Posts Tagged ‘too tired’

One pill ~~ One day

lovely image of dandelions and blue sky“dent de lion and blue skies and wishing” 

PHOTO CREDIT: VIRGINIA SANDERSON via Flickr

In the back of my mind was an awareness that my energy was not only temporary, which I’m used to, but was induced by medication.  It was an odd feeling. 

I was temporarily able-bodied.  An inner voice kept reminding me that the clock was ticking.  I didn’t want to remember that I would have to go back to my life of being too tired to visit my family again any time soon.  I tried not to think about where my energy was coming from.  I’ve taken the medication before and always had this same experience.

For the most part, I managed to keep my thoughts positive and be grateful for the time with my mother and one of my sisters.

We had a very nice visit and ate home-cooked hamburgers at a lovely little country restaurant.   I got to see my mother’s beautiful and prolific flower garden.  I’d feared I wouldn’t get to see it at all this year.  Many times I’ve heard her say, “I wish you could see the…,” and she’ll mention whatever is blooming.

I didn’t tell my sister that a little white pill was the fuel I was running on.  I did however, end up telling my mother before I left, which I later regretted. 

I didn’t have to tell her that fatigue was disabling me.  I didn’t have to tell her that I had to take medication for my body and brain to work that day, but I did. 

I had wanted to spare them the details of how hard it is to live with pain and severe fatigue every single day.  Had I failed, I wondered on my way home.

I guess I also wanted to let somebody know the truth.  For some reason, I needed somebody to know that me making the trip was hard.  Plus, my mother is nearly psychic.  If I don’t tell her, it isn’t like she doesn’t know, which she reminds me of from time to time.

“You look so good,” my sister had said shortly after I arrived.  “Your eyes are clear.  You really look good,” she added, with a pleased look about her.

Part of me wanted to tell her that I was running on medication and how underneath what she saw, was a completely exhausted human being, but I didn’t.  I didn’t want to disappoint her.  I love my sister and it warmed my heart knowing she was enjoying the bit of time, when her little sister looked okay. 

I wished in that moment that I could give this to my family more often.  If my looking well made her happy, then I thought it best not to spoil the moment.  I did what my seventh grade teacher once told me to do if someone gave me a compliment.  I said thank you.  Nothing more. 

I’m just too dang tired to do things.  Too tired to think or make decisions.  Too tired to talk some of the time.  Too tired to clean or cook.  Too tired to go anywhere, like the grocery store.

I took the little white pill and had a good day. 

I choose not to take the medication very often because anything that can make this body get up and go, while it feels like I’ve been hit and run over by an eighteen-wheeler, well… I guess it scares me.

Thanks for visiting Dogkisses’s Blog!  Feel free to leave a comment.  Emails are never published. 

Thanks to Flickr member and professional photographer, Virginia Sanderson,  for her absolutely beautiful images!  I’m not a photographer and don’t speak their language, but I especially love the different textures she creates.   I encourage you to check out her photostream.


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Pain, Fatigue and Dogs

dogs know how to fight fatigue, just look...

Sometimes I think I forget or am in denial of having Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia.  I go and go and go and then I crash.  I try to keep a balance, but some days life demands things and I do more than I should.  That’s the way it’s been lately.

I have a pretty bad infected foot, which I thought was fibromyalgia pain, until I pulled my little toe away to look.  I saw what was NOT fibromyalgia.

A month or so ago, I bought a pair of boots.  I wore them around the house, just for fun, and also to take the dogs out in the mornings.  My foot began hurting after several days.  I’ve had foot pain before after wearing a new pair of shoes, which is why I didn’t do any close inspections of my foot, especially beside my little toe.

Well, it sure didn’t look good so off to my doctor I went.  He gave me antibiotics and cream, made a joke about me wearing boots around the house asking if I thought someone was going to come by with a camera and did I want to be ready.  Very funny while my foot was swollen and infected, but I’m used to him.  I like him.  I don’t like that sometimes I think he lets things go, like my foot!

It only got worse.  A round of antibiotics started to help and here’s where I went wrong, I guess.  I missed a few doses.  Now, I have a hole in my foot.  I went back to the doctor.

