Part of the problem with having a daily blog and multiple chronic illnesses is that some days are just flat out boring, by design, and there is nothing to write about. It's a thousand times worse during a pandemic. I assure you, I am fine. It was just the day I drew the short straw, and my muscles decided to lock up and be cranky, so I listened to them and took it easy. It is the bargain we strike, my body and I, that when warning signs go up, I agree to stop making things worse whenever it is possible. I had to dip into the pill reserves, the ones I only use for breakthrough pain, and it still took hours to soften me up. Hours and two sessions on the TENS and a long nap.
I want to come up with something interesting that has nothing to do with a daily diary entry, but I just can't. I have an ultrasound scheduled for early tomorrow (more imaging around the paralyzed diaphragm, to find out why the stuff under it hurts--I expect to be told they see nothing). I need to turn in. We stayed up watching Rocketman, and now I have no time for struggling to write profound musings. I'm about to set an alarm and let everything else go.
I don't even have time to take my own pictures for tonight. I'm stealing one from my daughter who sent me Dino pix when I asked how she was doing. My response to this one was yes, I can see that she is absolutely part of my family in that face. She is one of us.
No comments:
Post a Comment