At the end of a solo babysitting weekend, I am a total zombie. I can barely raise my arms. I can't think clearly. By late afternoon, the grandbaby was getting upset with me for being so tired that I had a neutral-bordering-on-RBF expression on my face, instead of mirroring her silly smiles. I didn't mean to scare her, but smiling was starting to use up too many spoons.
I'm sure part of my fatigue is my own fault. I haven't been getting every single medication I'm supposed to, although I am getting more than half. I tried to refill my lupus meds last week, and thanks to the dangerous hijinks in Washington, I'm still having trouble with the main one. And what with this nonsense of intentionally crippling the post office, I can't count on getting them quickly enough from the mail order pharmacy. I see the rheumatologist Thursday, and I'm going to ask to go back to the local pharmacy for six months or so, and just hope that they can get their hands on hydroxychloroquine for me. Otherwise, it may be time to see whether any of the scarier, stronger lupus drugs are available to me, as they are not currently being pushed by a snake oil salesman.
I've decided it is so stressful living through 2020, that staying on the ultra restrictive levels of that diet is unwise. I'm not going back to indiscriminate eating, but rather transitioning to a more average keto plan. I have given myself back dairy, and I expect to cave in on coffee any day now. I'll revisit the Hashimoto's plan after New Year's, maybe. I had butter on part of my dinner, and I'm still sitting here feeling like bits of my world are finally falling back into place.
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