Thursday, October 21, 2010

Fatigue and the struggle to be self-sufficient

As a sick chick, I'm all the more grateful for my husband, who is currently puttering around the kitchen putting things away and fixing stuff while I sit on my laptop writing this entry and thinking about how my legs hurt.

Hm, just heard a bang followed by a fork hitting the floor. I called down, "Everything okay?" Right, like I'm willing to stand up right now if the answer were no. Well, okay, I WOULD stand up if he needed me, but that doesn't excuse the relief I felt when he answered, "Yup."

That's the thing with fatigue. I COULD stand up. I can. But it feels like I can't, and once I'm up, how long can I be up before I feel the urge to sit?

And then the thoughts lead to "How can I function in this world without my willing slave husband to fix things for me and pick up the slack while I waste away typing on the Internet?"

Which of course leads to the "I'm going to die alone" train of thought. The "what ifs." As Susan Jeffers calls it, the Chatterbox in your brain, the negative, spiraling thoughts of doom and lonely demise.

I've been going to the gym for the past few months, even though I still have unexplained symptoms that lead me to believe I should stay as close to sitting or lying down as possible most of the time. My going to the gym is an attempt to build muscle and hopefully, in doing that, giving myself some inner strength to go with my outer strength.

So far, not so good. Especially when I can feel my heart skip beats while I'm at the gym. But I've already been to a cardiologist for this problem, and he seemed to not give much of an answer despite making me wear a monitor for a day and giving me my first sonogram. So now my "Chatterbox" starts the whole, "Well, you've already seen that doctor and he didn't say anything. But should you go back? Is this worth another trip and another copay and another day off from work? What more can he do for you? And when should you trust what a doctor says even though you can tell something isn't normal? Wouldn't it make more sense to go anyway and waste your time and money and annoy your job than to die of cardiac arrest right here on this bike watching 'SportsCenter'?"

So no, the gym isn't helping.

I remember when I first moved in with my now husband. Suddenly there was someone else to take out the trash—so I pretty much stopped doing it. I had more time to cook, which is something I enjoy. And since I cook, my husband decided it was only fair that he clean up the dishes afterward. So I stopped washing dishes. And now when the dishes need to be washed and the husband doesn't do it that same night, I get agitated. It's not like I CAN'T wash the dishes or that I feel my husband SHOULD be the one to do it all the time. I don't feel like that at all. But I see washing the dishes as a project now. And I seem to be averse to starting projects, because I know I'll want to sit. I know my arms will feel weak. I know I will feel like I can't do it.

For instance, we just had a company come to measure our kitchen counters (we're going to have them replaced). I had asked my husband if we should empty the drawers/cabinets under the counters before they came or if it wouldn't matter. (I didn't know if things were open underneath the counters or if there was a separation between the counters and the innards of the drawers/cabinets.) My husband said it would be fine.

Well, it wasn't fine. There's now dust and wood particles and mystery fuzz that ended up on all our pots, pans, cutting boards, baking dishes and tins, aprons, and in that variety drawer that holds everything from packing tape to birthday candles. And on their way out, the contractors handed us a booklet on the lead paint they may have disturbed while pulling off the backsplash. That's probably in there too.

So the dishwashing project just got multiplied by a zillion. The idea of a project involving taking everything out of every drawer and cabinet below the counters and washing them all and drying them all sounds less than fun and a little gross. But I know how it will probably go ... I'll empty, husband will clean out the spaces, husband will wash, I will help to dry, and I'll organize things to be put back in.

This sounds doable to me IF I can bring a chair.

But only because I am splitting the work with husband. I could easily see myself freaking out about the amount of work involved if it were just me.

Then again, if it were just me, I may have had the foresight to empty the cabinets ahead of time. Purposely to avoid this issue, even if it were all for nothing. Maybe that's me being a woman, wanting to be prepared all the time. Or maybe it's the chronic illness mentality, doing what you can do when you can do it to avoid doing even MORE at a possibly inconvenient time later. Always waiting for that lifelong paralysis shoe to fall.

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