, in 2014, which coincidentally, was the last time I took part in DBlog Week. You can read my previous post here, and to be honest I think I feel pretty much the same today.

It's important for us to recognise that living with a long term condition, particularly one as fickle, irritating and contrary as Type 1 Diabetes makes each of us more vulnerable to depression.

It is OK not to be OK. And it is very much OK to talk to your clinic, Doctor or care team about it. You need to do that. It won't be easy. It will take courage, but if you are struggling emotionally you deserve to be supported and to receive the help you need.

Many of us are familiar with the ebb and flow of emotions from gently pottering along with diabetes just being part of the background noise of our lives and with a general sense of well-being set against feelings of despair, hopelessness and that diabetes is a weight that simply cannot be carried. Many of us too, will know that the dividing line between those two states is sometimes precariously fragile. Your mental health is just that, health. We need to look after ourselves as whole people, and that means looking after our minds, and paying attention to them, just as much as we put effort in to blood glucose management, eating well and exercising.

I think part of the challenge for healthcare professionals is that it is much easier for them to focus on the numbers. The hard facts that can suggest how 'well' a person with diabetes is managing their condition. From the outset we begin to be surrounded by a cloud of numbers, targets and measurements. Each supposedly able to predict our long-term future health. And it is almost impossible in that context not to see those checks and data as some sort of reflection on whether you are 'succeeding' or 'failing' as a person. Whether you are 'trying hard enough', 'doing well enough'.

It's a toxic environment.

And much has been written about the language we use in relation to these pieces of information. Test. Target. Control. Compliance. Adherence. So many opportunities for self-judgement.

And it's important to remember that fluctuating glucose levels have a profound effect on the brain and on the emotions. So at the very point we see those frustrating numbers, where we know we did everything we knew to try to avoid them, our minds are less able to cope with the situation.

If we are not careful we put ourselves in an impossible position where every day is filled with opportunities for perceived 'failure'. Where we see our best efforts as never 'enough'. Where we feel that we are failing before we begin.

But this is absolutely not the case.

You need to recognise how well you are doing. How resilient you are. How you are able to live your life and simultaneously perform the function of a major bodily organ every single day.

Some times it works well and you are happy with how your BG behaved, other days... not so much. But you battle on, you brilliant, tenacious, feisty, beautiful piece of humanity. And tomorrow you will do it all again.

And make no mistake, the juggling of all those complicated factors that go into every single one of your self-management decisions would fry the most genius of minds. And the out of range results you see are so often not even down to you at all. Well, OK, that one was. But hey, we knew that before we did it eh? And life is for living, right? But for the most part, if managing type 1 was simply a matter of eating the right foods and taking the right doses and everything always worked out all the time and never changed we would have had this licked a long, long time ago.

The variables in your life will overlap and interact. Some cancelling each other out, others magnifying. And your diabetes itself will not have the good grace to sit still and behave predictably.

Perfection really is not possible. You are doing your best - even on the days when you can barely manage to do anything. You can do that. You can keep yourself going. And tomorrow you can go again.

Never neglect your state of mind. Get the right professional support if you need it, and reach out to people in the #doc to share the burden. Commit to being careful with your own inner voice and taking time to affirm yourself and acknowledge that despite the difficulties type 1 diabetes brings, you are winning small victories every day. You are able to achieve more than you can imagine.

“To achieve greatness, start where you are, use what you have, do what you can.”
Arthur Ashe

The Blame Game - DBlog Week Day 3

Today's topic in Karen at Bitter-Sweet's fabulous festival of Diabetes Blogging is entitled 'The Blame Game' - Having diabetes often makes a visit to the doctor a dreaded experience, as there is invariably bad news of one kind or another. And sometimes the way the doctor talks to you can leave you feeling like you’re at fault. Or maybe you have a fantastic healthcare team, but have experienced blame and judgement from someone else in your life – friend, loved one, complete stranger... For other posts on this topic, browse the day 3 link list.


While I have been on the receiving end of a handful of less than ideal conversations with clinicians and healthcare professionals over the years, those were not the ones that first came to mind when I read this topic prompt.

