Telling It All

I'm tired. I'm tired and my biceps hurt, especially in my left arm. I'm tired because I am always tired, even after a night like last night where I finally slept well after several days of insomnia and exhaustion combined. I can sleep for 36 hours and wake up feeling tired, ready to go back to sleep. As to my arms, especially my biceps, almost anything is too much for them these days, so what muscles that actually work do so under duress. They are over-stressed, constantly pulled too hard, and thus subject to ache and pain.

What would I give for a day without tiredness, or a day without ache and pain? What would I give for a night where I slept well and a morning where I woke up refreshed? I don't know what I might give, but I am already giving my life to this illness, so I suspect that's as good as it gets.

The whole tiredness issue is frustrating because it takes away from my willingness to do anything. I am fortunate that people around me encourage me to ignore the tired feelings and get on with living. Even this morning Bobbi urged me to get up, waited for me to get dressed, helped with my wheechair transfer; all to get me out of my apartment, across the street to the mall. She even bought me a Peanut Buster Parfait!

The ache and pain part is much more subtle, surreptitious, hidden by efforts on my part to do as much as I can. It's also much more widely spread than I let on. To be honest, right now my feet sting from edema as do my lower legs. My thumbs and fingers have a background ache, as it I had arthritis, and maybe I do. My arms have had their say. My  neck is sore right at the base of my skull, where the muscles do all that work to hold my head up straight.

There is a lot that I don't say, a lot that people don't see. I smile. I make jokes. I chat. It seems I am doing well. At least that's the comment I get so often. I wonder what would happen if I just let it all hang out, showed the pain and exhaustion, talked about all the aches and muscle cramps, told people more about the pins and needles in my legs and feet, cried more with the frustration of this illness.

I suspect if I did that, there would be fewer people around me. Laugh and the world laughs with you; cry and you cry alone. Still, it would be nice sometimes to feel like I really could let it all out, let it all be known, tell the whole story. Of course, that's part of what I just did. So why don't I feel better?