Despite what the little voices say, there are only so many times you can explain how you’re doing – when it’s not Wonderful – before even you get bored of the process. And feel a little bit exasperated.
Wait.. I’m not the only one with those voices in my head, right?
Anyway. Yes. Life is a never ending joyous, raucous ballet of excitement. I really do think they’re going to have to cast some one far more energetic and athletic to play me in the movie of the week. It’ll be brilliant.
Because you know what I’ve been doing? Do you? I’ve been sleeping.
I know, right? The excitement never ends. Additionally I’ve been approaching my Percocet pills with trepidation as I treat the foot pain. Trepidation as I consider whether or not the absolute joy it brings to me to be able, as a side benefit, to fall asleep instantly and easily indicates, in the longing for more pills, a potential to become addicted to them. And whether or not I’m upset by that.
I’m not sure I am. And yes, I’m making light of a larger subject that in all seriousness has me a little more than worried because it IS really rather attractive to beg for more.
Which of course is the rest of my Dear World entry this week.
That internal discussion of reality vs want vs what’s best.
Take that damned foot. Presently I spend my days trying NOT to limp when I’m at work because it starts to feel like I’m looking for attention. No, really, I’m in pain and some times have to stop to catch my breath but lord help me if I seem to be looking for attention. Arm cut off, well that’s just a “Look at me” move, innit?
So I’ve gotten to the point where at the end of long days I’m limping more than I’m moving, if you get my drift. And I find myself looking longingly after people wandering around with canes. They look like they would be so useful.
But appearing at work one day, randomly, with a cane seems so… wrong. Almost as wrong as every single person I know, that I revealed this dilemma to, having suggested a pimp cane. Why? It’s like they have some sort of image of me in their heads.
I’ve gone about a year without having to resort to a laundry list of doctor’s appointments and specialist referrals “just to be sure”. Until, that is, the last couple of months. And suddenly, once more… my health is walking five feet ahead of me and getting in my way.
It’s a life of a thousand paper cuts. Nothing is substantial enough to point at and say “ok, look, there… that thing there is socially, culturally recognizable as Not Good”. No, everything is a kind of low level meh. That culminates over the thing, then the other thing, then that thing that intermittently goes off, with the thing and the thing… into a giant wall of … sound. White noise of the health variety. You can’t pick something out and yet, you never get away from it.
And people insist on asking how you’re doing.
Sick and tired of being sick and tired. There’s a reason people use that phrase.
This, this right here is the … thing or subject or concept I try constantly to express to people. Chronic has a whole different landscape than people seem to think. It’s not just a pill in the morning and a blood test every three months. It’s a bloody long list of things that you need to keep on top of every day. And in it you’re never entirely certain if you’re just wanting a quick solution to get the hell out of whatever is going on OR whether you really need to take care of yourself in a specific way OR… are you, in fact, just whining a hell of a lot.
I tend to lean toward whining. I’m so good at it. And it’s hard, obviously, to know exactly when I need to do something because it’s the smart, right thing to do. Most of the time, I’m realizing, I am half convinced that if I just ignore “it” I’ll be ok. “It” isn’t a big deal, really and I can live like this.
Only. Sometimes, I’m just an idiot.
So. I think I’m going to go looking at canes this week. Finally. Whether or not I actually USE it publicly, well. One limp at a time, people!