And I’m still weak.
But I’m better. I fell ill on Monday and it worsened over the week. I had three days off from work, but had to work Thursday, but came home and near collapsed from exhaustion.
People think otherwise but I don’t actually get sick often. Particularly as sick as I have been. I hadn’t left the apartment for three whole days. Three days! I go out every day. I love going out. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have the strength, and was sensitive to noise and smells and things I typically find tasty repulsed me.
It’s been a long week.
I’m up today but feeling the effects of yesterday and already I can see the plans for the day shrinking away from me.
For me, and how I experience my life and my disability, sickness isn’t a part of it. I am much more debilitated by the flu or when I get an infection or even when I get a cold, than I am because of a silly wheelchair. I wasn’t housebound because I’m a wheelchair user, I was housebound because they don’t put vomitariums at discrete locations throughout the public sphere.
Already, from typing this, I’m tired.
So, I’m back to lie down. I’ve got a good book, The Gustov Sonata, that I’m reading, a perfect choice with short chapters and characters I care about. I’m going to go and spend time with them, and my pillow and hopefully I’ll wake to a new store of energy or, if not, the ability to go out, even for five minutes.