Tag Archives: #chronicpain

Pining for a pandemic…

I’m a horrible human being.

I’ve been close to tears for the last several hours with no idea why.

I ran through all the usual suspects;
Did I eat?
Did I sleep?
Did I miss a medication?
Did I take too much medication?

I did all the fixes I could. The feeling remained. A vague sadness like a recent breakup or a friend moving away soon. Something ending.

Holy shit.

The pandemic.

I’m sad that the pandemic is ending.

I know. I deserve that.

I am not sorry that we are winning against a disease that killed hundreds of thousands of humans, shut down the world economy, and sent the world as we know it spiraling into a dark hole.

But I am sad that it’s ending.

You see, I have a secret.

The shutdown made many things easier for me.

I didn’t have social pressure to push beyond my energy level or risk losing friendships.

I didn’t have guilt that I couldn’t make social commitments.

No one had social expectations of me.

I was free of the social demands healthy people unknowingly impose on disabled people.

Even better, you were all living my life. My quiet, shut inside, have to figure out how to communicate with the outside world without actually going into it life. You were finally feeling what I felt. The isolation, the loneliness, the sense of being apart from everyone else.

Now you get to go back to normal… and I don’t.

I went into a grocery store today and most people weren’t masked, they were walking close together, fearless of getting close, en masse shopping for food. The parking lot was jammed with cars, the traffic there and home was jammed with cars. People were on the street, in the bars we drove by, gathering in large numbers again.

While I was returning home, still in my mask, to the room I spend most of my time in, once again doing the isolated thing without the mental company of the rest of world, once again the outlier.

The Pandemic is nearing its end but my disease is not. You will go back to a busy social life with gatherings and work and achievements and I will not.

For a brief period of time the pandemic gave me back a sense of belonging to the outer world, it let me feel just like everyone else.

Now that feeling is gone and I’m left feeling sad.

Dr. Fallible…

you listened to me
and when my body’s tale changed
you tried something new

saying they were just
words put on symptoms for the
insurance company

and not the be all
end all final sentence of
my one existence.

you treated my whole
not just the sum of my parts
saying it’s an art

not only a science.
when we fail to find a fix
we should always ask

are we looking right
where we should be or do we
need to start anew?

I’ve never met a
single other doctor quite
as lovely as you.

— mmorehead 03-04-21

Managing life my lily white ass…

It’s on my blog header, it’s in my whole cheerful outlook. Let’s manage life with this chronic illness!

Look at all my coping tools!

See my shiny things!

Well right now my illness is managing me.

And let’s face it, I’m in my mid-forties. My ass isn’t all that lily-white either. I mean, we’re in the middle of a no-end-in-sight pandemic and I haven’t been outside in a bikini since the idea of meaningful political discourse was an actual thing but my ass is more of a sickly ghostly pale, not a lily white. It’s not some semi-romanticized flowerly white, it’s a “DEAR GOD WOMAN GET SOME SUN ON THAT THING WON’T YOU!!” pale white you can see deep down veins through.

I’m sick.

Really, really sick.

I hurt everywhere, I can’t sleep. My once soft and comfortable ergonomic pillow has developed claws or teeth or maybe someone broke into my room and stuffed it with broken glass or something.

My whole fucking bed is made of discomfort. There isn’t a single comfortable position I can sit, lie, stand, or lean in. Every single miserable muscle and bone in my body hurts. I swear to the Goddess the bed is subtly shifting at night, moving me around every time I get the slightest bit comfortable.

The nerves in my hands and feet are tingly and itchy and on fire and somehow cold and stabby. Oh, and throbbing, and pulsing.

The Topomax isn’t killing my ability to think like it did before but I still have a really sore throat every day and that vaguely feverish feeling, like deep bone-aches and an overall sense of doom and gloom.

I’m miserable.

There’s no shiny sticker for me to put on it.

Right now there’s no managing it either.

There’s just getting through it and hoping it feels better, or at least different, tomorrow.

Stay safe loves.