This morning I woke up a little before 5am. I lie there in bed with a slow creeping feeling of what would be best described as dread; maybe even sorrow.
Just over a week ago I went into work. I spoke to everyone, shopped and had a good couple of conversations with my boss and a few other co-workers. It was nice, all of the caring things people had to say and the concern they had for my health. I quietly told my boss I was going to go to my doctor that week to get my note to return to work.
I went home, proud of myself that I made it. I was shaking and immediately became sick. But I expected that. My body wasn’t used to leaving the house at all; a little sick is to be anticipated.
I planned for lunches; I planned for dinners I wouldn’t be there to make. I told the kids I was going back. The boys… oh those sweet little disappointed faces. We all have grown quite accustomed to me being home the moment they leave or enter the door of this strangely – mostly peaceful house. What I consider to be peace is most likely not what another would imagine having 5 kids still in the home but I like it. (wink)
Needless to say the boys weren’t happy. The girls agreed to support me but were disappointed to say the least that I wouldn’t be here much again.
I continued going downhill. My stomach pains were back, the feeling of lead in my intestines. By mid-day a migraine had set in and fever. I was just exhausted.
Without drama and details of the betrayal my body had re-started I’ll put it plainly. I was laid up for two days and have been attempting to recover since. Insomnia, clouded thoughts, equilibrium shot, the not so distant past was accelerated to my front doorstep. Relapse was rearing its ugly head.
My doctor was not impressed.
Back to today… I just returned from work a few minutes ago. I took the long and unsteady walk to tell them I wouldn’t be coming back. I spoke to so many that immediately asked when I was returning. Tears began welling up in my eyes and I would start to shake my head. It’s funny how the woman’s art of crying is still so unfamiliar to me. Evidently 38 years of tears that won’t come were held for these past three months. I can’t imagine what the average woman goes through if this is normal. It’s foreign and strange and I don’t like how my nose turns red… what is that?
They say things happen for a reason. Did I want the time to work on my shops, blog and books? Yes. Did I ache for the time to spend with my pidglets and be there where I wasn’t before? Oh definitely. Somehow, I had naively hoped it would be on my own terms.
Such is life I suppose.
Now, I guess we get to see what I’m really made of. I feel a bit alone making the best out of an undesired situation. I know I’m not. I know I have people I’m just digging through the pieces finding and salvaging the parts of me I like.
Maybe to some the opportunity to not work seems wonderful. To me a lot of my self-worth comes from that. I enjoy working and I’m good at working. I soak up worth from the act of being capable.
New leaf… new season… I suppose there’s no excuse for not blogging anymore. (grin)
I’ll do what I always do, I’ll put my hopes and my focus on the positive. I’ll absorb my pidglets, develop some talents and clean my house.
I at 38, with children the ages of 8, 11, 13, 15, 17 and 20 have now become a stay-at-home mom… once again. And I will move forward and take care of me to somehow mend the relationship of body and soul.
Deep breath… I will be happy.
Over and out.