CRPS, or Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (Type 1), is a change in the nervous system that's usually triggered by a very painful episode. The bad kinds affect the brain, nerves, muscles, skin, metabolism, circulation, and fight-or-flight response. Lucky me; that's what I've got. ... But life is still inherently good (or I don't know when to quit; either way) and, good or not, life still goes on.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Only one thing at a time

Yesterday, I got rich red dust from lovely Mt. Konokti (pronounced kon-OCK-tye) all over my car, the last of my stuff out of storage, and a lovely home cooked dinner. (J is an excellent cook of wholesome homey fare.)

This morning, the dust was washed off, all fluid levels checked, dog kisses washed off the insides of the windows, and a cooler packed with ice and three days of food (the time it'll be until I can use a kitchen.)

J's invisible presence is with me in the carefully packed, wholesome food, the shiny purring car, and periodic calls where he reminds me to be alert at rest stops and be sure to call his brother as soon as I get moved in.

I'm in a stunning pain flare, with both CRPS and fibromyalgia getting well into gear, but I made it to the halfway mark and the motel's spa is being warmed up -- just for me.

The coming week is booked with appointments for 3 different types of therapy and 3 different specialist physicians, for a total of 5 initial assessments and tests in 4 days. "Gruelling" doesn't come close.

Somewhere among those appointments, I'm moving to the place nearest to the doctors that I could possibly afford and probably survive. Unfortunately, it's right up the mountains -- all covered in snow.


I can't say any more about that.

It would be all too easy to get wound up about this... let's call it, madcap adventure of a week. But I've had enough of "wound up," I really have. (There's a post cooking in my head about what it's like to live with a fight-or-flight system that's physically hardwired into gear, and a heart that isn't interested in that much strain. I don't recommend it.)

I'm thinking of this as simply a series of tasks. One thing happens after another, and only one thing can happen at a time.

J says that often: "One thing at a time." He's a bit hyper too, and these are words he has had to learn to live by.

This way, I don't have to think of the whole fraught mass of deadlines and how many times I have to drag my wretched carcass down into town regardless of what it could do to me. I just think of the next task.

Pretty soon, that's going to be a hot-tub in the middle of a green field next to a state park.

Lets face it, there are worse things.

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