My Twingeing Back, Blocked Ear, and Tingling Fingers

God, it's boring being sick!

I'm not puking over the toilet or lying feverish in bed. I have a sore back. I also have tingling fingers and a blocked ear, but the back took me out of commission. I've been waddling carefully from my bed to the couch and back for two days now.

The first day has been obliterated from memory by the power of the muscle relaxers and painkillers. Like walking on a three-foot thick layer of foam. That day was very soft, and apparently I sat very still. My friend P came over and we watched FOUR episodes of Star Trek: Enterprise. Apparently I didn't move the entire time. P left laughing and shaking his head, that's mostly what I remember.

But as the pain lessens, the boredom grows exponentially. I am not accustomed to all this peace and quiet. When I was at "home", meaning my house where I was married to Hubby and we had his kids and a dog and cat, there was too much going on for me to cope with. Nobody did housework, the hair and dirt and mess was catastrophic. I used my sewing room as a shield, a place to go to where I could lock the door and ignore whatever screaming was going on. I had to get out, had to find a place I could keep clean by myself, a place I could rest.

Now I've got that in spades. And a ticket from the doctor to stay home and enjoy it for a week. Now, I can't lift anything, and sitting is tricky. Lying down is better, standing is ok. I'm in no hurry to run the vacuum cleaner or wash the floors - those sort of movements aren't good for me in my present condition. I have started my laundry, since the machines on loan to me are so small it wouldn't strain Bijou to lift them from the washer to the dryer.

But I can only take so much tv. Even Star Trek! Even The Dog Whisperer! Even Criminal Minds!

And of course, my family and friends are letting me rest. In other words, not calling or emailing me.

It does give me lots of time to wonder WTF is going on with my fingers. Pinky and ring finger of left hand. Tingling and numb. Oh great. Doc gave me a referral to see a neurologist, now it's a matter of waiting for the phone call and hoping the doc was right when he assured me it wasn't Guillain-Barré syndrome, which my grandad had, and I've always feared contracting.

Nevertheless, the sensations are disturbing. I can type, there's no loss of control, just no feeling besides the tingling.

My brain, my personality, are prisoners of my aging body!

Getting On With It

I have an undisciplined nature. I know what I should be doing at any given time on any given day, but lack any internal stimulus. I am one of those unfortunate souls graced by the Deadly Sin of Sloth. The movie "7" filled me with dread when I beheld the unfortunate victim of the serial killer who choose to tie the man down to a table so that movement was impossible... the man, according to the script, basically rotted alive, ate his own tongue in fact, in a desperate attempt to assuage his hunger.

Yes, a freakish tale, and most unlikely: hunger will prompt even the laziest among us to waddle to the fridge in search of something to eat... Yet the scene still upset me because I feared, at the time, that I was in fact, slothful.

Now, there are times when I'm filled with energy and enthusiasm and am a veritable perpetual-motion machine. Preparing for guests, for instance, creates an absolute flurry of activity. Laundry is done, floors are washed, surfaces cleared off, shopping done, delicacies prepared, at breakneck speed.

Christmas is one of those times I am capable of an enormous output of activity. The schedule looms large: making sure I see this person and that person on the correct date with gifts in hand... That particular "festive" time can make me, and many thousands of others, appear like Tasmanian Devils.

Whoosh! - off to the mall, and whoosh! - make a gift, and whoosh! - receive guests....

Dizzying degrees of activity.

And then, with a sudden THUMP, like 40 inches of snow delivered overnight, it stops.

And I stop, too.

Yesterday, I noticed around noon that I had no bread left. Today, also around noon, I finally went out to get some. But not because I felt the need to: no, because there was no food for Bijou to eat. If not for her, I wouldn't have bothered. The fact that I must return to work tomorrow, and therefore bring something for my lunch, didn't enter into it. That's tomorrow's problem.

No, today I had toast because I HAD to make food for my cat.

I caught up on Facebook today. Sent some emails. Looked up some comics on the web. Read a book for an hour. Napped. Did some laundry. Oh yes, I've even loaded the dishwasher.

The Christmas tree remains up, shelves remain un-organized, projects un-started, the "disaster room" untouched.

Mentally, I say to myself, "Deborah - get GOING on this!"

And just as quickly the retort comes back, "Why?"

"Because it needs to be done!"

"In who's opinion? What for? Where's the fire?"

And then I flop back down on the couch.

This has been my pattern al my life. Without the addition of (external) deadlines, I fear I am quite capable of doing absolutely nothing at all - for a very scary length of time!

A former boyfriend of mine once gave me a Garfield sticker that said "If I were any lazier, I'd slip into a coma." I thought it was hilarious at the time and stuck it up over my laundry sink...

Then, as the years went by, I began to get the sneaking feeling that it might be true, even just a little bit...

And even just a little bit is frightening. I occasionally watch the show "Hoarders" on tv. In fact, the very first time I watched it, I was busy cleaning up my "disaster room", and the show proved MOST motivational! Every time I'd get tired and sit down, there was someone else sitting in the middle of their shit, complaining when people were trying to clean it up - and back I'd go into the room, determined to go through yet another box.

But you see, that particular area is now more or less accessible, so I have no particular reason to work in it any more. I can find most of what I need to in a relatively short space of time, so all sense of urgency has vanished.

And sure, there's still clutter on some shelves, and there are a couple of big pots to wash... but why should I care? Nobody's coming over any time soon.

There is simply no sense of urgency. Therefore, there is no particular reason to do anything!

Once, somebody explained to me that when you work under the proverbial gun for any extended period, a certain amount of lethargy was normal afterwards.

But after today, and yesterday, and the day before that, I fear that the next deadline is much to far away to be of help to me. It's unnerving just how long I can sit and do absolutely nothing at all.

So, hopefully, getting back to work soon will instill some sense of wanting to get things done in me. A least for a little while. Till I can brainwash myself into the appropriate level of urgency to make me start the next quilt or bake the next batch or clear the next shelf...

Anybody got any firecrackers?