So, some people have been wondering how I’m doing. A few kind and brave souls have even asked me. Sometimes, I say, “good”. Sometimes, I say, “Nothing’s changed. I’m not better, not worse.” The latter is truthful most of the time. So, what’s happening? What’s it like for me? Well, some good days are good. I don’t notice anything. I get up and go about my daily life, and I don’t even think about whether I’m having a good day until it’s over. That’s a good day. Today is not a good day. So, what’s today like for me?
I got up late, tried to remain calm, and get the kids ready for school. I got them out the door and to the building in time for them to eat breakfast at school. I drove back home so that I could get back in my chair and rest. Because rest is in order. I sleep. Three more hours. I wake up and feel lightheaded. I move and feel spacy and not inside my own body. If you were ever blessed with the adult who told you to lick the top of the 9-volt battery, you can have a slight sense of what the inside of my head feels like. I describe it as “electric”. That’s the way it feels. It feels hot and fuzzy like thousands of vibrations are happening all at once, but I’m not shaking my head and I’m barely moving. But I know I have a ton of stuff to do, starting with the feeding of my hard-working husband. So I go in and make the meal and prepare it to deliver. Knowing I’m about to be in charge of a 2,000-pound missile, I take my medicine. I put my sunglasses on and start to drive. I have a sick feeling in my stomach, like a nest of butterflies, and I feel like I want to throw up, but I don’t have time. My mouth tastes like a cotton ball soaked in acetone (not sure how that actually tastes, but I know how awful it smells!)
I can see, but not well. The pictures are clear, but all at once vibrating. Not fuzzy, just moving. Everything is flat. When I get out of the car to deliver the food, I’m suddenly dizzy and very queasy. I can’t judge how far away he is. My head is so noticeably light, I feel like it will float away in the wind. He asks about me, and I tell him I’ve taken my medicine. He tells me to go home and rest, but I can’t. I must get everything ready for tonight, cook the supper, pick up the kids… so I just determine that I have to do this. He kisses me gently and wishes me a good afternoon. I get back in the car and drive away. That’s what today is like.
Momma Rich's 