First, to get this out of my head :
Soy, oats, and sugar cubes
“Loosa” by buck
Appaloosa, baby…. so that’s what you feed me…
In case that doesn’t ring a bell, it’s a parody of “Loser” by Beck.
Well the last 24 hours or so have sucked. I did NOT make it to Denny’s last night. When the time to go came around, I was quite miserable.
The worst was the dizziness. If I tried to stand up, the new and perverse version of gravity slapped me back down on to the bed. Even getting to and from my computer chair took a cat burglar’s level of planning and caution as I climbed off the bed and into the chair on my hands and knees.
Almost as bad was the muscle weakness and pain. Even if I hadn’t been dizzy, standing up would have been impossible because my muscles were limp noodles wrapped in ancient rubber bands. Everything felt swollen and painful and inflamed.
And the usual tertiary symptoms : a little bit of chest congestion, a soupcon of sore throat, a smidgen of headache.
Oh, and I was also mentally incoherent. My marbles were all over the damned place. Could not string two thoughts together to save my life.
My life is so much fun.
That’s how most of my evening went. I could do very little, Even playing games on my tablet was too much for my addlepated state of mind. So for the most part I just laid there in bed and drifted through the fog.
Luckily, when I’m incoherent, doing very little doesn’t bother me. Occasionally, I will get the impulse to do something, but then realize that I can’t even imagine the series of steps it would take to do that thing, and then the idea fades into the fog.
I also slept, albeit poorly. One of those impulses that never made it to action was the impulse to get out of bed and get my Gabapentin, which would have done wonders against the muscle pain, but I couldn’t do it.
Next time I am having an attack of the fugue state flus, I need to remember to bring the portable phone with me when I lay down.
That way, I might actually be able to call Julian and get him to come do needful things like getting me my meds or refilling my water.
Assuming I can string enough thoughts together to do that.
By the time morning came around, I had recovered enough to get out of bed and have some breakfast and take some of that sweet, precious Gabapentin.
That let me sleep a whole lot better and I think that sped my recovery along nicely.
Nothing fucks with recovery like being too incoherent and weak to eat, get water, or sleep properly. Funny how that works.
Right now, at 5:20 pm, I feel a lot better. My muscles are still sore and I feel tired and a little bit groggy, but I can function more or less normally.
I was able to go to the kitchen and get food while only moaning with pain and saying things like, “Oh god!” every now and then.
Now, it’s back to bed, hopefully for more sleep.
More after the break.
What lovely timing!
Just as my McD’s order arrives, my tummy does a flipflop and now I feel ill.
It feels sinus related (sinusoid?) so hopefully clearing my nose and ears will solve it.
But that’s just life in this bloated carcass I call a body. At any time, things can go sideways and screw me over.
And I can’t help but feel like I earned this. Both karmically, by completely ignoring my body most of the time except for the bits needed to play video games, and on the very practical level of all those years I spend not taking my diabetes seriously at all.
I mean, the way I used to eat back in our Nerdvana (1 Road and Francis) days boggles my mind. Junk food as a side dish with every meal, eating sugary shit I knew I should not have been eating often, carbs galore.
But the thing about type 2 diabetes is that having a sky high blood sugar level doesn’t hurt.[1] So it is far, far too easy to ignore your diabetes and pretend to be healthy and eat whatever the fuck you want.
At that point, it’s a purely theoretical disease. Sure, your doctor SAYS there is this mythical thing called “high blood sugar” happening inside you, but you don’t feel it. You don’t see it. You don’t suffer because of it.
The doctor might as well be warning you of bad mojo or evil pixies.
It was only after a number of health scares – like being in the hospital for ten days with pneumonia – that I truly buckled down and at least heavily modified my diet.
I still don’t monitor my blood or take insulin. But I can only handle so much.
After all, I am mentally ill. And with a Cluster C mental illness, Avoidant Personality Syndrome, and all the Cluster C conditions are very hard to treat.
In my case, as patient readers know, my mental illness makes me give up on things far, far, FAR too easily and when that happens, I don’t tell anybody or do anything about it.
\I have no philosophical or practical objection to managing my blood sugar. Injecting insulin doesn’t bother me at all.
But getting the blood testing up and running involves too long and complicated a process for my depression to handle and telling someone about it so they can help me goes against being Avoidant, so it’s not gonna happen.
Plus I just don’t value myself much. So in the fucked up calculus of my diseased mind, I am just not worth the effort.
Sad, isn’t it?
I hope to start feeling better some day. Stronger, more self-assured, less scared, more grounded and confident.
The road there looks pretty rough, though.
Maybe I just won’t bother.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.