At first I petulantly kicked my blankets and said NO, followed by words that got the point across more eloquently but certainly not as elegantly.
But OK, I thought. I have nothing else I can do right now but lie here and wait for my meds to kick in....let's try the "glass is half full" mentality on for size.
Today I read to Zack.
I made a kale/berry smoothie.
I put a few dishes in the dishwasher.
I answered some email.
I was able to stay upright for three hours solid.
That really doesn't look like a lot, but the point is, I DID do something, and on the really, really bad days, I manage less than that. But I still try to do something. The most important thing lately has been reading to the kidlet. The very fact that an 11-year old boy still looks forward to spending time with his mother is priceless and must be cherished.
I still am human, though, and The Sads can take over with a full nelson and an illegal punch to the gut.
I was upset over the holidays because I couldn't play with the family much. It's the first Christmas I didn't decorate the tree. I couldn't wrap any presents. And I didn't get to beat the socks off the boys playing Trivial Pursuit with my husband as my partner (he knows everything about sports. I just answer "Babe Ruth!" to all sports questions.)
But I DID knit five scarves and three blankets to give away, read a bit (especially with Zack), did a little writing, and ended up thankful for my family, friends, and health.
Yep, I said health. Because things could be SO much worse. I have excellent care, a comfortable place to convalesce in, and, as one of my friends constantly reminds me, "You're never alone."
If my life ended tomorrow, I could look back and know it was an amazing life. My glass isn't half full, it's overflowing. All the countries I've lived in. All the people I've met. All the risks I've taken. All the flowers I've planted, all the books I've read, all the songs I've belted out (albeit so out of tune I occasionally offended myself). I've laughed and I've cried but that means I'm alive and in the moment, and even the Very Very Bad Moments mean something and ultimately make me who I am.
I grow every day, and having to deal with chronic illness has, in a twisted, Jabberwocky kind of way, made me treasure the small as well as the epic. Allowing myself the freedom to let go, to say no to the unimportant things, to just BE, is giving me a much better, much longer view of my life.
Who knows how deep the rabbit hole goes? I'm going as far as I have breath in my lungs.