There is a person who seems to jump on my back and berate me for lapses in judgement and effort far, far more often than any Dr or nurse ever has. Someone who feeds me with visions of horrendous complications that might be in store. Who raises a cynical eyebrow over my dose estimation of a meal, or timing of a bolus. Who reminds me of eveything I missed, every emerging pattern that I didn't spot until reaching for the hypo treatment. Who rolls their eyes over some of my food choices, making muttering noises about it "really not being a brilliant idea". Someone who is all too quick to tell me that my best isn't good enough, and that I may as well just give up.

And the worst thing about them? The very worst thing is their timing.

They choose the times when I am feeling at my most vulnerable. My weakest. Where my diabetes is behaving erratically, and I am struggling more than usual to aim for the tiny target range that we aspire to. That narrow way that is the best hope we have to protect against long-term complications. They choose the periods when either repeated high or low blood glucose have left me feeling drained, or scared, or angry and irritable. Uncertain as to what to do next, which of the many factors might need tweaking. And it is at those moments - when I could really do with some support, that they choose to get on my case.

I've tried to speak to them about it. We have had long conversations and have agreed that their behaviour really isn't kind and isn't helpful. I felt like they really genuinely were going to try. But all too soon they fell back into their old habits. Next time... next time they promise they will try harder. But will they? Can they?

If they weren't so close to me I would have left them behind. If they weren't so important to me I would have cut ties. Moved on. Freed myself from the negativity that comes when I can least cope with it.

But it's difficult. It's difficult when they are hurting too. When they are struggling.

It's difficult when they are, in fact, me.

So we embrace one another again. We look ourselves in the eye. And commit to being kinder the next time. To support each other, no matter what. To love. To listen. To understand that we are both doing what we can. To know that we will make it through together.

Guardian Connect in Amsterdam and #TADtalk2017

Last weekend was a crazy whirlwind of diabetes-based shenanigans! I was already looking forward to #TADtalk2017, 'Talking about diabetes' having missed the first one last year I made sure I reserved my place as soon as I was able. It looked like a brilliant chance get inspired by some fantastic speakers and to meet in actual real-life with many people that I have 'known' for years, but only as 32px square avatars and 140 character encouragements. Plus a chance to catch up again with some of the others in the #doc that I've already had the good fortune to meet up with. Altogether, not one to be missed!

Then, out of the blue I received an invitation to attend Medtronic's second 'Diabetes Community Exchange', which was to be held in Amsterdam over the same weekend. Fortunately I was able to go to the main part of MDCE, on Friday and return early Saturday morning just in time for #TADtalk2017.

I am planning to post a more detailed account of my experiences with Guardian Connect, as I'm only a week in. But so far, so interesting. It's a standalone CGM, that does not link with any current UK Medtronic pump, but what it does offer is the display of your sensor glucose readings directly on your iPhone in the Guardian app, along with an automated upload to Carelink in the cloud, which means you can grant access to your BG data to partner/parent/friends/family, who can make sure you are safe.

For now though I just wanted to post a brief video montage of my weekend to give you a flavour of what went on, including a fascinating trip to the Diabeter Clinic in Rotterdam, where we went to get kitted up with our Guardian Exchange CGM.

Diabeter
Diabeter is a specialist independent diabetes clinic which has been running since the 1970s. Their headquarters is in Rotterdam, with 4 centres in total. Diabeter is recognised as a top centre for diabetes care and research. Medtronic acquired the clinic in 2015, but I'm not sure what if any influence they have over its running - Diabeter certainly retains its clinical, brand and therapy independence.

We were able to have a brief tour while we were there and the friendly and genial Dr Aanstoot talked us through some of the innovative approaches that define the Diabeter style.

I was really impressed by the patient focus in everything they do. And in their adoption of new technologies and ways of delivering care, including a weekly 'Facebook Live' question-and-answer broadcast which is being enthusiastically adopted. The look and feel of the place if very much 'non-medical' and could be a smart advertising agency office, or cool apartment depending on where you look. Light, airy and a great sense of space and calm.

