Reveries from the seas moving inland
The thing that angers me most about the current wave of medical stressors is that in mid-September I felt as though my life was opening up again and now I feel it's slammed shut hard. The levels of pain and fatigue I am dealing with are beyond even my chronically ill norm. They are debilitating and I feel they must look unbelievable from the outside, as though I am narcissistically self-dramatizing or merely careless with my health—I got told again last night that I look great, which is of no use to me. This has been the kind of week where just making it to doctors' appointments leaves me wiped out for the rest of the day. I am actively worried about my ability to manage an out-of-town wedding this weekend. My work is suffering and I can't afford for it to. I can't stop moving.
It feels like this is all there is left of my life: the person who is uselessly sick and gets sicker. Everything else has to happen around the edges, wedged into the cracks. The most important thing about me is the medical shape I'm in. I don't like it. It is not how I think of myself. It is not how I want to be seen.
I managed to attend the book launch at the BPL for The Atlas of Boston History (2019).
a_reasonable_man was one of the contributors; one of his collaborative plates was even used as an illustration of the process of putting the atlas together by editor Nancy S. Seasholes, who gave a lecture beforehand. I can't believe I didn't know about her seminal study Gaining Ground: A History of Landmaking in Boston (2003/2018) until last night; I just went around picking up information about this city of water we live in on my own time. I will want a copy. I will want a copy of the atlas, too, which is beautiful and sold out at its own launch party. Then I came home and worked until I literally fell asleep on the couch.
spatch had to wake me to go to bed.
Tonight is my family's traditional Halloween party, now an institution of more than half a century's standing. There will be pumpkins.
It feels like this is all there is left of my life: the person who is uselessly sick and gets sicker. Everything else has to happen around the edges, wedged into the cracks. The most important thing about me is the medical shape I'm in. I don't like it. It is not how I think of myself. It is not how I want to be seen.
I managed to attend the book launch at the BPL for The Atlas of Boston History (2019).
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Tonight is my family's traditional Halloween party, now an institution of more than half a century's standing. There will be pumpkins.
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Thank you. It was a nice Halloween party and I spent much less of it running around than I usually do. I carved my traditional pumpkin with assistance from
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Thank you.
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*hugs*
Sympathies shared.
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Yes. That's one of the hardest parts of chronic illness or disability, is the threat or reality of one's identity changing in ways one didn't choose and passionately doesn't want. It's brutal.
Pain is brutal. It's exhausting and infuriating and frightening. I'm sorry your life is like this right now.
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Thank you.
I have had illness change my identity, both suddenly and by attrition. I know that nothing is really stable, but I feel like I am running out of pieces of myself to lose.
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Thank you!
*hugs*
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I got told again last night that I look great, which is of no use to me.
I think the hospitalglam tumblr (don’t know if it’s still going) was at least partly about demonstrating that people can be seriously ill but not look it.
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Thank you. I don't really want to be a disembodied intelligence; I have spent most of my life teaching myself that I don't live in my head. I just want a body that more or less works. It's been too much on the lesser side lately.
I think the hospitalglam tumblr (don’t know if it’s still going) was at least partly about demonstrating that people can be seriously ill but not look it.
I don't think I encountered this Tumblr, but that seems like a useful thing to demonstrate.
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I sort of experienced being a disembodied intelligence yesterday— I’d missed one of my doses of pregabalin the day before, so I took three instead of two the next couple of times, and while my shoulder was completely pain-free, I felt a bit as though there was a pane of glass between myself and reality, or as if everything was shifted very slightly to the left. And at times I had to make a conscious effort to focus enough to talk, which was a little inconvenient at work.
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And I hope the Hallowe'en party is lovely and joyful. (And spooky, if that's the aim!)
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Thank you.
And I hope the Hallowe'en party is lovely and joyful. (And spooky, if that's the aim!)
It went well! I don't know how spooky it was, but there were a lot of small children and a lot of baked goods and a lot of pumpkins. We mulled cider.
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I don't think most people are very good at all at guessing how anyone is.
I hope the party was lovely.
Thank you. I think it was a good time! Many pumpkins were carved. I had nice conversations.
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I'm glad!
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Thank you.
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You must have told someone else last year, because you did not tell me! Thank you for thinking of me. I was at Wilson's earlier this afternoon, buying cider and pumpkins and tea lights!
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*hugs*
Nine
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I'm glad. There are so many children these days!
All of us so wish you to be well, to not have to put all of your strength into fighting pain. You've bloody well had more than enough.
Thank you.
*hugs*
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The books you linked sound absolutely fascinating!
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Thank you.
*hugs*
The books you linked sound absolutely fascinating!
I really want to read them! I paged through
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I hope things improve. <3
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Thank you.
*hugs*
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*tea and solidarity*
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Thank you. Much likewise.
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. . . this strikes me as true.
I do hope things get better for you. May the party have felt helpful!
Thank you! It was a nice party.
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Strength to you.
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Thank you.
*hugs*