“Do you think I need some more antibiotics?” I asked him.

“No,” he responded confidently.  I would like to send you to a podiatrist with your permission.”

Well, duh.

So, off I went to the fancy foot doctor who didn’t have any manners at all.  I don’t know where he’s from, but I bet it ain’t North Carolina.

I told him how I had thought it was fibromyalgia for the first several days of pain.  Maybe that’s why he had a dismissive attitude towards me, but then I am so tired of trying to figure out why people who act weird act that way.

He kept saying what I hadn’t done or what I was doing wrong.

He sent me to the x-ray room where they took several images of my foot.  Fortunately, those looked good.

“How long have you not been taking antibiotics?” he asked when I returned.

“Since I finished the ones my doctor gave me,” I told him.

“You do know you have a hole in your foot don’t you?”

I told him that I most certainly did.

“I’ve been to the doctor twice already.  I would have gone to the emergency room if I hadn’t known I was coming here.”

“You’re wearing closed shoes first of all,” he said in a tone that I didn’t like.

It was cold outside.  My family doctor had complimented my shoes.  Why had he not put me on another antibiotic I wondered.

The foot doctor explained how serious the infection is because of where it is and I’m too tired to describe it, but I took heed!  It can go up and into my leg if it gets worse.  He says if I do everything he told me to do then it should be getting well within a week.

So far so good.  Ten days of a very strong antibiotic.

I’d told my family doctor how my son said I was going to lose my foot and later, my leg when he saw it getting worse.  The doctor joked again saying not to let him get near any knives.  From what the foot doctor said, my son wasn’t far off from being right.

The good news is that hopefully, the antibiotics, along with soaking it in vinegar water will heal it.  The soaks hurt like crazy.

I dislike antibiotics very much and this one is kicking me down like a sick dog.

Tiny love hereSpeaking of dogs, mine are once again being very good nurses.

Yesterday, when I finally returned from the hospital, I lied down and put my foot up.  I know they felt how stressed I was.

Our big guy, Tiny, (the cutie with the big head) whom I’m going to write about soon, well, he crawled up beside me on the sofa and lied down on barely enough space for his wide body and put his head on my belly.  That’s what he’s been doing for the past few months whenever I don’t feel good.  He lies there looking at me with his big beautiful hound dog eyes.  Yesterday, just for extras, he gave me a kiss.  He doesn’t give many.  I felt very special indeed.

My pretty little girl curled up at my feet in her soft ball of silky fur.  She is absolutely the softest dog I’ve ever petted in my life.  Absolutely!

Dogs Rule!!!

They were incredibly sweet with both of their heads resting on me and their eyes saying, “OH WE LOVE YOU!”

cooking for mom

I’m also grateful to my son for the many meals he has cooked for me lately. I’ve gained a few pounds, which is a very good thing.

However, he is staying with me and it is driving me a little nuts.  I’ll be glad when he wants to go back to his apartment.

Just the truth.

I’m going to give in to the fatigue for a little while, which means I’ll have to be alone.

I think I’ll finish a good novel I started weeks ago, The Accidental Tourist, by Anne Tyler.

I’m tired.  Too tired to think much.  I’ve been writing, but have nothing ready to click publish.

With that said, I’m offering a few links of interest I found today about pain.

I am here to tell anyone who suffers from pain each day, whose life is circumscribed and whose goals are slipping out of reach, that you are at last being heard. We are in a pain renaissance.”

Read more: “The End of Ouch” –TIME


–“an adaptive mechanism in which severe pain in one area of the body inhibits pain in another is impaired among women with fibromyalgia. Normally, this system works as a check on the amount of pain the brain can handle; if your arm is sore and someone steps hard on your toe, your arm will temporarily feel better as all of your brain’s pain attention is focused on the new insult. In chronic-pain patients, this mechanism is faulty or nonexistent.”

image of sleeping dog via OLX, Tiredness Disorders



we love mom
Thanks for visiting Dogkisses’s blog.


