This is me today. I have been awake for two hours and out of bed for about an hour. I’m surprised I’m even awake at all since all I want to do lately is sleep. I have successfully brushed my teeth and made my bed. That’s it.
I am now sitting on the chaise portion of our way-too-big-for-the room couch and despite considering putting up a big fight, I’m surrendering to the fact that this is where I am spending the day. And when it gets to be too much, I’ll walk the ten feet back around the corner to my bed. And, try to be OK with that.
I look at this photo and I see a lot. I see someone who desperately wants to wash her hair and doesn’t have the energy, or balance, to do so safely. I see the sweatshirt that I have now been wearing for several days, but changing it would mean doing laundry. I see the tiredness in my eyes from the inconsistent sleep and medical stress that has come my way lately.
Behind my eyes is my brain trying to convince itself that everything is alright…that all the small things I had planned at home for today aren’t going to happen and it’s not the end of the world. The catch up phone calls won’t happen. They are too daunting because I honestly cannot remember something I heard ten minutes ago today, so I can’t focus, and I just don’t have the energy to spare today. And as anyone with chronic illness can tell you, talking on the phone is the equivalent of going for a fast paced walk for many of us.
I try to be patient with myself and my current restrictions, but it is hard. The past ten days have not only flattened me physically, but mentally and emotionally as well…maybe even more so than physically. I got a diagnosis from one of my doctors that is in no way a big deal, but does require monitoring and possibly some treatment decisions down the road. This, I can handle.
I got a second diagnosis that is major in all the ways that these kinds of things can be: you have to first accept it, digest it, think about the short and long-term implications, start a treatment plan, get frustrated with treatment plan right off the bat because damnit, you just want your body to work right for once in its friggin’ life.
You cry.
You yell at God.
You apologize for yelling at Him. Although you’re pretty sure He understands.
You thank God that it’s not worse.
You beg God to just give you enough energy to make your husband supper tonight because gosh, that man deserves one hot meal waiting for him this week.
I am not handling this diagnosis as gracefully.
But let’s get back to the photo. What if I looked at the photo differently? What if instead of choosing to see all the things I can’t do or can’t take care of, I look at my face, one which smiles with memories of joyful times…my eyes, which are bright with hope for the future…my chest, which holds a heart that has been loved several lifetimes over.
My days on the couch, or in the bed, don’t define me and neither do my illnesses. Maybe the couch days are quiet opportunities to spend time with the One who does define me. Maybe they are a chance to try and be friends with my rebellious body. Maybe they are a chance to be still and grateful. Since I had no intention of blogging this week and I rather spontaneously picked up my laptop to write this morning, maybe the couch days are opportunities to use our gifts.
If you are having a couch, or bed, day today, know that you are not alone. There are a lot of us out here with you slogging through our health issues the best we can.
It’s alright to have couch days.
It’s alright to rest.
You’ve got this.
