Cleanup had to be put on hold while I did breathing exercises.
I have spent the last two days in bed becoming reacquainted with my nervous system. The Little Lad contracted some kind of plague which had him in the grips of a fever for approximately 48 hours & left him a zombie. A week later, I calculated that either I would become stricken with his disease immediately or I was home free. Within hours of making my calculations, I became afflicted with a tell-tale malaise. A day and a half later, I thought it just might be time to get the barque ready.
I did not have any visible, external or measurable symptoms. What I did have was epic body-aches -- mind altering, body wrenching, body-aches. The type where every last strand of terminal nerve fiber is electrified -- humming with pain.
Anyone who knows me well will attest that I tend to be "pain management" averse. Looking back, there is a long list of times I should have just taken something, or gotten chiropractic adjustments or had acupuncture or what-have-you. But I will tell you this was so bad, I broke down & took some of the prescription pain medication left over from my Ceasarian in March (because I didn't take it then) -- after I tried vodka & ibuprofen. They did not help.
I don't have the mental talents to turn the pain off. I know there are people with that kind of training & skill, but I am not among them. So I went with it. (Like I had a choice.) This illness was special because it provided an opportunity to be reminded of all those parts of my body that I never, ever think about. So I spent two relatively sleepless nights laying still, trying to remember to breathe (it hurt so effing badly it made me want to hold my breath) & becoming very conscious of every last square centimetre of my corporeal being. It was like one big marathon of semi-lucid, meditation-turned-torture.
My utterly clear sinuses were on fire. The sheets hurt my skin. The air made my ears ring which made my head hurt which made my eyeballs throb which made lightning storms inside my eyelids. My joints hurt, oh did they hurt. My muscles & my tendons & even my fascia ached (yes, I know... fascia isn't really innervated, but it felt like it was). I realized at some undoubtedly delirious point in the night, that everything hurt save for my viscera & my ankles (& thank the gods my ankles did not hurt... have you ever sprained or broken one?). Then I recalled feeling this very same way when I was sick as a child... & I remembered facing it in the very same manner -- systematically taking stock of all my parts, over & over. Curious.
Well, there's no real point to this discussion, except that I wanted to remember it. I had a most exceptional time -- primarily due to it being so exceptionally horrid (Did I neglect to mention the night-sweats & waking up shrink-wrapped in icy, drenched sheets? Well, that was also pretty exceptional-- exceptionally dreadful.), but in the end, the experience gave me a healthy review of the blueprints to the only home I truly own... & a wee bit of artistic inspiration to boot.