Sick and tired of sick and tired

When illness strikes, every emotion, every call or non-call, every slight, real or imagined, even every breath challenges me.


The first few days before I actually break out sick, I spend wondering if I am sick enough to check with the doc. This indecision lies in the first few visits with doc. In one of those visits, he told me I was not a complainer, but he wanted to hear my complaints. That describes me to a T. So I tend to wait too long to contact doc, then I berate myself and worry.


Then I isolate. I want to sleep it all away. My emotional health crashes down around my broken body. When I am awake, my thoughts bounce from one topic to another, not settling on one long enough to identify it.


After a couple of days of isolation, I begin to wonder why no one cares. You see where this leads, right?


My physical body, in the meantime, still struggles and refuses to bounce back like it once did. Just sitting, the old arms and legs itch to move. Up I pop. Three or four steps later, when my sats fall to 83 with 2 lpm, I feel like a dog that was jerked by his chain just short of the taunting cat.


So my environment falls into a disheveled mess fit for "Hoarders." That in turn messes more with my psyche.

In my logical thinking head, I know this too shall pass. In my emotionally wrecked mind, I grow weary.


Times like these I miss you the most. You always made me laugh. You understood. You had been there and you cared enough to put out a hand to me. I do not want to start second-guessing this, too. Please.


Later.