I had a pretty good January, health-wise, but I spent most of February in bed. I feel like February never even happened. I haven’t even done my taxes, and they are easy. I don’t do my client’s taxes (he has a CPA for that), but I’m responsible for gathering his information together and putting it in order so his CPA can easily fill out the correct IRS forms. I haven’t even done that. Hopefully my client won’t find out that I’ve had all the data for weeks. At least I think I have. I’m behind in my filing as well.
The problem is: I just can’t seem to find the energy to do anything. When I get out of bed to do something (like, eat or get dressed), I change my mind half-way through and just go back to bed. It’s not a particular pain exactly, but more like all my health issues are weighing me down. I’m not depressed either — I know what depression feels like. It’s just that there’s nothing I want to do more than rest.
This is really nothing new. I’ve felt like this before, but never for this long. It’s called chronic fatigue syndrome, relapsing (CFS). Usually when I feel this way, there’ll be something I have to get done. I have to feed and walk the dog or I have to go to the pharmacy and refill my pain meds. And once I get moving, the feeling recedes into the background. It doesn’t show its face again for a week or so. (That’s why it’s called “relapsing.” If each episode lasts for six months or more it’s called “persistent.”) But this time it’s different. Even when I have to do something, the feeling doesn’t go away. And once that something is done, I feel an overpowering urge to lay down and rest. So I do.
One side-effect from losing February is that I didn’t earn enough money in February to interest a Scot. (And if you knew how little it takes to interest a Scot, this statement will wow you!) I get to make a “prejudiced” statement like that because my family tree goes back to Scotland. In fact, She Who Must Be Obeyed and myself own a little land in the old country, making us Laird and Lady Bear and Scots in our own right. Before you start sending me letters requesting money, however, you should know that we each own exactly one square foot. (It’s a charity thing to help out a family responsible for a crumbling old castle.) In fact, I depend upon my meager self-employment income to augment my Social Security check. Between the two of them I can just about buy our groceries and gasoline, and make the payment on the van. Come to think of it, maybe I should get depressed. I’ve certainly earned it.
I don’t know where this particular situation is going, but if it’s still bothering me, I’ll mention it next month when I see my doctor again. He’ll probably tell me it’s my CFS getting worse, becoming persistent. Then I really will get depressed.
Perhaps he’ll inform me that CFS has been re-named. As of last month its proper name is “systemic exertion intolerance disease.” That’s a change that was brought about by sufferers of CFS who felt that they didn’t get enough respect from the old name. (I mean, really, everybody gets fatigued. What’s so special about that?) But I don’t care. Frankly, I just don’t have the energy to deal with that right now.
Yeah, I definitely deserve to get depressed. I’m just afraid that if I do that, Dawg’ll get sick again just to make me stop thinking about myself and pay more attention to him. He’s selfish that way…