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16322
Usually, when I’m sick, I’m not so sick that I can’t do things. It’s more like – slow down, don’t work out, get some rest and drink some water. This sickness … this has slayed me. I’ve been lying on the couch, nodding in and out of consciousness, reminding myself that I have things I’ve committed to (yoga teacher training for one, but this blog, French lessons, meditation … the list actually goes on). I’m basically able to do the bare minimum and even that exhausts me. No food sounds good, water doesn’t taste good (strange for me) and even sleep doesn’t feel like it helps much.
There’s certainly a marked difference between baseline sick (aka, having an autoimmune disease) and acute sick (where I feel like I am now). I keep reminding myself that it will get better … but I keep waking up and it isn’t better, so that’s highly discouraging.
Also, I used an ab wheel on Monday for the first time, and after thinking I broke my back (and realizing I’m not as strong as I like to think I am) my entire core has been burning since this sickness began. And that, plus the GD poison ivy and this sickness — it has been a very rough week.
Xox, g
15322
Today, I’m sick.
Not normal-every-day-having-MS-sick, but sick sick. Congestion and low-grade fever and dizziness and …. You know what I mean. And I haven’t been sick like this for … years, honestly. I took a Covid test (because those are the times in which we live) but it’s not Covid. Just your run of the mill sick – yay?
I thought a lot – as I struggled to do simple tasks – how much we all take our health for granted. Even me, with MS. And husby, with MEN1. Doing simple things – laundry and dishes and feeding myself — all so painfully exhausting, requiring so much focus. When I finally collapsed on the couch (after showering – which exhausts me on a normal day) it didn’t take long for me to nod off. But sleep is fickle when my body feels this way – I have to pee or my airways are stuffed or my throat is sore or … or ….or ….. The list is on-going. I think I was up every hour last night – even husby commented that it wasn’t a good night and left me in bed when he took Lucy to the vet.
It’s one of those days. At the beginning of one of those weeks. Time will keep marching, it always does, and life will continue. And the ebbs and flows will come and go. I just need to surrender to the ride. And since I’m so tired and feel like such poo, that’s just what I’m planning to do.
Xox, g
14322
Because temperatures were up and down like a (very active) yo-yo last week, I rounded out the weekend with a wicked head cold and a low grade fever. Not something to be terribly worried about except that I had a date with Dr. M today for my quarterly “Oh yes, you have MS” appointment at Penn Neuroscience and I *really* did not want to have to go through the pain of rescheduling.
When we got up this morning, John diligently checked my temperature (99.7 last night at bedtime) and it was a reasonable 98.8 so I told him we were rolling the dice. Healthcare in America is absolutely painful (and absurdly expensive) but I like it when I receive it and that was the plan for today.
It didn’t feel too early (and it actually wasn’t because medicine and MRI days are MUCH earlier drives into center city) but right now, as the clock reads 6.22p and it’s still bright and sunny outside, I feel disconcerted and my body feels confused. Light in the evening is great … except when it isn’t. And it’s not so great when I try so hard to adhere to a sleep schedule and then all of a sudden we aren’t eating dinner until nearly 8p and then not to bed until 10p and suddenly eight hours becomes seven hours and …. Well my mind is snowballing and my body feels exhausted.
Usually we see Dr. M on a Friday, so my whole week feels off-kilter because today is Monday and Monday is a yoga day, not a doctor day. And this Friday John leaves to go fishing for the weekend, so more things that aren’t routine. I’m becoming an absolute curmudgeon in my old age about routine and rhythm and order.
Daylight savings and messing with time is utter madness. I am NOT a fan.
Xox, g
13322
Woke up this morning knowing I was going to feel awful. Just didn’t realize how awful. I haven’t felt this sick in a minute but the weather and the poison ivy and a whole bunch of things combined to bring me to my knees.
I got up. Showered. Went through the rhythms of morning routine – Athletic Greens and vitamins and omegas and green smoothies and neti pots and I threw in a nice facial steam to loosen up the junk in my sinuses. I’m feeling … okay. But I know that it will take a couple days to fully recover from this and I have an appointment with Dr. M tomorrow … so my timeline is somewhat truncated.
Having MS is a funny, constant struggle to figure things out without there ever being a definitive answer. And even though I know that there are no answers, that there will never be answers, that sometimes one thing will work and then it will not … even though I know all these things, I still search. Because if I’m not searching, then in some ways, that means I’ve given up. And I won’t waste this precious life I’ve been given feeling defeated.
Going to rest today. Try to take care of myself. Remind myself to give grace. To take a moment. To heal.
Happy Sunday.
Xox, g
12322
It was a snowy, stay at home kind of day today. I think I’m getting a cold. I’m exhausted, On the down swing yet again.
Xox, g
11322
There is something truly glorious about sitting down, freshly showered, to sip a hot chai and do some reading and writing. It feels indulgent but also so inherently perfect. The weather today is pretty gorgeous – mid-50s and sunny. Lucy could have spent all day sniffing tufts of grass on our walk.
Chai is one of my favorite parts of any day. It is happiness in a cup. I savor it, feel the tension relax in my shoulders and allow my taste buds to relish the glory that is a soy chai latte from Starbucks. Whether it’s a good day (like today) or a not-so-good day (like the past few) chai always makes it just a smidge better.
I’m finding that my weeks are usually a roller coaster of good and bad days … and I’m not sure what I’m going to get every morning when I wake up. I hope I’ll feel good, but it’s not guaranteed. Having little moments to look forward to – chai tea lattes being at the top of the list – helps me get through the really tough days.