Increasingly they find that people with diabetes increasingly value ad-hoc contact via video call or telephone in preference to regular calendared appointments, though you can also go in for a conventional face-to-face meetings if that is your thing. They have their own data management system which can accept information from any of the 'usual' upload systems (Diasend, Carelink etc) and which then crunches your data into something usable and understandable. And once you have got used to the reports, they always stay the same - even if you change your diabetes technology. The reporting system can analyse your data and alert you if it spots patterns that may need your attention, or flag things up so that the clinic can approach you with a, "How are things going?" conversation - again this is a preference you can agree with the clinic.

It was great to hear that they have an experienced diabetes-specialist psychologist on hand if you need that support too.

There were lots of small details which stood out, including this in one of the 'family rooms'. "We use round tables" said Dr Aanstoot gesturing in through the glass-partitioned doorway. "Much less confrontational. We don't want to be Dr on one side telling you what to do, with the family on the other. We want to be working together."

Catching up and first impressions
It was a great opportunity to be among a group of diabetes bloggers from all over Europe, and as far away as Dubai. Both people living with diabetes and a parent of a T1 child. Sara, from Sweden, who manades her diabetes with MDI had been wearing the Guardian Connect since February. A couple of others, myself included, were wearing MM640G with Enlite sensors and were watching to see how the traces compared. For others, this seemed to be their first experience of continuous glucose monitoring. We had dinner and chatted long into the night, as people with diabetes often do. It was perhaps a slight error of judgement to find myself drinking Talisker with Kevin from Belgium, along with Bastian and Richard of #DEdoc fame until passed midnight and with a 5.20am taxi ahead of me - but I was glad to be able to make the most of my short time in Amsterdam.

Pictured: Lovely Medtronic and Diabeter peeps, plus Kevin (Belgium), Sofiane (Switzerland), Sara (Sweden), Mel (UK), Lisanne (Netherlands), Christophe (France), Richard (Germany), Oscar (Spain), Abdullah (Dubai), Bastian (Germany), Dr Aanstoot (Diabeter) and Angel (Spain).

The Medtronic Diabetes Community Exchange event continued on Saturday, but Melanie Gray (Stephenson) and I had to bid a sad farewell as we hurried back for TADtalk in London. Though it has to be said that Mel made a considerably better choice for return flight time, and was able to stay for breakfast at the hotel.

Huge thanks to Mireille (sp??) and Aurelia (sp?!) and the others from Medtronic  and Diabeter whose names I cannot remember (sorry!) for making the event so enjoyable and informative. It was an honour and a pleasure to be there.


TADtalk2017
I was really looking forward to TADtalk, having seen such inspiring coverage on social media last year. Suffice to say it more than lived up to my expectations. Brainchild of Dr Partha Kar, Dr Catherine Peters and Prof Peter Hindmarsh that sprang out of a conversation in the back of a taxi, TADtalk (Talking About Diabetes) brings together inspirational speakers who share their experience and insight into meeting and overcoming the challenges that living with type 1 diabetes can bring. The talks themselves are videoed and distributed freely, as were last years, so do go and check them out.

This year's TAD Talk was smoothly hosted by safe pair of hands and everyone's second favourite T1 newsreader, Stephen Dixon, and the avalanche of tweets was storified by Diabetes UK. The glowing lineup of speakers included Sir Bruce Keogh, Miss Jen Greaves, Gavin 'Diathlete' Griffiths, #gbdoc's cat lover of choice Adrian Long, Roddy 'insane artic marathon challenge' Riddle, Mel 'international athlete' Grey, and not forgetting 'head of all the nurses and under-the-radar T1' Jane Cummings. There are some great blog posts that describe TADtalk2017 in more detail. See type1bri.com, type1adventures, Mel Stephenson, Adrian Long, and circles-of-blue for examples.
My overriding impression in the train on the way back was one of being uplifted, supported and encouraged. Having a whispered conversation with Mel Stephenson and top Jelly-Baby organiser @type1hurdles all the way back, having only met earlier that day.

Everyone involved should feel rightly proud. And if you get an opportunity to go to one, I would thoroughly recommend it.

