Wednesday, March 22, 2017
Clinomania (n) an excessive desire to stay in bed.
Most days, I bound out of bed ready for a new day. Not today. Sleeping for ten hours did nothing to allay my fatigue. Under the weight of comforters and blankets, I begin to thumb through the reasons for my lack of energy and either disregard or verify each as a possible cause.
Maybe I'm coming down with something? I swallow hard-no sore throat. No headache either. My stomach is OK, too. I guess I am alright. Just tired. Wait, it's my thyroid. It is true, I blame everything on my thyroid. No. Just tired, that's all.
My life is altered. My brain does not function as it once did. CS Lewis describes, "... it feels like being mildly drunk or concussed...I find it hard to take in what anyone says." I understand this all too well-this grief.
No, I am unable to function as I once did. I often ask for help feeling like I am hoisting my widow-status for service. I find that I have trouble carrying loads of wood up the cellar stairs, so I don't think I ought to try to replace the washer in the basement with another in storage. I need my boys. Having always had a fear of chopping off multiple fingers and toes, I won't handle a hatchet or an axe, either. I call on a family friend who is a real Maine Lumberjack. Physical challenges abound, but so do the intellectual ones. Sometimes, I trip over my words when I speak. I often have to ask for things to be repeated as my brain can only take so much information in. Rather than become victim to despair, I recognize that this is grief. No one expects me to be fixed. Things will get better in time. Right now I need to be gentle. I need to treat myself as I would a dear friend. Tonight after a hot shower, I think I will put myself to bed with a good book and a cup of chamomile tea. I have an excessive desire to go to bed and stay there. That is more than alright.