So it seems like this is becoming the new “normal. One over-active day to every 2-3 recovery days. It doesn’t particularly matter what the busy day entails, if I push and soldier on through it (or past the limits that I’m still having trouble identifying) I’ll be paying a hefty price.
Saturdays little get together could have gone worse. After my step-father (aka my mother behind the scenes) tried to cancel twice, and failing and the icy road trip into the city, I was ready to just get it over with. This may sound harsh but honestly it helped put the anxiety to bed so I just went with it.
After 3 painstakingly long hours of mall walking, discussing my moms new dog (while it tried to hump every friggin leg that walked by), her new bedroom set up and how she likes her new doctors she did acknowledge that we both must be feeling tired and sore and should call it a day. I couldn’t have been happier.
My legs and back where killing me, not to mention the anxiety was back with a vengeance. I was ready to head home, curl up in a ball under the covers and just stay there. I couldn’t though, of course we still had our groceries to pick up, supper to figure out and then get everything unpacked.
I’m not quite sure if it was the emotional/mental stress or the physical exhaustion that was worse or if both were just taking turns beating the crap out of my already busted up self. I don’t even remember the trip home, I must have simply zoned out, watching the lines on the highway as the sun slowly went down (and THIS is why I don’t drive).
Finally home, I was able to rest. I took my meds, I ate some peanuts (not the brightest idea, but they were there and required NO prep) and I finally laid my head down on my pillow and drifted off to dream land. 8.5 hours of sleep HOLY SHIT.
Now it’s a little to early to tell if the newest meds are helping with sleep or if it was one of those 1-2 times a year deals where I go almost comatose for extended periods of time because of complete and utter exhaustion (Mr. Mango calls these my dead days). Either way, I couldn’t believe it and I’m sure it’s the only reason I was even able to walk and talk yesterday.
Since yesterday morning I’ve been taking it slow, like snail pace. This morning is already feeling better and brighter. I still haven’t wrapped my mind around everything, nor do I want to to be honest. Once it mentally kicks in I’m sure I’ll be back to my old self over analyzing every move, every word, basically every single thing I could have/should have said/done different. Until then, I’m very happy to live in denial land while physically recuperating.
I’ll be really bummed if this is how it works every single time I have an active day, it really feels like the literal example of “one step forward, two steps back.” It makes me feel useless, like I might as well not bother doing anything if it means even more days of doing less.
I have to get myself together though, Mr. Mango woke up stick today and it simply won’t work well if both of us are out of commission. Here’s hoping some physio, another cup of joe and hugs and kisses from Little Dude are enough to get’er’done.