Breathe out…

Sometimes No Sometimes YesShe’s coming and it won’t take her long to get here.  I have about an hour left.  I didn’t have the courage to say no.

She’s my mother and I love her.  She surprised me when she called to say she was packing.  My gut screamed out at me to say no, but I couldn’t.  I tried.  I called her back three times.

“Are you sure you want to come?” I asked her.

“Yes.  Are you sure you want me to come?” she responded.

“Well, I’m sick,” I told her.  “I’m not in the best mood either you know.”

She says she understands and as much as a part of me wants to say no, obviously another part is saying yes.

I have a hard time saying no, which is why I love the icon my friend, Leslie, at IconDoIt, the blog, created for me.  The image was the top rated media image I used in my blog in 2010.

I love the “No” icon and saying no in 2009 saved my life.

I need to print this icon on a very large sheet of paper and hang it above my desk, which sits in the center of my small home.

“If truth be known,” a phrase my mother uses often, I need to be in a hospital or at least I need a good nurse.

I need a break from the many obligations in my life.  I need sleep.  I need an appetite.  I need more time for me.

I keep breathing out, then in and slowly out again, but I’m still anxious.  My home is cluttered.  I haven’t washed my dishes or vacuumed.  I don’t think my mother has ever seen my place in this condition.  I don’t think she’s ever seen me as wore out as I am now.  She may be shocked at my dishes in the sink and I’m not sure if she will see how very tired I really am.

I wish she could understand how I feel but at the same time I don’t want her to know how sick I am.

Breathe out…

2010 was a hard year and even though my spirit has felt lighter this year my body has not.  I’ve been sick.

About six weeks ago I got a terrible case of bronchitis.  It felt like the flu.  I thought it went away, but the fatigue has come back and hit hard.

I keep getting confused and sometimes the room spins.  I keep crying too, but I’m not sure what that’s about.  Out of the blue come upheavals of emotions and tears.

My pain is worse.  I’m sick on my stomach and food is the last thing I want.  I’m angry.  I’m angry that I feel so bad and have for so long.

I finally called my doctor.  I doubt if he can help me and as I write that thought, the tears want to come.  Maybe it’s because I’m so sick and I don’t know if anyone can help me.

I dread going to the doctor.  He’ll check my lungs to see if there are signs of pneumonia, which is what I’ve suspected.  I looked up the symptoms and have every one of them.

I don’t know why I’ve waited this long to ask for help.  I guess because when you have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, it’s hard to know when you get a new illness or have a bug.  Depression can also keep you from seeking medical help when you need it.

I feel guilty for being sick.  I feel like a disappointment to my mother.  At least, I feel like it hurts her to see me sick and especially if I’m sad.  I don’t want to hurt her.

I also feel very much misunderstood, or rather that my illness(es) are misunderstood.

“If you want to sleep while I’m there,” my mother said the third time I called her back, “then just go lie down.”

I wish I could sleep.  I would.

Most people I know don’t understand that fibromyalgia is a sleep disorder.  They think if you are fatigued that you can lie down, go to sleep and all is good.  They are wrong.

Most people I know also don’t understand the reality of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome any better than they do fibromyalgia.  If only they would read blogs by people who are living with and writing about these insidious illnesses.

If we could sleep and sleep well for more than a few hours then we might feel better.  Maybe.

I’m so tired.  I hope my mother is calm in her mind and spirit.  That’s about the best gift she could give me.   I know she’ll start doing chores when she gets here but this is the thing, it will require my help.

I can barely sit here and write, but I thought I better because I don’t know how long she’ll be here and she gets a little jealous of my computer.  Sometimes our visits are emotionally draining on me.

I said yes because I love my mother.  I know she loves me.  I know too that I won’t always have her here.

I said yes.  I sure hope I did the right thing.

I also hope to meet my weekly challenge for PostAWeek, which for me is on Saturday.

OMG!  How did she make it that fast?  OMG!  She is here!

Breathe out…

dogkisses.

Maintaining power

quitclaim, by IconDoIt

“You can’t maintain,” the social worker said.

