A Day in the Life
When I began to write this post, I went on Safari and noticed two tabs open, both of them having to do with a TV show I was watching (recaps and commentary). One of them was more of a bookmark, but the other could be closed.
And as soon as I closed it, I forgot what I was doing. Had no idea I was going to write a post. I knew I had something in mind but it was gone. I put some dishes in the dishwasher and straightened up a bit, and then I remembered.
This happens multiple times a day, and by now I understand. I have to walk away; it’ll come back.
It’s tricky to explain — it’s more of a working memory problem, when my intention doesn’t stick, somehow. I decide to look something up on Wikipedia, but that intention is wispy and ephemeral. I guess.
It’s hardly the worst thing. I cope. I write notes, set reminders. I do forget conversations a lot, but sometimes I just need to be prompted.
It makes me a faulty correspondent, though. I’d like to share what I’m experiencing, just to illuminate what another life, thrown a curveball, looks like. There’s just no guarantee it will be anything close to complete, or even completely accurate.
I also think it would be easier if this were a more conventional sickness. I know people with MS, and Parkinson’s. I certainly know people with cancer. Live long enough and pay attention, and we pick up plenty of information on other lives. I wouldn’t have to define leukemia, in other words. Everything I write about long Covid is definitional to most people. This is what it’s like, so this is what it is.
As I mentioned to some yesterday, it’s starting to feel like I’m documenting an ordinary descent into incapacity. It’s a story but I’m not sure I can make it interesting, and I have no tolerance for being a bore.
And my life is boring. I spent a career mining my life for trivia that I could turn into general commentary and/or humor. Now it doesn’t feel trivial, just dull.
Lately I’ve been able to sleep later, something that I lost a long time ago. It doesn’t mean my sleep is great but there‘s more of it.
But whether I get up at 6:30 when I first wake up, or 9:30 after I manage to drift back (I’m usually up past midnight), I’m usually alone. Julie’s more of a night owl than I am, and this quarter all of her classes are in the afternoon, so she sleeps until she has to get up and go. We have a few brief conversations and then she’s gone.
Now that my son lives downstairs, he rarely comes up (and he’s also a night owl so sleeps late). So it’s an empty house all day, and weekends are about the same. The day is always up to me.
I drink some coffee and read as much news as I can without ruining my day, far less than I used to. I check socials, maybe text a friend, maybe write an email.
For the first couple of years, I had a routine, a list of little chores — quick clean-ups, me and the house. It punctuated my day, and it was a good idea, but it eventually faded.
Now everything tires me out. I get short of breath walking downstairs. My arms and legs get heavy with simple stuff, like vacuuming or sweeping. I do make a difference — now that John’s not upstairs, I can keep this part pretty clean, and that gives me things to do.
But that’s it, folks. I washed the sheets yesterday and it nearly killed me getting them back on the bed. All that bending over and reaching sent my heart rate soaring (into the 130s, from as resting under 60).
Everything hurts to some degree, but I can’t take ibuprofen because of my kidneys and my Tylenol pills are too big to swallow easily so I usually don’t. It doesn’t make a big difference, and I’m not miserable. Just sore.
But that keeps me sedentary. I make jokes about staring at the walls but really? Not a joke. I could sketch these walls from memory.
I don’t really eat anymore, it feels like. The only time I get a decent meal is when it’s fast food, believe it or not; I can usually always eat a good Italian sub, and a cheeseburger with fries still works. Less, though. Nothing really tastes all that good.
Ugh. Sorry. That’s so depressing. I don’t sit around in the dark or anything. It’s just a really limited life, and while I’m still viewing it as a challenge it’s a big one. My favorite past-time is finding a detailed project (usually a graphic or video) that’s going to take me hours and involve multiple restarts. These are great days, even if I don’t ever show anyone.
And these give me hope, really. Because I suspect, anyway, that somewhere down the line I’m gonna figure this out. Just writing the above has made me think, Oh, it’s not that bad. I can do this.
I just have to remember to do it. 😂
