I woke up this morning, as I always do, by opening my eyes to see which dog is shuffling and prodding me to be fed. Usually I then follow the dogs downstairs, they are very good they wait for me intermittently to catch up with them. Ankle pain and stiffness makes my journey downstairs one of silent curse words and hobbling. I open the door for them to go outside to find their “toilet” spots whilst I sort out their breakfast.
They eat whilst I gorm before returning outside to do their number 2’s. Then as they come in and shoot back upstairs to snuggle in my vacated indentation on the bed, I close and lock the door. I bear crawl upstairs (it is the easiest and less painful way to do the climb) and hobble back to bed. There ensues a few minutes of trying to squeeze myself back into “my” indentation whilst the dogs try to prevent me from doing just that. Usually it results in a compromise of us all getting half and half.
I usually then fall asleep again for a few more hours before I finally get up.
I look across the bed and Dave is gone.
When I come downstairs the second time Dave is usually up and about, drinking his second or possibly third coffee. Ritualistically he always asks how I am feeling, I always reply that I feel awful and don’t understand why. He offers up platitudes and tells me to sit down whilst he goes and makes me a coffee and brings it to me along with my medication. I can then be in this semi~awake state for a further few hours before again climbing the stair mountain to get washed and dressed.
Today was different, Dave was still very kind and understanding but this time instead of the usual platitudes he said “I don’t understand why you don’t get why you feel so poorly. You have several chronic illnesses which are always going to make you feel unwell.” We then settled to our usual routine but this time my brain was sort of churning through the fog enveloped around it.
I know I have these illnesses, I thought I had accepted it but it would seem I am still in denial for the most part.
I have purchased aids to support myself, compression stockings, wrist and ankle braces, smart crutches, blue badge and take medication, so I must acknowledge and accept my illness a fair bit surely?
Sitting quietly, no sounds around me other than the rain falling and dogs snoring I allow myself to ponder.
I am fighting accepting my illnesses, I don’t want to be “sick” ~ to be fair who does? I am so frustrated by my body lassoing me and holding me captive. I want to dance, do zumba, to trek, go see live bands, to go out with the girls, walk the dogs, clean my own house!
So, fellow spoonies, how on earth to you reconcile yourself to the new limited edition of you? Do you keep pushing the boundaries trying to break through them too? Is it human nature to not accept a state of being and to want to stretch it?
I so want to do more and be more. I am currently feeling angry at my own body and how it is behaving. I also feel bad about doing that too ~ so far my body has been exceptionally accommodating. In my youth I abused it with alcohol and partying, I put it through pregnancies in quick succession, I just took it for granted that it would always do for me what I asked.
It seems now it’s fighting back, it’s dug it’s heels in and giving me resistance to everything I ask of it. Not only that, my brain is playing games too ~ releasing my black dog for unleashed romps, forgetting words or replacing them with wrong ones. It refuses to allow any length of concentration on anything and often forgets things almost immediately. I am trying to sudoku it repeatedly to force it to cooperate, allegedly games like that help brain function.
I take prescription medication for depression & pain, plus different supplements from over the counter (checking first with pharmacist to ensure they don’t react adversely to prescription medication) which are meant to help with energy, bowel health plus my vitamin D.
So, body of mine, I apologise, for abusing you and taking you for granted in the past. I acknowledge now all the fabulous things you have done and still do for me.
I suppose I have to now work towards helping my brain and body instead of fighting them. To accept *gulp* the new reality and hope that in the future things may improve. I have been told not to expect it but it may happen. I have been told (by doctors) to adjust and accept what I can do, that it could be worse, that I am lucky to be sick now and not in my youth.
I look hard at what I have and yes I am more than exceptionally lucky.
I have choices to make, to decide what to prioritise and what to pack away for a tomorrow that may not come, but it’s wrapped in a layer of hope, so you never know.
For my girls, I will do what I can, they didn’t ask for their challenges anymore than I asked for mine. Together we will face them and strategise the heck out of what we can do around them.
For my husband, you do so much for me I cannot thank you enough, despite fighting every day against the side effects of your heart medications.
I am lucky, more than I deserve and more than I ever thought possible.
So, from this moment on I am going to try and make the right choices, to learn to accept the new version of me and to make life as easy for those around me and learn to be kind to myself too.
However, I cannot commit to not releasing the odd expletive. I cannot allow this embuggerance to control me, instead I shall take back the reins and control it’s power over me. I shall choose to pace, to self care, to acknowledge the obstacles and finds ways around them.
Quite simply, I won’t quit!