“I thought you helped people who couldn’t maintain,” I responded, knowing my words were futile.

I regret going to the social services yesterday.  I felt good when I woke up.  I had some energy and a smile to go with it.  I took a shower and put on something I enjoyed wearing which I think was a mistake.

I wore a pair of blue jeans.  Maybe it was because they were Capri length and not the faded and lately, baggy, jeans I usually wear.  I can’t recall which blouse I wore but I remember wearing a necklace and earrings.  I need a hair cut so I used hairspray to keep my bangs out of my eyes, which I don’t like using.  Hairspray makes my hair sticky or stiff and I’ve never liked it.

I’ve been so stressed lately that I can’t find things, like my hair clasps I would have worn instead of using spray.  Maybe my hair looked too stylish since it was all puffed up.

I wonder if I looked too nice to be a good candidate for assistance with a large power bill — assistance that she said was available and that I qualify for.

I told her I had been sick but she gave me a weird look.  The kind of look that implies she did not believe me.  I told her I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia but she didn’t respond.

“I’m filling in because everyone is in court,” the woman told me, which I thought was kind of odd.   Every social worker in the entire county were all at court at the same time.

“I’ll take the application and when the social worker returns I’ll give it to her,” she said.  Her next remark surprised me. “You should be aware though that if someone comes in before she gets back and ask for the same help they may get the funds instead of you.”

“But I’ve just applied,” I asked,  “what do you mean?”

“Because you’ve stated that you don’t have the funds to pay the remainder of what we can’t help you with,” she said as she kept on typing.  “If someone comes in asking and they say they can pay what we can’t pay then we will give them these funds.”

“I will pay the remainder,” I told her, “even if I have to put it on a credit card.”

The social services say that it is okay for a person who lives on a low fixed income to have a credit card.  I’ve only used mine a couple of times.  I’ve used it for a car repair, one $40.00 trip to the dentist, and once at the grocery store.  I told her I had made a $25.00 payment on it this month.

“Using your credit card to pay would only put you in the hole more,” she remarked.

Duh!

“Yes, I realize that,” I said politely.  “I’ll use my credit card to pay before I let them shut off my power service.  Wouldn’t you?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she answered.  We made eye contact.  For a moment I thought that maybe she understood the position I was in.

The department of social services also allows a cell phone and cable vision as an expense, the latter of which I’ve never had, not in my entire life.  My cell phone however has been a lifeline when my son has been in a crisis or a hospital.

Once he got lost and literally ended up in the middle of our country.  He was on that list of people who have a mental illness and are missing.  My mom came here to answer the phone if he called, while I was in the mountains with detectives searching the woods where we thought my son may have camped before getting into a van with a man who took him all the way to Illinois, a long way from North Carolina.

My son called home from a phone booth but he didn’t know where he was.  The driver of the van had abandoned him because he said my son did not cooperate by not panhandling in the parking lots of Walmart, which is apparently a common practice for some people.  They travel the country and not only panhandle in Walmart parking lots but they sleep there too.  Apparently both are legal.

My mom was as stressed as I was and failed to get proper information from my son when he called.  She called me on my cell phone but all she knew was that he said he was at a Kroger grocery store.  She did not know which state he was in.  She was able to dial *69 and get a number.  The detectives I was with helped locate the number.  We called the police there and they found my son.  I wired the officer money to buy my son a bus ticket.  He arrived home two days later.

I wonder how many psychiatrists I’ve spoken to over that cell phone throughout the past eight years while I’ve been an advocate for my son?  I bet if I had one dollar for every one I’ve talked to I’d have enough money to pay my power bill.

I use the cell phone for my own doctors and nurses too.  Anyone who lives with a chronic illness might well know that if you leave messages for doctors and nurses, you really need to be available when they return your calls.  My cell phone has been pretty important.

Without the cell phone I’d be at that phone booth and I can’t recall what state I was in when I took this picture.  Phone booths are hard to come by.

I think if cable vision is counted as an expense, then a person ought to be able to choose between that and an internet connection.  It also seems like an internet connection would be more useful than cable vision to families with children in school who need access to do homework.

