One of the many infuriating things about serious illness is the lack of control over stuff you used to take for granted. Like how you will feel day to day. Mornings are never great; no more leaping out of bed to greet the new day, though if I’m perfectly honest it was never one of my best times.
I have good days and bad days, my illness has a good cop bad cop personality. On good days I can get one or two things done, eat well, go for a decent walk, read etc. Bad days are a huge effort of will to accomplish very much at all.
And then there are the ‘days like these’ when lifting my head from the pillow is like an Olympic sport. I get up and eat (have made sure I have a plentiful supply of the basics), make sure I have plenty of water and then mostly sleep and listen to the radio. This last week I’ve had four days when I’ve slept more than eighteen hours and not an ‘I quite fancy a nap’ sleep, but ‘if I don’t lie down, I’ll fall down.’ On those days I don’t go out for the paper, don’t get dressed, or even shower, just hunker down and wait for the next day.
It feels as though the days like these are a life sentence, but they do pass. I don’t exactly bounce back, but I have the energy to shower and go out.
And the upside is everyone tells me how well and rested I look.