Watch my weekend fly by


See more video noodlings on my Youtube thinghy.

Disclaimer: Medtronic paid my travel and accommodation to attend MDCE, and laid on a tasty dinner in the evening. I was also offered a free trial of the Guardian Connect for a month. I have not been paid to write this post or any post, and any opinions on what is good or bad about the technology are mine and mine alone.

Night-time nonsense. Perfection isn't possible.

The darkest hour, just before dawn, yesterday

I stumbled across this little bit of research again today. And while I know I had clocked it in the past, and was aware of it - this time it came as a huge relief.

I have not been feeling altogether cheery about my diabetes of late. Off and on for something getting on for a year I have been feeling more than usually grumpy and disheartened about it. I have written (mercifully few) ranty grumblings about it every so often. Partly driven by a couple of clinic appointments where I somehow managed to spend the weeks before and afterwards twisting and distorting either real or imaginary conversations into spirals of judgement, impossible requirements and self-destructive behaviours. Quite reasonable and well handled suggestions suddenly becoming a cloud of frustration and rage in my head, and a lead weight in my heart.

Many people would describe this as 'diabetes burnout', but that always sounds a bit too dramatic and significant. Mine is perhaps more of a 'diabetes weariness', with occasional outbursts of 'OH FOR GOODNESS SAKE WHAT ON EARTH IS THE POINT'.

Diabetes is such a mind game. Confidence and self-belief count for a lot for me. I do better when I feel things are going better, and I am much more likely to go off the rails or make (deliberate/knowing) poor choices when my levels are all over the place anyway.

You may recall that one of the changes I had been trying to make related to my remaining overnight hypoglycaemia. Nothing like as bad as it would once regularly have been (I have not had any severe hypos either in the day or overnight for years) but time spent hypo overnight is still something I really want to reduce further. Well after the best part of a year, and having tried a whole bunch of different approaches (some disastrous, others not so bad) I'm not sure I'm very much further forward. Without continuous monitoring it's hard to be 100% sure, but it seems I will still dip below 4.0mmol/L at some point on something like 3 nights in a month. I am now running most of the other nights significantly higher and that has resulted in an increase to my A1c by something like 0.5%-1%. On the plus side though, my number of BG checks below 4.0mmol/L last month was slightly lower than normal (whatever normal pretends to be).

So some things are a bit worse. And other things are a bit better. Well that all sounds familiarly 'life with T1D' to most of you I'm sure.

But here is the thing - if you, like me, struggle with variability in levels overnight. There is a LOT we can do to reduce it. There are strategies that we can put in place to really help. But it will never be perfect.

And we have to find a way to make peace with that.

During the day, you can do your best to reduce variability - to make good food choices, to dose carefully, to make adjustments around activity and exercise. And all the time you can watch and check and see how you are getting on. Check. React. Adjust. Move on.

What this piece of research, published in Diabetes Journals in May this year, demonstrates though - is that overnight insulin requirements are likely to be even more variable than those during the day. Think about that for a minute. In almost 2,000 days and nights that were measured and compared there was more variability in insulin need overnight than during the day. More variation with NONE of the variations in food, activity and all the rest.

That doesn't mean that it is not worth trying, of course. We still need to do the best we can to make up for our errant pancreases letting us down on the whole insulin-production front. Keep checking, reviewing and adjusting. Throwing in the occasional overnight basal test every now and then ("Hooray!", said no one ever). But it is worth bearing in mind, if you are struggling this week, that you are not on a level playing field. What works well most nights might let you down tomorrow, and that is not your fault.

Perfection is not possible. All we can do is our best.

Link: http://care.diabetesjournals.org/content/39/5/830.short

Appointments, priorities and the importance of buy-in

Well this is a bit unexpected - but I have been going through a bit of a weird patch over the last 8 weeks or so, and even though it's not one of the posts I have been struggling to get written for some time - I have decided to leapfrog this post ahead of the others and get it written while I it is still fresh in my mind.

