Simple joy of a hot water bottle

It is that time again. I’m in bed on a Wednesday afternoon. Given up on my desk for the day, I have my laptop perched on my lap. The warmth of my hot water bottle soothing my aching.

Hot water bottles have always been a source of comfort in my life. This relationship started when my periods did. At the age of 14, I became reliant on them on a monthly basis.

Those early periods were difficult. Very difficult. It remains some of the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. Everything had to stop when my period started. We had to rush home from family outings and I’d skip out on social situations.

I remember being gutted when I missed out on going to the posh cinema with my friend. I can’t recall what we were going to see, but I was enraptured by the description of ice cream and plush reclining seats. Instead, my period arrived overnight whilst she was sleeping over. We knew this was game over. I couldn’t get out of bed on the first day. Clutching my hot water bottle tightly, we instead watched a movie on my tiny boxy bedroom TV. My friend peering around nervously at me every time I moved. Concerned and a little afraid I was going to vomit, which was pretty common for me at this time of the month.

Another time I was covering for my parents at their shop when the pains started. I had to walk home as the cramps waved over me. Trying not to bend double in agony on the way. I’m not sure why I cared what people thought then. I regularly skipped down this road singing High School Musical songs with my friend. I even winked at a passing driver once. Getting completely carried away. The first time I ever winked at anyone. I wonder what they made of that.

Finally getting home, I fell through the front door. Huddling at the bottom of the stairs, tears streaming down my face. My brother, one of three, I can’t remember which, found me there. Asking they very obviously unhelpful ‘are you ok?’. ‘No’, I gasped in response. ‘Its my period’. Hurried footsteps retreated as they were obviously searching out mum. I remember feeling pure rage that he didn’t have to go through this agony on a monthly basis. Selfish prick.

I’ve been lucky that only one hot water bottle has split in my life. I remember sitting in bed and suddenly feeling a warm (thankfully not hot) dampness trickling down my belly. Springing up, I held the water bottle in outstretched hands and charged to the bathroom.

My mother, another hot water bottle dependant, seems to have a real knack at splitting them. This has resulted in my dad, never one to throw something out (the anti-minimalist) now having an assorted collection of hot water bottle lids. ‘Just in case’. The moment arose recently for this to potentially be a useful habit. I had managed to snap off the top section of my water bottle lid, now meaning I have to prise it open with pliers. With clear excitement, on realising this, my dad dashed to assess his stash. Sadly, it turned out that the chosen lid did not fit. He still kept it. Of course.

I now have a hot water bottle every night. Even in the height of summer, you will find me hovering by a boiling kettle. My partner finds this ludicrous, but I find such comfort in that reliable warmth. Tucking it under my feet as I sat propped up reading in bed. My right foot almost always gets too warm, so I end up sticking it out from under my covers to cool off. I’m not sure why its always my right foot.

I have so much gratitude for these trusty hot water bottles. They have been the much-needed antidote for cramps. Kept me warm when living on remote windswept seabird islands, deep within ancient Caledonian forest and an uninsulated caravan where the windows would freeze on the inside.

They also add a sense of routine when I have needed it most. When away from home, in new surroundings, this familiar habit makes me feel safe. I can snuggle down into a warm bed and let go of the worries from the day.

It is always the simple joys that make life truly happy.