Holy Javelina!

-OR- How The Mighty Have Fallen

Yesterday sucked! I totally overdid it and piled way too much on my plate and wound up exasperated and sad and feeling quite upset, like life is moving backward, not forward. I woke up excited to go back to work. Just a three hour meeting. Easy, right? Then go start my Spanish class, all with a false bravado that I could just fling myself back into my normal pre-stroke activity level without skipping a beat, picking up right where I left off a month ago. But that is not at all what happened. I started the day with my usual morning walk around the neighborhood with the puppies. As we were turning the corner off the busy street and into the residential area two massive porcupine-meet-warthog-meet-armadillo looking spiky hunched-over things the size of overgrown hogs come tearing around the corner at top speed right at us. Thirteen pound Yorkie yo-yo's out to the end of his retractable leash, pouncing and barking to protect his mom and sister. I struggle to reel him in, imagining his precious life snapped up in an instant by what I have since learned are called javelinas. But they flew past us and were around the corner and out of sight before I could barely react, thank God! I kept walking and about three houses down spot another one rootin' around in someones cactus filled front yard. Being such a city girl this whole encounter was entirely surreal. I immediately whipped out my pepper spray in mother-bear instinct, shot it downwind to make sure it still worked and took up residence right in the middle of the street. I figured one of these nasty creatures could not pop out of the brush and snatch up a puppy the further away I was from the bushes. I start hollarin' LU-LU-LU-LU-LU at the top of my lungs, head rolling around like Linda Blair to make sure nothing was sneaking up on us from behind. I continue this parade the entire rest of the walk, trigger finger at the ready, barely pausing to let the dogs do their business, heart beating out of my chest, feeling completely vulnerable and wishing I had paid more attention to Bear Grylls' lessons on surviving the wild. Which right now was the paved tract-home wild I was racing through! We made it home without further incident but the adrenaline rush and fear totally exhausted me.

It was great to be back at work and see so many friendly and familiar faces, yet I got so speedy on the steroids I could hardly hold my plate at lunch, dropping food all over the buffet as I was trying to serve myself I was shaking so bad. It was a totally embarrassing reminder of how far away from normal me I really am. So of course I had to space out on muscle relaxers to get speedy under control, which in conjunction with the steroids make me stupid and hardly able to form cohesive sentences. I just hope no one was that focused on me and am still counting on my established reputation to get me through yet one more health crisis without anyone realizing what a hot mess I really am. I left the meeting and raced to the dentist for a teeth cleaning and by the time I got home was in such horrible fog and fatigue the thought of having to get up and go to night class was the last thing I had energy for. I rested for an hour and made it to class, barely, not realizing my gas tank was below empty and shifting into neutral as I coasted to every red light, turning off my air conditioner in the sweltering 108 degrees. As I am sitting in a class way below my level, intimidated to even say Buenas tardes, como esta?, I got really sad.

I have been existing in my imaginary dreamland, blogging to other Fibromyalgia sufferers who completely understand my struggles and challenges. I have been surrounding myself in this cocoon of acceptance and positive thinking that has nothing to do with actually surviving life in the outside world. Yesterday was a harsh wake-up call. It made me so mad. I felt the acute pain and disappointment of all the compromises I am settling on, trying to guise them under the title of realistic. I felt the sorrow and loss and confusion that I usually force myself to Positive-Polly spin into a portrait of peaceful acceptance, surrendering to my higher power and absolute faith in the perfect unknown path right before me. But last night it all came crashing down around me. My stomach is bloated beyond belief, my face fat and round, showing me the reason they call 'em "chipmunk cheeks" firsthand. And still my mood morose and angry. I don't wanna be a stroke survivor at 34! I don't wanna have to come back from yet another debilitating health crisis! I don't want to have to take out loans to pay my medical bills and cover my income while I cannot work. I don't want to be on this ship anymore! I want to get of, but there is no land anywhere around and either I keep hangin' on, swell after swell tossing and throwing me all over the deck, or jump out and sink because there is nowhere else to swim.

Thanks for joining,

Leah   

This blog was originally published on 9/3/2010. I have been waiting for her, that girl on Prednisone who became a manic psycho and took over my being. Well here she is.