Some ground rules before I start - I will try to keep the moaning to a minimum. Please bear in mind throughout that I really like my clinic, and value the opinion of the DSNs, Consultants and Registrars I see there. However, with something as complex, fickle and infuriating as type 1 diabetes, there will inevitably be some occasional differences in priorities, and sometimes this can lead to what we might call less-than-fun times. I believe it is crucial that any changes suggested in a clinic get genuine buy-in from the person with diabetes. And any previous negative experience of the suggested strategies needs to be given careful consideration.

To summarise 'life with diabetes' so far - I have always preferred to run on the low side than on the high side. Oddly enough the idea of dying with my feet still attached, functioning kidneys and still being able to see, rather appeals to me. Anyone who has read these witterings before will know that I have fought long and hard to reduce my exposure to hypoglycaemia, particularly Severe Hypos, with some success - I have not experienced severe hypoglycaemia for over 5 years now I think. What lows I still have are irritating, generally short lived and in the 3s. With a more serious couple in the 2s each month. But I do have more than I'd like. And I keep tabs on how many I am having each week/month to clamp on them if I start having more. The darkest shadow on my shoulder remains hypoglycaemia at night. Perhaps twice or three times a month I might drift below 4 and (according to Libre sensors) can stay there for several hours. This is a problem for me. It is a problem that the MM640G with sensors had pretty much entirely solved, but sadly that still remains out of my reach as a therapy option.

You may recall I wrote about a less than ideal appointment last Autumn. I confess I did not arrive at that appointment in the best of moods. As you will find, this is becoming something of a regrettable habit. Following that appointment, and full of all the encouragement that 'You are going to die of cardiac arrythmia' predictions will bring, I decided to tackle my lingering hypos more aggresively, particularly the overnight ones. I took more intense precautions in many more situations than I would have 'normally' done. Unfortunately, what I observed in my logs is that those lows are perilously hard to predict. I would take precautions using all my experience and judgement only to see my levels soar up into the teens overnight. Meanwhile I was still caught off-guard by lows when I least expected them. Nights with no obvious precipitating cause saw me wake up in the 3s. I kept it up for a good two or three weeks until I had got frustrated enough to stop. The percentage of lows per month was almost unchanged but my averages and variation went up markedly. I felt worse. I felt less on top of things. I went back to my 'normal' way.

But.

Of course, now I had let the cat out of the bag. In requesting access to sensors I had flagged up my problem to my clinic - and now they were worried about me. So I was called in for a more rapid three month follow-up appointment to see how I was getting on. Delayed by a couple of Junior Doctor strikes I actually went to my follow-up appointment on 13th April. We discussed the issues I had been having and their suggestion was blindingly simple - to take less insulin. I recounted my experience of trying to tackle these very overnight lows and how elusive they had been to tie down. That my attempts had made little difference to my monthly percentage of readings below 4, but had resulted in a significantly raised BG average, greater variation in results and raised HbA1c. Their opinion was that I had plenty of wiggle room in my A1c, which was (at that appointment) 6.7% - My opinion was more that the raised A1c and no significant reduction in the issue itself was less than satisfactory.

I wondered how high my A1c would have to be to prevent hypoglycaemia altogether (which appears to be their preferred scenario). Raising it by 11mmol/mol (1% in 'old' numbers) had done nothing - so how high would I have to go 8%? 9%? Oh no!!! not that high! Nowhere near... And yet I could not get past the thought that on the days when these overnight lows happen, I appear to need very little insulin overnight - to apply that approach to the other 28 or so nights in a month would inevitably result in consistently elevated BG levels.

I was given two options - to leave things as they were, or to try a small reduction overnight to see if it would help. They were persistent. Reluctantly I agreed. I suggested that simply dropping my basal pattern down one 'notch' would do nothing on those troublesome nights - if it was going to do anything it would have to be at least two notches (0.05u/hour).

My intention was to 'do it their way' for the next 6 months, and then go back for my next review.

The first night.

