So I’m sitting here, thinking about moving *these* boxes over there and *those* boxes next to the wall and just getting things in order in my house.
We’ve gotten some changes accomplished with the help of our young (strong and determined) friend. I am no longer sequestered in the corner, in my little kitty nest. I’m actually sitting up to the desk, in a desk chair–and instead of having to stand up to see my beloved, I can just swirl around in the chair to have a look at him. We’ve gotten oh about 35% of the furniture into its “final” position, in a (vain?) attempt to establish order and some sense of normalcy.
BUT…we still have stacks of mother effing boxes that at this point, even knowing that I DO need some of what’s in them, I’d be just as happy to toss them into the dumpster if only to be rid of them. I’m so tired of reading “UHaul” and “Office Depot” when I glance around the room. And that’s not even counting all the USPS boxes we have (the man of the house inherited them from his father; do not send the USPS box police to my house to arrest me).
So I’m sitting here, thinking about all these damned boxes and wanting to move them around. And thinking is the most I can do about it because the minute I begin to move, my body reminds me that I am NOT going to be as active as my brain thinks I can be. And therein lies my greatest annoyance: the dichotomy between the medicated brain chemistry which makes me want to do things and the medicated but still painful body reality that won’t let me do shit. (Or at least not much more than type this and toddle to the water dispenser for more H2O.)
Since I am no longer sitting with my feet up all day, my ankles are … puffy, balloon-like and otherwise having issues with edema. Doctor put me on meds for that, but so far, all I do is pee more. And it’s damned uncomfortable to shuffle on elephant feet to the potty and pee more often than I already did. (Side note: lived in West Texas for 4 years, learned to drink water all day long–between 1/2 and 1 GALLON daily. Still do it. On the other hand, no UTI’s and my pee is almost clear, I wash out the system so well.)
My hands are also swollen and both hands and feet are still painful in the joints/digits. (As opposed to the back of my hands and the tops of my feet, which were hurting me a couple of weeks ago.) I can barely hold my water bottle (32 ounces or 2 pounds) so moving boxes that weigh a whole lot more is just nonsense and out of the question. Which brings me to my conundrum: the meds I’m on are fixing the mental part of fibromyalgia, but not so much the physical side. I am improving there as well, but not nearly as dramatically.
Speaking of which, my husband says that the changes he’s seeing are so much, so quickly that it is disorienting for him. I am rapidly returning to the person he met two years ago and in some ways, even better. I was headed down this road slowly without him and would probably have ended up in the same sticky situation — we strongly suspect that living for a year in a house that we only discovered had black mold 1 month before the lease was due for renewal is what accelerated my (already headed to) downward rush into truly bad health. I am so glad that we are together because if I was like this, if I had to live on my own the way I’ve had to live the past 18 months…I might not be living. I could not have done this without him. Lots to be grateful for and I am, really.
So I’m learning to deal with this huge mismatch of thinking about doing and not being able to do. I am also finding out that those things that I can do still need to be done slowly and carefully. I must not overdo and it’s very hard to find that line since it’s so close to my “not doing” starting point. I do things, feel okay, keep doing and then end up spending the next day having to rest because I overdid. It’s a very fine line. And I’m not talking about doing major earth-shattering stuff. I’m talking about unloading and then re-loading the dishwasher and fixing a meal. I’m talking about doing 2-3 loads of laundry (with the time between loads as things spin around in their respective machines to rest). Normal, daily chore type stuff. Don’t even talk to me about dusting or vacuuming…what is that? And the bathroom….oh gods the bathroom. I hit various spots of it on a semi-regular basis, but the whole room really needs to be cleaned.
Which then leads me to the idea of doing other things, like actually opening and using the oil paint supplies I bought like 8 years ago and I have no idea if the paints are even still usable. I have several crochet projects going on and find that just a single row on a blanket is almost more than I can take. I hope to have Froggy’s blanket ready for him before he goes to college…but at this rate, maybe not. I would read but holding a book is not a comfortable position for the hands. Guess I need to install Kindle on this computer and read online. I haven’t had the energy or the ability to even think about that until recently. Or as the man of the house says, “Is it a good sign that I am getting bored with playing games on Facebook?” Why yes, yes it is.
I’ve been told that I have the most patience in the world…but never for me or my own life. Maybe that’s the lesson I’m being taught. To learn how to accept my limitations, to learn how to do the things I want to do, need to do within the parameters of fibromyalgia. Not to ignore the disease and then pay for it later with MORE pain, but to gently, slowly, ease back into doing things. And the hardest part of this? Not being apologetic for it, not feeling somehow less as a person for not doing more. To ask for help when I need it. To be grateful for that help and to not think it’s a black mark against me. That I am not a slacker or lazy. (Part of the leftover baggage from the first marriage, before the diagnosis and without realizing that I was ILL not lazy at that time.)
We’re still having guests on a regular basis–spent a chunk of yesterday helping a friend bitch slap her laptop and desktop computers into working if not at their best, at least better than they had been. And had to impart the bad news that when you drop a hard drive and then it makes a clicking sound…you’re talking professional data retrieval at a price that is not affordable for her at this time. On the other hand, put that drive on a shelf and when you have the $$, go get it read out. It’s not going anywhere. Socializing and technology, a good meal together and a lovely evening was had by all.
We will also have a houseful tomorrow as my daughter and our friend are both coming to help us celebrate the beloved’s birthday. My granddaughter may or may not make an appearance and the plan is for strawberry ice cream cake. He found a cake that had a layer of ice cream between the cake, rather than a cake made out of ice cream…and if that’s what he wants, that’s what he gets!
So life goes on; still no word about either disability claim so stress about money is climbing, but we’re doing our best with that. Hopefully we will get some resolution with at least one claim this week or next. We’re both doing better and so the upward motion of health is a good sign, an omen that we are indeed regaining a “real” life once more. One small step for me, one giant step for my health.