Two days ago I went to urgent care because the skin on my forehead just wasn’t … normal. It wasn’t a break out and I couldn’t crack it. Having something on your face is disorienting because even though it might not seem like much to other people, it’s huge to you and it just crumbled my self confidence. I could feel the downward spiral, the lack of motivation, the deep dark frustration and powerlessness. And even after the doctor and medicine and calamine lotion it still didn’t’ seem to be diminishing and that further sent me into a tailspin.
Anyway, I went to yoga this morning with a forehead bathed in calamine lotion (poison ivy being the prime suspect for my rash) and I felt a million times better for it. Now I can settle into my teacher training, more calamine lotion drying quietly as I sip tea, do some French lessons and finally focus in on the history of yoga. Husby says despite my paranoia, the rash is looking much better. So, that’s a good thing.
Xox, g
10322
I was thinking – as I moved my reading light from my reading chair (which Lucy has taken ownership of … permanently) to our love seat so I can curl up and do my reading (both for yoga and because reading is one of my favorite things) – I really love my life.
I wondered – is that a strange thing to feel? Or even think? Do people often reflect on how much they love their lives? I almost felt guilty thinking it, let along feeling it, as though we as humans should be perpetually disappointed by life.
I don’t know why i feel that way. It certainly wasn’t modeled by my parents who seemed to enjoy their lives very much. Or Jennie – who snuck out to gamble all night, returning home in time to cook David and I pancakes for breakfast before school. But somehow, the impression that life should be dissatisfying seems to pervade our collective existence – it is a running theme in books and movies and television shows. A constant quest for happiness, or whatever happiness is. An escape from the reality of … mediocrity.
John and I decided a long time ago that we wanted to just enjoy our lives. And so … we do. We enjoy each other and we enjoy the things we surround ourselves with and what we pursue in our ‘free’ time (a much more accurate word for John than me, as all my time is technically ‘free’). We don’t live a grand or exciting life like my brother – summiting mountains and ice climbing on a Wednesday in the French alps. But we love the life we live – the world we’ve created. I love lighting candles every night, practicing yoga, my Peloton, listening to music on our crazy sound system, $5 Tuesdays at Movie Tavern … all the things, even on the days when I have a huge poison ivy rash across the middle of my forehead.
Anyway, it sat with me and I thought it was worth writing down. This idea that maybe it’s okay to just … be content in our existence. Be content in the life that we’ve had the autonomy to create. I know that not all humans have that luxury – even in a country as rich as the United States. But we do, and shouldn’t we be allowed to relax into that? To feel it, and be grateful for it, and grateful for our time here, pursuing the things we love?
Xox, g
09322
Two years ago …
Kind of an ominous start considering that nearly two years ago exactly the Covid pandemic began with school closures and business closures and quarantining and red, yellow and green zones. Two years. So much has happened. So much has changed.
Also, two years ago I began my yoga teacher training journey. I knew it was something I wanted to do, so when my studio offered their first (and to this point only) teacher training I signed up. And I honestly hated it. It wasn’t anything I thought it would be. It made me resent yoga – which I think is probably not ever the intention. I decided that perhaps, teaching yoga wasn’t for me, and when isolation began I dropped out. I knew that my attitude certainly wasn’t very yogic and my presence wouldn’t have been fair to the other women focused on becoming teachers.
But even though I felt okay about my decision at the time, I kept coming back to the idea that I wanted to get certified. I felt it in my bones, as though it was the right thing for me to pursue. Maybe I just needed a little bit of time to figure out my true ‘why’ … I don’t know.
But here I am, March 2022, beginning yoga teacher training again. And it is SO DIFFERENT than the first time. To begin, it’s online (possibly not a strength for me but hopefully not a deal breaker either). But it’s also not solely focused on the Baptiste method (which is the type of yoga I regularly practice and love, but didn’t speak to me during my first training). This course is rich with yogic history and Sanskrit and all the things I wanted to learn the first time around but … didn’t. I have cautiously optimistic high hopes that this training will be the beginning of my next phase of yoga. And I’m nervous and excited and a little scared.
Which I’m very sure is a good thing.
Xox, g
08322
Today is International Women’s Day.
It’s funny to me because life – that long ago life when days like today felt significant or important – doesn’t really exist any more.
As I scrolled Instagram (a morning habit that I must break) I was amazed at all the incredible women I know. Battling large and small obstacles, always positive, always upbeat. I guess it’s because I choose those kinds of people to follow, to be connected to. Their energy is what feeds my soul, lifts me up, helps me find the silver lining on the really dark days.
Women are incredible. Strong and thoughtful and imaginative and creative and beautiful. Women bash their heads against ceilings to pave the way for those behind them. But women can also be difficult – cagey and defensive and downright mean. Women are all the things, all the time. Like men. Like non-binary humans. We are everything and nothing, all encompassing and a black hole.
I was raised by two incredible women who set an example to me of the kind of person I wanted to be. I miss them both – daily, intensely. But I also know they are both with me and in me – in my choices and in the way I see the world.
I am tired today. Yesterday was full and long. The temperatures have dropped about thirty or forty degrees. The wind is whipping. I will go to yoga. And get a chai. And come home and do the things – finish laundry and make dinner (hopefully!), balance our bank accounts. Possibly read a little. I’d like that.
I do the things women have been doing for decades — the quiet things that keep households chugging smoothly along. Maybe a day or a month isn’t enough. Maybe it shouldn’t be tokenized. Perhaps we should celebrate women and their roles in this life every single day. And be grateful and awed.
Xox, g
07322
Today was one of those massively efficient, got-lots-of-things-accomplished days. A lot like yesterday but not – John was working and I was doing Monday kind of things.
And then I took a wicked fall and it felt like life screeched to a halt.
My whole body hurts, especially my right hand and hip. I’m exhausted but afraid that I’ll wake up stiff and sore and still afraid to walk too far from something to grab onto.
MS. She’s such a motherf*cker.
Xox, g
D5 Creation