The problem
But herein lies the problem. I was reluctantly agreeing. I had tried this before and it had failed. I was not expecting it to work. In fact part of me was expecting it to fail. Perhaps even wanting it to fail? This was a problem I wanted to fix - but this did not feel like the right way to go about it. And the insistence that it was fine for my levels to be higher and my A1c to go up 'a bit' was not an encouragement - it felt like a separation between our priorities. To be clear, I know why they were suggesting it to me - from the outside it is almost something I can see myself recommending to someone else on a forum. I hate having these overnight lows. I want to be able to prevent them. But not at the cost of 90% of my overnight readings. I guess I felt trapped. Like I was doing something against my better judgement.

It probably didn't help that the first night did not exactly go brilliantly. 5.3mmol/L to 12.7mmol/L, and then a dip below 4 after lunch. A tried and tested lunch that I have eaten literally hundreds of times before. But I had decided to do it their way. So I continued.

And I am glad that I did. Because the second night showed a much lower rise. And two or three days later I *may* have dodged one overnight low because rather than a small (or very significant) rise in BG overnight I actually stayed almost level and woke at 5.5mmol/L.

I wish I could leave it there, with the problem more or less solved. But unfortunately that is not how it worked out.

Owning your own targets
I have talked before about the importance of owning your own targets - whatever you decide them to be. And here I was - trying to run my diabetes someone else's way. For all the right reasons, but following a plan of action that did not feel my own. Resisting my own management instincts to try to do it someone else's way. Watching my daily averages and glucose variation rise. Still experiencing a very similar number of low-level dips under 4.

And the more days that passed, the more the weight of running my diabetes against my instincts pressed down around me. As days turned to weeks any small early victories began to be swallowed by my rising, uncorrected, daily averages.

Type 1 diabetes is a grind. Type 1 diabetes is frustrating. Daily management can involve making hundreds of small interconnected decisions. And my aim is usually to attempt to get my BG levels to approximately mid-range by 3 or 4 hours after eating. Except now, I was aiming to avoid hypoglycaemia at all costs (not actually part of the original decision, but more reflective of multiple conversations over a number of years). So I was letting high BGs run. Sometimes all day. And still the lows peppered my results. Marginally less frequently perhaps... but adding insult to injury. Frustration grew. My mood darkened.

All in the mind?
After three or four weeks I knew I was struggling. But I had decided to run things their way for six months so I gritted my teeth and tried to carry on.

This was a mistake.

Way back in my diabetes dark-ages, there was a time where I would only test a couple of times every few days. It was not unheard of for Jane to ask me to test if I was behaving in an unsually grumpy, frustrated or short-tempered way. More often than not it transpired that I was running high. I find high BGs frustrating anyway, in that they usually suggest some sort of miscalculation on my part - but it seems that there may also be some physiological association for me between high BG levels and low mood, frustration, anger, dispair and feelings of helplessness.

Six weeks after my appointment I had reached the point where I was beginning to behave more erratically in response to my elevated BGs. I was either rage bolusing (significantly over-correcting out of sheer frustration) or rage snacking (eating rapid acting carbs without insulin in response to a moderately high BG - if I was going to be high, I might as well have 'earned' it). I was noticeably more angry and frustrated - it was beginning to impact on the family. I came to a point where I had to regain some balance.

And so I have switched back to doing things 'my way'. I'm not sure how much of this story I will share when I return to clinic in 3 months or so, as I really do not think they did anything particularly wrong. This post is more a question of me facing my own demons really, and how my reluctantly handing-over some of the control I had fought so hard to wrestle back from my diabetes, resulted in a spiral downwards towards disengagement and depression.

What have I learned?

• Owning your targets is crucial. T1D is too frustrating to try to play to someone else's rules.
• Where I recognise there are problems to address - I need to do it with strategies I actually believe have a chance of succeeding.
• That reducing basal insulin such that I get a slight rise overnight is not a disaster and may, very occasionally dodge a period of low BG overnight.
• That there are useful lessons I can learn from the first two weeks of the experiment which I can try to apply to my own self-management framework.
• That agreeing to do something in order to demonstrate that it doesn't work is a very silly idea when it comes to T1 self-management.
• That I need to be careful about my psychological and emotional state during periods of elevated blood glucose.
• It's your diabetes - trust your instincts.

Thanks, as ever, for reading.

