Yesterday, my body simply revolted against me. From the moment I woke up, it's like it was saying, Yeah, you thought YOU were going to choose your activities for the day. Ha. Big fat HA. We're still having a good time on vacation. No, really, I do mean that. Because ever since I was diagnosed with FMS, everything is relative. If I have to feel like a piece of steaming crap, then why not do it in a beautiful setting?
But every step I took resonated through my body, vibrating it with spasms of pain. You know how it feels when you're at a red light, and someone with an obnoxiously loud stereo system pulls up beside you? How you can feel the vibrations in your body? (Heck, maybe you're one of those people. No judgments here).
Anyway, that's how it felt. The pain radiated from my feet up through my knees, hips, shoulders, to the top of my head. That kinda sucks when you're going up and down lots of steps, on the way to and from the beach. But remember how I said everything is relative? See, I was going to the beach, not to, say, the hospital for chemotherapy treatment. Okay, so maybe that was a little dramatic, but you get the point.
I'm just thankful for Matt, because he was so good and sweet and unbelievably helpful. He watched Audrey while I took a good, long nap in the afternoon. He massaged oil into my legs and calves, draining my lymph nodes down there. That's part of the "self-care" that my massage therapist has taught me. He also got up with Audrey every time she stirred last night (which she's been doing a lot, strangely enough...wonder if she's teething?) He took care of her when she awakened for the day. He let me sleep until 9, then asked if I wanted to sleep some more.
You're not ruining my vacay, FMS. You may have won this battle, but you will NOT win the war.