Don't Worry, Yeah Right!

It's Friday, about 2.20pm and I just got as big a tirade of abuse from a client that I have ever had, I wouldn't mind but it's not even my fault! (Well it never is, is it?). I put the phone down and reach for the Ibuprofen, I've not been feeling well recently and my head is pounding.

I turn to my laptop, a few more emails in my inbox, all requiring "action". (I must have a word with Mr. Gates one day about those fearsome big red exclamation marks, standing upright and proud beside their message like an infuriated Sergeant Major delighting in his "High Importance"). I ignore them, I really can't be bothered.

For a moment I stare at the laptop, that bloody laptop. I loved it when I first got it with it's iridescent style, soft springy keys that seemed to caress your fingertips like a tender kiss on the cheek from your first real love; but now? I despise it, it follows me everywhere, and it enslaves me, demanding my attention, feeding on my aspiration for information, communication and social empowerment.

I've had enough. I shut it down, I can almost hear it scream at me, Banshee like, as it expels it's last image like a final breath and the light finally fades, then nothing. I place it firmly in my bag, gather my car keys from my desk draw and head off home.

It's now Saturday about 12.30pm. I still don't feel too good but I tell myself it will pass. I have an ulterior motive for this, my favourite football team, Notts County is playing at home today and I have a ticket, it's a big game against local rivals Sheffield Wednesday and there will be a great atmosphere, I don't want to miss it. (It's an interesting fact that us Notts County supporters were once allegedly amongst the most stressed football supporters in the country, but more on this later, I digress).

It's 5.00pm and the game has finished in a disappointing 2 - 0 defeat, somewhat dejectedly I join the black & white exodus of low hanging heads and hunched shoulders as I wander back to my car which is parked along the Embankment on the River Trent. Normally this would be quite a pleasant walk, but I don't notice it, the onset of autumn is apparent which does nothing for my mood. My breathing is shallow and I fear I may have taken a turn for the worse. I fight it and head home, convinced I'll feel better once I get my feet up in front of the television.

I’m wrong, it’s now 12.40am Sunday morning, the illness I have been fighting has beaten me into submission and I find myself in A&E, waiting patiently to be attended to, alongside the fallen late night alcohol fuelled revelers and Mike Tyson wannabe’s. Eventually I’m seen; painkillers and meds administered and sent on my way.

Fast forward and it’s Tuesday morning and I’m sat in front of my GP. The painkillers I got from the hospital are doing the job but its obvious there is still an underlying issue that needs to be addressed. It appears that my illness, although physical in its manifestation is psychosomatic, I’m officially suffering from stress.

I sit back and take stock. Stress? I always viewed stress as this raging tiger that rampaged from within, causing weak people to break down and crumble as if in a fever induced shivering wreck, unable to cope with whatever challenge life had just decided to throw at them. This wasn’t me, I don’t do stress, stress is an excusable term used by the pathetic who are unable to meet the rigours their lives demand of them, well that's what I believed?

Three years ago I was a relatively successful business owner. Twelve months later the global financial crisis, charging down its tracks like a runaway train was building up a head of steam and there was my business, tied to the tracks like a damsel in distress, unable to break free and no sign of being rescued by your archetypal hero. The business was lost, along with my house and the creditors wanted their pound of flesh.

I sit here two years later, self employed in a declining market doing what I can to rebuild my life, my family’s life and repay my financial debts. It’s hard, my daughter has just left for University for the first time, another big change in our lives, but I know I can cope, I’m made of strong stock, and I can handle the . . . stress.

I turn to my GP and ask him what I can do to reduce the risk of another stress induced, psychosomatic medical episode and he replies “Don’t worry so much . . . “

Yeah, right!