Andy
Senior Member (Voting rights)
Katharine Cheston reflects on her own experience of ME and the need for a more caring, curious, and compassionate approach to health research.
For two years, from the age of fifteen, every hour of my life was recorded, colour-coded, on an ‘energy chart’. Blue signified sleep and was permitted only from the hours of 10.30pm to 7.30am. Rest was green – and rest meant ‘proper rest’: lying in the dark, thinking of nothing. A quarter of each box on the chart had to be shaded in green: fifteen minutes of each hour of each day. High energy activity – eating, thinking, feeling, talking, bathing – was coloured in red, and was severely rationed: one hour, then two, then three. Low energy activity was yellow. For an activity to qualify as low energy, it had to require just enough concentration to keep me awake, but not too much that I might find it in any way interesting or engaging. Mostly, this consisted of watching films I’d seen so many times before, I could recite them.I could write, by means of an explanation, that my life was lived according to energy charts because I had ME (or myalgic encephalomyelitis, also known – albeit controversially – as ‘chronic fatigue syndrome’). However, I want to be more specific. My life was lived according to energy charts because, when I became ill after a flu-like virus in September 2008, the clinicians at the NHS Fatigue Clinic I attended believed that children (as well as adults) could cure themselves of their ME by changing their behaviour and their beliefs about their illness. For example, by limiting when and for how long I was allowed to sleep, I was supposed to reverse my insomnia by developing better ‘sleep hygiene’. Over time, I became too ashamed to admit my failure to become more hygienic, and stopped reporting how little I’d been sleeping, the long stretches of blue on the chart a lie covering nights lying awake, so sleep-deprived I hallucinated figures at the foot of my bed.
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