New. New. New.
I decided to stop beating myself up for not keeping up with the blog. Right before I started it in May, I had a pretty big flare up of my autoimmune issues. I was hoping it would be a short one, but it dragged out for two months long months.
It was a bad one. Not gonna lie. I was struggling big time to make life work. Balancing work and kids and pets and taking care of a house and any kind of social life was too much. So I cut out the social life. And then house care was at the minimum laundry and dishes. And then it got to the point that I could work and rest and sleep and that was it. Period.
I thought I needed a vacation and I had one coming up. And I went to Cuba and it was amazing and I got the extra rest I needed every day and came home feeling a little better. But once I started working again, things deteriorated fast. My parents had recently moved back and were living with me until I found a new place. That was helpful, but weird, and guilt inducing.
I’m 40. I’m a grown up. I should be able to do all this basic stuff on my own! But I couldn’t and it was terrifying. I cried to and from work a lot of the time because I was so tired and felt so guilty that I couldn’t live my life and do these basic, basic things for my kids like I wanted to. I could work. And I could rest. And I could sleep. And that was it. Period.
I went to a work conference a few weeks ago. It took a lot out of me. A lot. I came home from the conference and went back to work and somehow made it to the weekend. That weekend I totally broke down. I cried to my mom and told her how I didn’t want this to be my life and it wasn’t fair and I should be able to do this on my own and I was so, so tired.
And she hugged me and said, “we’re here for you. That’s what family is for. Here’s what we can do to help.” We made a plan. And I felt relieved and guilty and sad and happy all at the same time.
I went back to my doctor last week and laid it all out for him. He listened and changed my medication and took a lot of blood for testing. I was slightly hopeful that things might change, but slowly coming to terms that they might not and this was just how I was going to have to live my life now. And I went to work. And I rested. And I slept.
But yesterday was a good day. The first in a really, really, really long time. I went to work, came home, and instead of resting until bedtime like I’ve had to do the past few months, I played a game with my kids. And talked to my sister. And felt like me again for the first time in forever. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. One good day doesn’t mean much.
But I woke up feeling good again today. So I’m crossing my fingers and toes and hoping this is a turn around for me. Because feeling better makes me realize how sick I really was. And it was really bad this time. And scary.
So today I’m grateful. I’m grateful for my job that I can do even when I’m feeling my absolute worst and can’t do much else. I’m grateful for my parents who came home to help me when I needed them most. I’m grateful for my awesome kids who love me and help out when I don’t feel good, which has been a lot lately. And I’m grateful for doctors who listen and want to help me feel better.
Today I’m grateful and hopeful and a little bit scared. But I know that if I have a few good days, maybe I’ll have more and feel like me again more of the time instead of just a shell of me just existing, not living.
And that’s all I got. But today I’m happy and I’ll take it.