I’m assuming that you are familiar with the “slow, slow, quick, quick, slow” of the ballroom dance called the Quick Step. Those instructions comprise one of my strongest memories of my childhood. My sister and I used to go to ballroom dancing lessons every week in a small hotel which had its own modestly-sized ballroom.
There’s not much chance of me doing the Quick Step at the moment. I’d be fine at the “slow” but the “quick” would be more of a problem. Well, I say a problem but, really, it would be missing completely. As you might guess, fatigue is being an absolute pain in the proverbial. Whilst we were on holiday I was pretty sure I would be hit by the post-adrenaline crash when we reached home. However, surprisingly, it didn’t quite happen like that. We arrived home last Saturday evening, and I was feeling just the usual weariness that comes after a long journey. On Sunday, I was a little tired, but nothing too awful. Come Monday morning, though, it was an entirely different story.
I was up and dressed at a reasonable hour (nowadays I often don’t dress until late morning). I was planning to go to meet a couple of friends, although I really didn’t feel much like it. I was very relieved to receive a text message from E saying that J was away and that if I still wanted to meet, she would get ready and see me half an hour later than originally planned. It gave me the perfect excuse to withdraw. That was important to me because I so often feel that I am letting them down when I have to cancel arrangements.
Rather than having a protracted text conversation I rang E to chat. Within a few minutes of ending the call I went to sleep… for several hours! And it feels as though I have been sleeping ever since.
I think this may have been my worst week of fatigue during my whole Fibro (and now also CFS) journey. I sleep for an hour or so after my first cup of coffee in the morning. When I waken I attend to a small task downstairs, planning to wash and dress immediately after, but the task wears me out and I collapse in a heap in the chair. Cue more sleep. I wake again and go upstairs (a huge effort, in itself) and force myself to deal with another small task in addition to washing and dressing. Fatigue rears its ugly head again so that I am feeling dreadful by the time I get downstairs. Oh, good, there’s my chair: I can collapse in another heap. Oh! I’ve fallen asleep again!
I think you get the picture.
There are things that I wanted to do this week and I haven’t managed any that needed me to be outside of the house. FPR and I went to see his mother one day but that was a mammoth struggle which took its toll the following day.
It has been difficult during the past few weeks to keep any sense of humour about things but I’m hoping that it will return soon. In the meantime, I have realised that I need to have a serious think about adapting the way I live my life to cope with the restrictions that fatigue is forcing upon me. It will have to include the craft activities that I do and may well mean some serious stash-busting will have to take place. I wonder where I can find some energy to deal with that? Ideas on a postcard, please.