With the news that I might not be over Plague ie: the common cold for up to 21 days, I have decided to give myself permission to be sick and miserable. I don’t know for how long. Long enough to start to feel a little better, because having a cold and CRPS is like being in crisis.
I can’t actually remember the last time I gave myself permission to just be sick and miserable with the crud. Or anything really. Even at my worst, I have always tried to persevere and get on with writing and checking Facebook and Twitter and being in the writing world that is Hadena James.
So let me apologize now for not responding to messages or comments or anything on Facebook or Twitter or even reading it. I just want to be sick and maybe wallow in it a bit.
This means I probably won’t read any comments on this post until later in the week or maybe next week, depending on when I get to feeling a little more human and less like a carrier of the Zombie plague.
Because for a little over a week now, I have been fairly convinced that I am patient Zero of the Zombie apocalypse.
And yeah, that’s it. I am giving myself permission to call in sick and actually be sick. No Facebook, no Twitter, no checking blog comments, no trying to sneak a paragraph in here or there, nothing. I am disconnecting from the universe and getting healthier, physically and maybe mentally.
The best thing I got to do this week was fire my pain management clinic. It felt like such a burden had been lifted from me. For about 10 minutes I forgot I had plague and that I was sore and my hope returned.
I learned a new term this week: I am a non-functioning chronic pain patient, but I am very hopeful that this new specialist, which I see for the first time on the 2nd of February will make me a functioning chronic pain patient.
And at some point work will resume on Demonic Dreams, The Dysfunctional Mob, and with everyone’s blessings my non-fiction book on CRPS. Unfortunately, that mostly has to wait until I’m a functioning chronic pain patient. I’ve been struggling to work in 2 hour blocks, because that’s as long as the Vicodin lasts me – it doesn’t make me pain free, just comfortable in my own skin – but I’m not built to write 2 hours at a time, my brain thinks of things and then instantly forgets them because of pain and taking notes doesn’t help because they don’t make sense to me when the next 2-hour block hits.