Painting the Forth Bridge

The Forth Bridge (CC licensed)

Famously, the painting of the Forth Bridge (an enormous railway bridge across the Firth of Forth in Scotland) took so long that by the time the workers finished painting this spectacularly beautiful collection of girders, steel, bricks and sweat, it needed to be started all over again. Apparently this is no longer the case and the painting has finally stopped, at least temporarily, but bear with me here as I indulge myself in a little cliched allegory.

Painting the Forth Bridge - I wonder what it would be like to be one of those people given that task.

Perhaps a young man, in his early twenties. Suddenly, unexpectedly, given this massive undertaking. A job for life. It must surely have been a daunting prospect. But perhaps there was something of a challenge about it too. Something to get stuck into. Something to work towards. And while the tools were, at first, unfamiliar and clumsy, he was determined to see the work done. To do it the best he could. To protect this beautiful structure.

And the days turn into weeks, and the weeks turn into years. And still it goes on. It is hard work. The schedule is punishing, but it has to be done. He pushes on. The tools are more familiar now - he's actually got pretty good at this painting lark. He has picked up some tips from others who have been painting far longer than him. He can even take some of the difficult corners in his stride, the awkward spots that he could never really manage before. Occasionally a new brush or a fresh pot of paint kindles some excitement and interest. Spurs him on. Improves his technique. And then back to the graft.

And some days... some days it is just beautiful. Way up there at the top of one of the arches, alongside friends and co-workers, with the wind gently cooling his face, as the sun beats down on his shoulders. The view stretching for miles and miles. The distant thrum of locomotives passing below. The faintest call of birdsong from the marshes. When he compares his work to others' he thinks, "You know, it's not that bad." He feels lucky. Yes there is work to be done. Yes he has to be careful to keep himself safe, but in comparison to some other working conditions he knows about - he could have done much worse.

There are scary times too. When storms lash and winds howl. This work is no place for the faint-hearted then. But even then... even then there is something to push against. Something to overcome. A battle to be fought. Something almost heroic about it. Those are not the hardest times for him.

It is the grey days he fears the most. The grey, unending, energy-sapping days. Where the fog rises up and obscures everything else.

The days when his paintbrush seems to weigh even more heavily than his heart. When the neverending nature of the task overwhelms him. No matter how hard he tries, no matter what he does. He will never finish. Stroke after pointless stroke. Hour after pointless hour. And still no nearer the end. There is no end. And if he slows down, he only gets further behind. The task goes on and on. Unrelenting. Inescapable.

He has an annual performance review with the HR department. They seem happy enough with his work, but can only talk about the rust and decay that constantly threaten the bridge. The rust... the rust... always the rust. He must not let up they say. He must keep up his workload. They come down pretty hard about Health and Safety too. Apparently, though he tries to be careful and is pretty diligent with his harness, hardhat and boots, he is not doing enough. He could slip at any moment and that would be it. They don't seem to understand the reality of what it's like up there. Sometimes you have to move from point 'a' to point 'b' and it's not always possible to be fully harnessed-up in between.

He ventures to ask about a new piece of painting equipment. It would make his work much easier, and much safer. He has even tried it and has seen what a difference it makes. Unfortunately 'the management' will not provide it. It is too expensive, and they are not sure they believe the promises in the brochure. The HR department are sympathetic, naturally, but the decision is out of their hands. He knows, of course, that his equipment is pretty expensive already. It's not a surprise that the newest and fanciest stuff is out of reach. But his head and his heart feel differently about it. Part of him aches for what might have been. Part of him wishes he'd never even heard of this new stuff.

And the grey days continue. He blunders on. Barely looking at what he is doing now. So tired. So tired of it all. Sometimes he looks at his brushes with loathing. He wants to throw them over the edge. Cast them into the broiling waters below. Just watch the bridge decay and fall. The rust... the rust... To surrender the bridge to the elements.

To stop.

But he can't. He WON'T stop. He pushes down the melancholy as an act of will. He knows so many people that love this old bridge. Who rely on it. Who need it. He wants it to be there for them.

So he picks up his brush one more time.

Sighs.

And carries on.