The Day After

The post treatment high lasted for nine hours and then the crash occurred, washed over me like torrential rains, draining energy and leaving me feeling quite unwell. Flu-like symptoms, swelling and throbbing kept me up most of the night.  When I did finally fall asleep, it was only to awaken in a greater state of malaise, as if I’ve been body slammed.  Responding to the detox process, nature would not stop calling.  Despite it all, I still ventured out today, with an old friend to visit my mother in the nursing home.  Seated in the home’s courtyard, the two took one look at me and said I clearly needed to get back to bed – the colour had drained from my face.  I returned home, where I slept for three solid hours.  I did not make supper tonight.  I did not offer to help clean up.  I have stayed in bed, hoping that this is just a healing crisis.

“You were excited about the possibilities,” my husband reminds me.  We both know that with this disease, even excitement is enough to throw off my equilibrium.  Maybe that’s all it is.

Tomorrow is another day.

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

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