Life is like a blanket too short. You pull it up and your toes rebel, you yank it down and shivers meander about your shoulder; but cheerful folks manage to draw their knees up and pass a very comfortable night. ~Marion Howard
I did something I promised I wouldn’t do earlier this week: overworked myself into a flare. See, I’ve been living very carefully these last couple months. I’ve slept a bit more each night, eaten a little better, rested for an hour or more each afternoon, made sure not to schedule myself into oblivion most weeks. I knew that I was living on this borrowed time, this near-remission that I was experiencing was like magic, and like magic it needed to be believed in just a bit harder to be achieved. And this week I thought, enh, I feel great, this is LIFE, this isn’t magic, I can go back to regular things, do what I like. So I moved some furniture and a room full of stuff got shifted around and around. I ate a few too many things, didn’t spent my afternoons at rest, skipped out on a few of my glasses of water each day, ran a dozen errands one day. Then, BAM, it hit. Not just a little hit like I’d been having, just a few fingers or a shoulder that twinged a bit, an ankle here for a couple hours or a hip there as I did the dishes. All of a sudden I had a spine that wouldn’t bend.
So I spent all day in a chair in my living room, feet up, e-book queued up, kid bringing me whatever he could get me. It was nice for the first hour or so after all the pain relievers kicked in and the heating pad did its magic. But as soon as I got up (a bathroom visit), I realized that this wasn’t my usual kind of pain. This was more serious. I hobbled back to my chair, got the remote controls to the TV out, and prepared to let the kid watch TV for an hour or more….