I fell down a rabbit hole this week. It’s been quite an ordeal.
The week started out promising enough. Monday was a holiday, so it would be a short week. I wasn’t maddeningly overwhelmed with deadlines and calls, so I had a good chance of actually getting stuff done this week, too. Tuesday I had one of my twice-weekly early morning calls, went to the gym and worked out with the trainer for an hour, then came back home and got back to work. But by late afternoon I was in trouble.
I was tired. So overwhelmingly tired it was impossible to focus. I finished my last call of the day and sent a message to a couple of friends that I was going to stay home instead of going to knitting group. Then I went to bed. And I’ve pretty much been here, in my bed, since Tuesday night.
Occasionally I have to leave my “nest” to get food and use the toilet, but despite having several rooms I can roam, I am strangely reluctant to leave my bed. I feel like one of those people in the anti-depressant commercial: sitting around in a robe, surrounded by mopey dogs. I wonder what the dogs think of all of this.
After getting oodles of sleep, the overwhelming tiredness is mostly gone. But since yesterday afternoon, I can add sinus headache to my list of problems. Good thing I have a decent supply of ibuprofen around. The facial tissue stash is not so good, though, so I’ll be forced to leave the house today at some point.
So, just what is wrong here? Do I have some sort of virus? Is this hormonal and perhaps related to thyroid being out of whack again? Or is this some other sort of imbalance and I’m depressed? I struggle with this last one because so many of my symptoms point to that conclusion. I could have company, for example, but I pretty much refuse it. I did let B come over last night to spend time with me which entailed leaving the bed a couple of times to shower and sit on the couch with him; but then I insisted we get on the bed at some point so he could hug me laying down.
I’ve been trying to reach the doctor since Wednesday, but keep getting the answering machine. Maybe she’s on vacation or is sick herself. I’m not sure what I need here, and that’s scary.
This week, I try not to think of how I’m feeling because then I get sad and feel like crying. I give myself little pep talks about how I’m going to get back to work tomorrow, but when tomorrow comes I feel incapable of doing anything but staying in bed and watching more Netflix. (I finished Seasons 4 and 5 of Weeds and started watching Dexter yesterday afternoon; having a laptop, a wireless connection, and Netflix makes being sick much more bearable.)
I don’t think of myself as a hypochondriac, but I’ve been worrying more and more lately about strange “symptoms” I’ve been having. Like dropping things and general clumsiness. It’s like my hand just opens and let’s go of what I’m holding. And being “stupid” is a problem for me, too. I just can’t think clearly at times and am grasping, grasping, grasping for something: a word, a concept, a mental memento of some sort that I know is just there, or worse I don’t know until I’m reminded. My mental acuity is threatened and since I live by my wits so much, it’s really disturbing.
Ultimately, I will feel better. I will reach the doctor and get checked out and find a regimen or medication adjustment that works for me.
For now, I’m going to consider it a minor victory if I make it to the store today to replenish my supply of paper products. Baby steps, right?
And, at least I managed to find time to write.