I don’t know what our social services thinks about people with disabilities having an internet connection.  They seem to think cable-vision is more important and it cost a lot more, so this doesn’t make sense to me.  I’ve learned through experience that an internet connection for me is a lifeline, which cost me about twenty dollars per month, a lot less than cable.

I don’t have a car payment, thank goodness, but I have repairs.   Social Services will allow for repairs but won’t let me use the expenses I’ve incurred because I put it on my credit card.    Even though they allow a person asking for one-time assistance to have a credit card, they don’t include the monthly payments in expenses.  Go figure.

“I will find the remaining funds if you can help me and I need for you to tell the social worker this when she returns,” I told the woman taking the application.

“We have at least one hundred dollars we can pay towards your bill and possibly two hundred,” she said looking at the computer.

“That would be very helpful,” I said.  “Even if it is one hundred dollars, I’ll pay the remainder.”

I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve asked social services for help during the seven years I’ve lived here.  Each time has been a difficult experience.  It isn’t swallowing my pride that has been the most difficult part but instead is the things some of the social workers say .  I do remember one time when a social worker helped me without preaching at me or putting me down.  I couldn’t believe it.  She said something like, “Wow, how do you make it each month?”

Exactly I thought!  Exactly.  I’m fairly creative when it comes to, “making it each month.”

Usually they ask, like the woman did several times yesterday, “How did you get in this position?”

I should have said something like, “Well, how much time do you have because it all started about ten years ago.”

The social worker finished the application but she once again asked me the same question that I thought I’d answered at least twice already.

“I just don’t understand.  I’m looking at your expenses and they are less than three hundred dollars.”

“You are forgetting the power bill, which is $255.00,” I reminded her, again.

“Oh.  That’s right.”

Why the hell did she think I was there?

“Yes.  That is almost half of your income,” she reminded herself.  “But you say you can pay if we don’t.”

“Yes, but on a credit card,” I reminded her, again.

I signed the application and left.

I came home and immediately lied down on my sofa.    I’d eaten a piece of string cheese on my way there.  I had felt so well when I woke up I was actually looking forward to coming home and eating lunch.  I had lost my appetite though.  I was depressed from the interaction.  Maybe they would help me though, I thought, so I rested.

My cell phone rang and I knew it was her.

“We can’t help you,” she said immediately.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Well, because you told us you have a way to pay.”

“But you said I had to have a way to pay the remainder to qualify for the help.”

“Well, we still have questions about how you got yourself in this position.”

“I’ve had a power bill that has been over half of my monthly income for three consecutive months,” I reminded her, again.

“You can’t maintain,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“You can’t maintain.  You’ve been in this position before.  I’m sorry.”

“Well, maybe if I lived in a tent I could maintain,” I told her.  She was starting a sentence when I hung up on her.

I didn’t care if I was rude and I still don’t care.

I don’t need someone reminding me that I’ve found myself in these shoes several times in these past eight years — and most certainly — I will not stand and listen to someone who says it like I’ve committed a crime when that person doesn’t have one suggestion as to preventing this situation in the future.    My apartment is not insulated well and as a result, I pay.

I have maintained! I’ve never had any utility shut off. I’ve also camped enough to know I can live in a tent, which I might do before I would ever ask those people for help again.

I believe if I had dressed differently and lied, although I’m not sure which part I was supposed to lie about, that I would have received the assistance that is there for me.

I have a feeling that the people who get help know what to wear or rather, what not to wear, what to say or not say, and how to act.

An acquaintance of mine called me late yesterday.  She asked how I was doing.  I told her about my experience.  She’s been in my shoes, only not sick, just poor.  She said I should have never told them about the credit card.  She said I should have said I could pay out of my checking account and then they would have helped me.

I  didn’t know the right answers, but the right answers are not the truth.

I know what I would have liked to have said, but I won’t say it here.

Sometimes this world seems harsh. Sometimes, it seems like a hard place to be.

“You can’t maintain.”

For some reason that remark has stuck in my brain.

The thing is, is that I can maintain.  I do maintain and will continue to do so.