cabbitzilla (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cabbitzilla) wrote2004-03-08 01:10 pm
cabbitzilla) wrote2004-03-08 01:10 pm
(no subject)
The weekend's gone and done.
I spent most of the day Saturday crawling about on a cold (but sheltered from the elements, thank God) concrete floor. The brakes on the Saturn were in desperate need of work; the rear pads were down to bare steel. Because of the exertions, I'd expected to spend most of Sunday curled up in a feotal ball dealing with the pain aftershocks.
Much to my surprise, aside from some stiffness, Sunday wasn't a bad day. I got some more errands done, got some laundry done, knocked about a bit. Silly me, I thought I'd finally broken the cycle.
At roughly 3:07am this morning, my chest clamped down and every major and minor pain loci lit up like some sort of sadist's Christmas tree. It hit out of the blue, dropping me in mid-step in the hallway as I headed to bed and leaving me gasping on the floor. Having done a decent bit of bodybuilding earlier in my life, there's a fairly heavy band of muscle around my chest; it locked down so hard that getting a full breath was nearly impossible.
It's not the first time... and I learned a couple years ago that about the only thing I could do when it happens is try to lock my mind down into a sorta meditative state until things unclamp. And there I was, attempting to do that, when the nausea hit. That changed the dynamic a bit; I crawled the couple feet into the bathroom and propped my chin up on the toilet seat. And you know, I don't remember eating the entire food production of the US for the last six months, but it sure as hell came -out-.
Vomiting through chest cramps is NOT fun. Not at all. Twenty minutes later, I finally was able to get the choke-gasp-hurl-noserun-blownose-choke cycle stopped. Megan had appeared at the bathroom door somewhere in the middle of my system evacuation... but given that my hair was already clipped back and I had a towel I'd drug into the bathroom on my way in, there wasn't a hell of a lot she could do. Eventually I just told her she might as well go back to bed.
Around a quarter to four, I tried to crawl to bed... got three feet from the bathroom and felt the nausea coming back. Another fifteen minutes. When I went to clean up, I discovered that neither knee would support me, which limited me exclusively to the irregular crawl I'd been using. Not trusting my stomach meant no meds (the first try had come up in the first volley).
I spent the night in the bathroom, sleeping in fits and starts with my chin propped up on the toilet seat. This morning proved to be better; I've got all my meds caught up again, at least, and have managed to keep some food down. I feel... rough. I could be more descriptive, but... there's no real point to it, you know?
I'm on my way out to my therapy appointment now. I'll be back later.
I spent most of the day Saturday crawling about on a cold (but sheltered from the elements, thank God) concrete floor. The brakes on the Saturn were in desperate need of work; the rear pads were down to bare steel. Because of the exertions, I'd expected to spend most of Sunday curled up in a feotal ball dealing with the pain aftershocks.
Much to my surprise, aside from some stiffness, Sunday wasn't a bad day. I got some more errands done, got some laundry done, knocked about a bit. Silly me, I thought I'd finally broken the cycle.
At roughly 3:07am this morning, my chest clamped down and every major and minor pain loci lit up like some sort of sadist's Christmas tree. It hit out of the blue, dropping me in mid-step in the hallway as I headed to bed and leaving me gasping on the floor. Having done a decent bit of bodybuilding earlier in my life, there's a fairly heavy band of muscle around my chest; it locked down so hard that getting a full breath was nearly impossible.
It's not the first time... and I learned a couple years ago that about the only thing I could do when it happens is try to lock my mind down into a sorta meditative state until things unclamp. And there I was, attempting to do that, when the nausea hit. That changed the dynamic a bit; I crawled the couple feet into the bathroom and propped my chin up on the toilet seat. And you know, I don't remember eating the entire food production of the US for the last six months, but it sure as hell came -out-.
Vomiting through chest cramps is NOT fun. Not at all. Twenty minutes later, I finally was able to get the choke-gasp-hurl-noserun-blownose-choke cycle stopped. Megan had appeared at the bathroom door somewhere in the middle of my system evacuation... but given that my hair was already clipped back and I had a towel I'd drug into the bathroom on my way in, there wasn't a hell of a lot she could do. Eventually I just told her she might as well go back to bed.
Around a quarter to four, I tried to crawl to bed... got three feet from the bathroom and felt the nausea coming back. Another fifteen minutes. When I went to clean up, I discovered that neither knee would support me, which limited me exclusively to the irregular crawl I'd been using. Not trusting my stomach meant no meds (the first try had come up in the first volley).
I spent the night in the bathroom, sleeping in fits and starts with my chin propped up on the toilet seat. This morning proved to be better; I've got all my meds caught up again, at least, and have managed to keep some food down. I feel... rough. I could be more descriptive, but... there's no real point to it, you know?
I'm on my way out to my therapy appointment now. I'll be back later.
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Hey darlin'
I'm very proud of you. You keep taking small steps forward every time I turn around. You did what needed to be done. You did it despite knowing what might happen, and when that didn't happen you didn't just sit around waiting for the bottom to drop out, you kept going. With what you're dealing with it's hard to tell what will trigger another bottoming out, but you keep getting better and better at estimating your limits. I fully believe that you will reach a point where you can estimate your body's endurance well enough that you WON'T keep going past it, and eventually the crashes will be limited in scope. I know this because I've watched a friend on the OTHER side of the country go through this same process with her CFIDS over the last several years. You are both intelligent, competent, and well worth loving, and so I know that you, too, will achieve the ability to judge your body's limits.
I know that this probably won't help the next time you're sleeping with your chin propped on the toilet, but I wanted to tell you anyway.
I'm proud of you and I love you, hon.
Re: Hey darlin'
There are some who... don't see any improvements. I'm getting increasing amounts of static and guff from folks who I thought knew me better. There's a lot more that needs to be done than most folks realize, not the least of which that I'm still not completely back to 100% after the strokes. Unfortunately, it's taking me what feels like forever to figure out how to do things again... and I'm not sure there was any way to DO this particular job without overloading myself.
The house is slowly improving. And I just finished folding and putting away all of my clothes. Laundry's running; my perpetual nemesis. Cleaning takes forever because Megan won't pick up after herself; that's why MY bedroom is the only -clean- room in the house. But even with that, I'm slowly making progress.
Given the continuing (and blessed) financial support I'm receiving from a local friend (who you -really- need to meet someday), I'm keeping things from sliding any further into the quagmire. I wish I could do more than 'a bit at a time' progress, but it -is- progress.
I just wish I had a way out of the cashflow deadlock that's got me trapped.
*hugs* Thank you, sis. It means a lot.
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