Thursday, November 17, 2011
Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired
It's official. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.
On Tuesday, I took my son out for lunch for his 20th birthday. The food was delicious. After we ate, we went over to Best Buy to return the iPod I got for Joey for Christmas (because everyone agreed a new bike would be better - shhh...don't tell him!) and I found myself very confused.
And then the pain hit.
I'm used to chronic pain. I've had it for over 25 years and I'm very used to chronic pain. But this. This was so bad, I thought I was going to pass out behind the wheel. This was lightning sharp, intense, blinding pain in my abdomen. We were almost home and Ben asked if I wanted to pull over, but all I could think about was getting home. I was able to hold it together long enough for him to help me out of the car. I wouldn't let him help me into the house because I didn't want Justin to worry or be distracted from work.
The pain and fogginess got worse as the day wore on. I thought maybe I had taken too much of my narcotic pain reliever and the old digestive tract just wasn't working, so there was no point to going to the doctor. I would wait it out and see if things passed, so to speak. Things passed and it still hurts and I'm still really foggy. I don't think it was the narcotics.
I've been walking around since Tuesday afternoon holding my insides in and trying not to bitch about how bad I feel, because I can't possibly feel worse than Justin. He hasn't had a day off since the end of October and the work just keeps piling on, despite his recent bout with a sinus infection and severe bronchitis that was about one cough away from pneumonia. He's still coughing and hacking three weeks later, so I'm sure he doesn't want to hear his unemployed, unpaid, writer wife whining about how bad she feels.
I unloaded the dishwasher yesterday bent in two and was really glad that I had done the laundry on Tuesday. I'm praying Joey has enough jeans to last until Saturday.
When the pain hit, I cleared my schedule for yesterday and today, hoping whatever it was would be gone by Friday, because Friday is the day my best friend is supposed to come out for lunch and a few hours of sewing time. I've been resting up my hand all week so that we can sit and do nothing but focus on our crafting. If I have to cancel on her because I need to go to the Urgent Care tomorrow, I am going to be some kind of pissed.
And there's the visit planned to my mom on Saturday. And Christmas shopping with another friend on Sunday.
All of the fun things that I would never cancel at the last minute like I would the unfun things. I know that's when I really don't feel good...when I don't meet a friend for something, because I look forward to those dates like a 3 year old looks forward to ice cream.
I am sick of being sick. And I am sick of the sickness having another level. Every time I get to the point where I think I am handling it and getting on with things, something else hits. I've been pretty much completely physically miserable since my hysterectomy in April 2010 and it's not getting better. A doctor and three specialists can't find anything (else) wrong. It could be adhesions from the surgery, but if it is, if they go in and try to fix it, they will make it worse. The surgery that was supposed to fix things just made them worse. I'm supposed to go have blood work done, but I've been too sick this week to do it. (Isn't that an oxymoron?)
There's a blog that I read that is written by a fairly well know woman with fibromyalgia. I've been struck with how many negative posts she writes. I know how easy it is to fall down the rabbit hole of being miserable and then spreading it around. I have actually winnowed out a lot of blogs that I used to read to try to keep things positive. And now here I am complaining about how bad I feel. I feel bad about complaining. I feel worse about being sick.
This is not what I signed up for. I need to be functional, at least to some point. And I'm having a really weird sense of deja vu that I have written this post before when I got "sicker" with some kind of virus or something that was making me nuts.
So, I'm miserable. I've been in my slippers for so many hours straight, my toenails were starting to rub the toes beside them so badly I had to take them off. My right hip is screaming at me because I have to lie on my right side on the couch to see the television and that side doesn't like to have all of my weight on it for an extended period of time. I am fighting the cat for the pillows (which he totally thinks belong to him now). Have you ever had to fight a 25 pound cat for your pillows? It's no easy task when you feel weak as a kitten. (Ha - play on words, which probably made no sense to anyone but me.)
I don't have time for this. I just got accepted to write for a new website and need to get myself set up with them. I need to see my friends. I need to see my mom. I need to go Christmas shopping, if I want to have gifts under the tree for my kids.
And I feel like going to the doctor is a waste of time and money, because they can never find anything (new) wrong with me. My primary care doctor is an hour away and Justin can't take three hours out of his day to get me out there. Hell, he can't take an hour to take me to Urgent Care. He's on the edge of sanity as it is with his workload. The last thing he needs is a sick wife.
What happens when Mom gets too sick to do anything? How do you handle that? What do you do to keep the laundry done, the meals made, the dog hair from drifting around your house?
And now I need to welcome my kids home (as much as I can without lifting my head) and...I forgot. I think the dishwasher needs to be unloaded. When am I going to feel better, damn it?
I figure it's something from the restaurant. But I'm not sure; it could be anything. Or it could be nothing and I am making more of some transient pain than I should be. But whatever it is, it's really starting to piss me off.
I don't want to be the blogger who can't shut up about how bad she feels. Because that gets old really quickly.