The wall.

September 13, 2013 Savvy Spoonie 2 Comments

It’s been nine months since the final surgery that removed my uterus and remaining ovary. I have been getting more active, more energetic, better. Sometimes better enough to forget that it’s only been nine months. Often, better enough to forget that my doctor told me it would be, at minimum, a year before I felt completely better.

So I get busy. I work, I work out, I play with the kids, I see people, and the whole time I am thinking “Woo hoo! I am getting better!” I feel energetic and great! Even with migraines I feel miles above where I used to be.

Then I run smack into the wall. BAM!

Yesterday I hit the wall after I saw the doc for a nerve block for my migraines. I got home, blearily handled the kiddos while I waited for their dad, and then went to lie down because I could not keep my eyes open. I am not exaggerating. I could not stay awake any longer. I hit the bed and I slept for three and a half hours. Then I ate something, went back to bed, and slept ten. I am exhausted and distracted today, unable to focus for very long on much of consequence. My energy level is super low.

This has happened before. It’s like I have used up all my spoons, and have to recharge before I get any more. It’s not unusual, in fact I should expect it, but I never do. I did when I was super sick, when I had to spend all my energy just not screaming at the kids or Lee or crying all the time because I hurt too much to be a human being much less a wife and parent. Now that I am much better I forget how much farther I have to go. I get greedy and impatient with myself, eager to return to the levels of energy I had before all this madness started. Eager to leave behind the woman who watched the world rush around her while she lived in a quiet little room, too hurt to participate.

Unfortunately, the wall has no pity. It is relentless. I run into it and there is no running past it, no getting around it, no breaking through. All there is are days of sleep, rest, and the feeling that I can’t do anything. The feeling that I am right back in that room. The wall will not let me by until I have taken the space and time I need to recover.

So I dial it back. I spend less energy. I try to regroup and build myself back up. I hope this time I will have more energy than last, that I will be that much closer to healed.

That this time I will finally get completely out of that room.

health, Migraine

Don’t worry, I don’t know how I do it either.

September 11, 2013 Savvy Spoonie Leave a comment

Sometimes when people find out I have been living with chronic pain, they say “I don’t know how you do it.”

I want to tell them “Don’t worry, I don’t know either.”

I don’t have some secret method of handling pain that makes it less painful for me than it does for you, I don’t have some super power that makes me better at dealing with it. I basically just get up each day and live, which considering the opposite choice, is one of the most basic decisions a person can make.

I suppose I could say something inspiring about how I get through due to prayer or meditation, that the relationships I have sustain me, that my children keep me going. All those things are true, but they aren’t true in the simplistic way people seem to want them to be. I get up because I have to. I keep going because to stop is to die.

I am not saintly about it. I cry and bitch and whine and moan. I complain about how bloody unfair it all is. I feel selfish for complaining and then angry that I feel selfish. I am certain most of my friends are tired of hearing me bitch and so I withdraw inside myself (or now, here.) I give up regularly. All the time. Several times a day. I can’t express how much I wish I had some magical mechanism I could employ that would turn me into a strong, stoic chronic pain sufferer who inspires everyone to shoulder their burdens more willingly.

I think if I had such a mechanism, I would want to meet that me and ask her how she does it.

Just me, Migraine, Motherhood

Morning has broken.

September 10, 2013 Savvy Spoonie Leave a comment

The alarm intrudes on my nightly peace and as I drift into consciousness the ever present pulsing in my brain increases in intensity until the only desire I have is to stay in bed. Forever.

Must sit up.

Standing and facing the morning has become the hardest part of my day. For some as-of-yet-undiscovered reason my migraines are at their worst in the morning. Once I get up and moving, they begin to ease a little, leaving some room for thought, emotion, and even a laugh or two. I remind myself of this as my temples experience another stab from an invisible ice pick.

Must put feet on floor.

The sound of the birds chirping outside is just this side of unpleasant, the musical notes sharp enough to set off my phonophobia. Breathe, drink water, find the ibuprofen next to the bed. I often wonder how long it will be before my liver is the one to protest.

Must stand and dress.

Okay. I’m up and dressed. Now it’s time to turn on the hideous and invasive light and wake up the children. There will be whining. The whining will penetrate my skull and rattle around inside my head. Don’t snap, don’t yell, just breathe.

It’s time to wake up dearest. It’s time to get on with our day.

The fuss and fretting associated with a school day morning distracts me from my throbby companion. I find socks, make lunches, sign forgotten forms, and answer the repeated incredulous questions about having to go to school today. I bundle them in the car, we leave. The bank of dark clouds on the horizon bodes ill for saying goodbye to the headache today. It seeks refuge from storms like these. Perhaps it is afraid of thunder.

At school there is hugging and snuggling and kisses goodbye. There are reminders about handing in forms and well wishes for a lovely day. As always they both hope I feel better soon. As always, I tell them I am sure I will and I smile.

By the time I return home the ibuprofen will have eased the headache some, the movement and motion will have done more. I have the chance to work, to chat with my parents and to live my life. I will work out for several hours today, intermittently. The only medication that seems to send the headache packing is my own exertion. By the time I go to sleep tonight, my legs will ache from the amount of time I have spent on the exercise bike.

Tomorrow I will do it all again.