It’s been awhile.
We, and by we I mean me and my laundry list of medical issues, we have gone from damaged organs and an awkward trip to the ER to back off all meds and doing fantastic (considering) to full blown flare.
Full. Blown. Flare.
I’m too exhausted to even stress the move that much. The move, to another state, in 9 days. 9 days.
Independence day was nice. The SO was home this year and we didn’t have any crazy plans. First time that’s happened in ages. Last year he was in Iwo Jima, the year before we were at the Whitehouse and the year before that he was in Afghanistan. We could have bbq’d and we should have packed and there were social obligations we could have attended but we went out for Mexican food and saw Wonder Woman on the big screen. It was laid back. No big fireworks were seen in person but we did sparklers with the girls out in the back yard and watched a Capitol Fourth on PBS.
When I meet anyone else dealing with fatigue or fibro or anything chronic and painful I preach the importance of naps. Naps are the difference between managing from day to day and utter collapse of your personal world. No exaggerations. Sleep deprivation is heinous and destructive for a healthy person. Deprive someone of sleep for too long when they are dealing with chronic illness and it’s a recipe for disaster. Nap when you can.
I napped after coffee, before the movie, after the movie and before sparklers. 4 naps. Four naps. That’s a record. Naps are a litmus test for how badly I’m flaring. This one is probably setting records. I should log symptoms. Logging symptoms is a good idea for identifying foods and activities that increase your symptoms.
I’m now blogging and pleased with my efforts because I’ve been awake for 5 consecutive hours and managed to wash dishes and laundry. Take those little accomplishments, no matter how small. My accomplishments today were small but still valid, but they took a monumental effort.
A monumental effort to accomplish small deeds is the difference between a normal person and someone who is invisibly ill.
If I weren’t so tired I might wonder if I am flaring right now because there’s another adult around (for once) and not everything rests on solely my shoulders or if I am flaring because the past 3 months have been chaotic with moving and single parenting. Maybe it’s the last 2 years of diagnosis chasing and pharmacy guinea pigging. I am exhausted. There’s no excuse or sugar coating that will change just how tired I feel. Exhausted.
My to do list is lengthy. Lists are a great way to prioritize when you can’t risk over doing it. So lengthy. There’s no possible way I can manage it all. Even with help it can’t all be done. But I can manage the most pressing tasks. What choice do I have, really? Being this deep into a flare when I can’t just drop everything, I can’t drop anything really, it all needs to find itself finished at some point quite soon.
The truck will be ready to pack in 7 days and the keys to the place we occupy need to be returned in 9. 12 days until the new place. 13 until we return the moving truck.
My body can’t quit for another 13 days. One day at a time.