Maybe If I Write………
I am hoping if I get ALL this off my chest, I will feel better.
Is this so hard to ask: I want to be able to walk around without my entire body seeping wet from sweat. AND, the top of my head not feeling like a furnace. No, it is not from menopause. It is from various issues of POOPUS. Yes, POOPUS, not Lupus. POOPUS because it is a CROCK OF CRAP.
Four infections in one month. Count them….one, two, three, FOUR. That is craziness! No sooner than I am over one, here comes another. How is your body, especially MY body, which hates me by the way, get over things? I have included, at the end, a picture of what my cells look like.
When I went on my errands today, complete with sweat, I put on a great face. When I was talked to, I answered back and smiled. That’s what I do. I guess it’s my coping mechanism. Then, I get in the car and am moping, once again.
Another coping mechanism is to joke and make people laugh. I LOVE doing this. But, when I am home, there is nobody here to make laugh. Nobody who gets my loudness. Thank goodness for work and friends, who put up with my nonsense.
Believe it or not, my snot nosed kindergarten kids are my lifesavers. They keep me focused on them. They drive me nuts, but make me smile even more. Yes, being in this petri dish of kiddos is not good for me, but they keep me alive.
Just once, I want to be able to plan something AND NOT have to worry about how I am going to feel. Naps are sometimes necessary, but never a guarantee I will wake up with energy.
Pain control. HA! That’s a laugh. Pain from infections. Pain from “normal” lupus stuff, i.e. muscles, joints, mouth sores. I take minimal pain medications. Hey, I watch Intervention. In no WAY do I want to look like those freaks. I want to function.
I no longer have a set cleaning day. Cleaning is done piece by piece. Toilet one day, and maybe the rest of the bathroom a few hours later. Washing the floor. I don’t even NEED to have a container of water. All the sweat that is pouring off me is all that is needed to clean.
Well, I’m done. Writing is therapy. My pain is still here, but my mind isn’t as cluttered.
Kathy
April 2, 2015
These are my cells, fighting my cells. Lovely!
