I started out nervous yet hopeful and I thought that I was holding up pretty well that first week.
Then Tuesday I found myself thinking, "Is it Friday yet?"
Wednesday my body started weakening.
Thursday I didn't give a damn. I came home and did as little as possible. Puzzles and "The Golden Girls," a heating pad and some tea that evening. No dishes were being done, no niceties exchanged with the hubbo. I was spent.
Then Saturday came some redemption for the week. I participated in my first CrossFit competition. It's been less than I year since I started doing CrossFit and for whatever reason I couldn't get this competition out of my mind and I registered way back when. Way back before this most recent hospital visit. Way back before I felt truly discouraged about the nerve pain and weakness in my arms. Yet, somehow, Saturday was fun. And meaningful. I did something! I did something daring and strange and memorable!
|My coach nags me about closing my eyes (Exhibit A)|
It's a coping technique of mine.
|He says closing my eyes is dangerous (Exhibit B)|
And has scared the shit out of me unintentionally multiple times.
Sunday came the deload and wobbles anew.
Saturday was a rush-an all day frenzy of a packed schedule and friends and chatting and cheering. Sunday was so quiet and slow. All the stress of my week and the stark contrast to the day before set me off balancein a way I hadn't felt in a while. It wasn't sneaky, it was unnerving and pervasive. I couldn't decide if I had eaten something bad (nausea) or if I had exerted myself somehow (racing heart) or if I had been exposed to something sad (being on the edge of tears).
Eventually I took some medication to try and alleviate the anxiety. The sadness I couldn't quite break. It felt like a chunk of coal in my chest and I knew that I needed to cry to break it down. When the hubster left for his man-date that evening, the wall finally collapsed. I was sobbing over spaghetti sauce. Stirring slowly as steam and heat blended with my blushed cheeks and warm tears.
That night I didn't wait up. I didn't kiss goodnight or chat until sleep came. My body was locking up and the few words I managed seemed to break the hubster's heart. I felt utterly ashamed and somehow he felt guilty.
I knew the challenges of pursuing another degree and what it could do to me. I knew that starting observation hours was going to be a big undertaking, especially with a hospitalization just a few months back. It didn't matter. I cracked. I was crumbling. I felt ashamed and didn't want to ask for help; still clinging to health enough to recognize that I needed to ask, to troubleshoot and get on top of things before it got worse.
I'm still in that troubleshotting phase. I'm trying to take it easy on myself and avert complete relapse.
It feels like I'm wading. A slow tiptoe through a familiar yet obscured stream of events. I can't see exactly what's coming; the slippery surface below feeling new despite the many times I've crossed. The cold water and that steady, unended flow un unfriendly though calm sort of familiar.
Many thanks and fond thoughts to those readers checking up on me! I will try and take a read-about your blogs once I get my schooling for this term wrapped up and my health on track. <3