The hockey game blares from the front of the bus with a confidence I am not feeling.
Yesterday, I had two cracked and very infected teeth extracted, and my jaw is in intense pain.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” the dentist told me. Apparently, I had clenched so hard that I split my back molars in half.
Gritting my teeth, I’m discovering, is what I do in response to pain, especially when it settles in face as fibromyalgia is known to do. I’ll need a night guard.
We went to visit our financial advisor at the bank, followed by our accountant, and it looks like buying a house now is the best option. So, the search has suddenly turned real. We’ll be spending the long weekend house shopping.
Right now, I am lying in a darkened room, praying for restorative sleep (a rarity with my disease) and affirming to myself that we will find the perfect place for our needs and all will be well.
I am physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. Even forming a sentence tonight is painful. So, I won’t linger here too long.
“We’ve been through a lot,” I told Ric earlier; “and what we’ve learned is that we are adaptable. Wherever we decide to live, it will work, because we’ll make it work.”
This much I know is true.
I can sense worry, like shadows, creeping in around me, but I am too tired to give it a voice tonight. Fatigue sets all my senses on overdrive, and every noise, smell, or ray of light feels invasive.
I turn on my mattress heater, pull the blankets around me, and ask Ric to turn down the game.
Worry can wait till tomorrow.