I’m not the type of girl to cry over a broken nail normally. Except today. When my nail broke down deep while visiting with my favorite vampires, also known as a blood draw. The poor woman getting set up to draw my blood bumped my hand and my nail broke down deep. It started to bleed and hurt like heck. So I cried out in pain and surprise.
To be honest the lady who bumped me with her cart resulting in the broken nail had more tears than I did. She kept apologizing and saying it was the worst time of year to have this happen, so close to all the parties as such. There aren’t really any fancy parties this year for me, not with my new medication routine and side effects.
The truth is, I’m breathing a small sigh of relief at not having to go to all the parties. Of not having to be all made up, hair done and nails just so. Let’s not even talk about the shoes and clothing that need donning. And all the energy into getting ready and then faking that I feel cheerful and healthy.
So I did cry out over a broken nail because of the pain and not because of the hardship it might bring. And truly if a broken nail brings hardship, life cannot be that bad.
I had to run some errands today. Not a big deal, not for most people. Except I have lupus. And a cold. At the same time. A guarantee for an exhausting time indeed. So I feel horrible, have achy joints and a sore throat all to go along with running errands.
Now you get a bit of an idea of how I felt and toss into the mix that this time of the year means most stores are busier than normal. It’s basically a recipe for disaster. Which is pretty much how I felt as I went around chasing my errands. And no they weren’t the type of errands that I could do online or leave for another time.
So today wasn’t a super fun time and by the end of errands and such I just wanted to go home and collapse. Into a heap of me that would not move until I had energy. That energy level would probably take five years to obtain. However the four-footed one did not understand any of this.
So I came home, looking to collapse only to find myself playing hide-and-seek with the dog. Because she insisted. Insisted with teeth. Thankfully she got bored early into the game so now I am a happy, yet collapsed shadow of myself.
Nine. As in the number. It isn’t large by some standards, and yet by others it sounds like a lot. Nine, as in nine little puppies. Just born. Nine wiggly and separate beings. Nine new lives. And one very exhausted mother no doubt.
I cannot imagine nine puppies in my house all at once. I think I would probably melt from the sheer cuteness of it all. I know I’d be a zombie from the lack of sleep with the noise they make and the worrying that comes with nine new lives. I cannot imagine the amount of cuddliness nine new puppies bring either.
Let’s face it, I struggle with one. One four-footed being who managed to sneak into my broken and hardened heart. I lost control of the house, my expectations and yes frankly my life as I used to know it, once one small, not exactly new-born puppy crossed the threshold of my doorway. And at the time, having had other four-footed ones in my life, I had thought that it would be pretty much the same as before. Some adjustments and getting to know each other and we’d kind of move as one.
I was wrong. This four-footed one is just as head-strong and stubborn as I am and that is where the problem kicks in. Because neither of us gives easily. And I am trying to imagine a life with nine new puppies just like my four-footed one. And the truth is I can’t. Not really.
I can imagine cuddles, and puppy piles. I can imagine wiggly bodies and boundless energy followed by necessary napping time. I can imagine clumsy movements as they figure out moving forward and backward on those oversized feet. These things I can imagine. But I can also imagine the drain of nine new beings in my current state of struggle with just one overly energetic being.
As for mom, well I cannot even imagine. Nine puppies. Hungry, curious and all the rest. For her to look after. Thankfully they are all doing well, according to my friend. And in time I shall summon energy or simply force myself to go and check out the puppy pile. Because nine is the right number for a puppy pile this time.
A friend of Beloved’s is trying to convince him to go SCUBA diving into the depths of the ocean, to check out caves and the life that lives down there. Beloved is not keen on this idea. As he put it, he is made for land. He can survive on land. He can move on land. He cannot breath in the water without having specialized equipment. Which is heavy. Moving in water is also not natural as it isn’t his natural habitat.
It would be exceedingly unnerving I should think, to be in the inky darkness of the water, unable to see far into the distance. It would also be unnerving in that you can’t see all around you, you have no place to hide really. That is if you need to hide from something with great big teeth which can crush through your delicate skin and bones.
Needless to say Beloved has told his friend he isn’t too keen on the Idea. He has countered with taking a nice boat ride out to the area, but not going in. I personally would go with Beloved’s idea over his friend’s. It just seems more sensible. But then we do tend to fear that which we cannot see or do not know. And besides, sharks! Real live, hungry sharks. Not the kind I used to imagine in the deep end of the swimming pool. These ones are real, wild and unpredictable. So yes the boat makes more sense.
The boat, though, is safe. And safe doesn’t let you see the caves and creatures of the deep. This is his friend’s argument. And secretly I hope this argument continues. Because as long as it continues neither one of them is getting into deep, dark, unknown waters. Which is safe.
I wonder what it’s like to be full of energy. I would jump out of bed, easily accomplish everything I wanted to do, go to work and keep up with all the adventures the four-footed one wants to take. I’d marvel at how much one can do in a day.
Of I haven’t jumped out of bed in years. And I have no clue what I’d do if I got done everything I wanted to within the day. What on earth must it be like to not have a list of some sort just waiting for you to get to?
I used to be that girl, the one who had a far amount of energy. I used to be that girl, the one who could easily tick things off her to-do list, or be up for a visit with friends. (Granted there was still a limit to how much energy I had.)
But that was before. Before lupus demanded attention. Attention and energy. Lupus is selfish that way. You may have a mile long to-do list but lupus doesn’t care. When lupus wants you to stay in bed, lupus makes getting out of bed super hard to do.
I used to think my dishwasher, the machine rather than a person, was a nice-to-have item. Since lupus I’ve come to the conclusion that it is a must have. I only ha e so much energy and strength and I rather not spend it on dishes when I could be spending it with people I enjoy.
I wonder what it’s like to love someone so much and watch the, struggle with a chronic illness like lupus. To watch them struggle to get only some of the household chores accomplished. To have to pick up the slack for that person. I wonder how Beloved does it, and does it so easily and gracefully. I wonder how he doesn’t get upset, surely he just resent lupus at times. And yet he just keeps going, like he Energizer Bunny. And I, while when I can I struggle along or let him carry me along.
The four-footed one had a spa day today. Although judging from the looks of her it wasn’t a relaxing spa day in the least. And I have a feeling the groomer didn’t exactly have a pleasant time either.
What was supposed to be a bath, hair cut (or fur cut I guess) and nail trim all promising to be relaxing for the dog, became a little something different. It started with a small mishap at the washing station. The water was turned a little to hard and so the four-footed one responded by making a giant tidal wave in her area. This of course created more chaos which resulted in the four-footed one sliding around while groomers tried to catch her.
Once caught and secured she was bathed and dried, evidently against her wishes. Her nails were trimmed and then it was hair cut time. After her hair cut she was dried again and given a cute green bow. The groomer working with her was rewarded with a nice cup of coffee and a cookie.
When we picked up the four-footed one our regular groomer told us what happened. She said that honestly she didn’t think the other groomer would have such an issue, but she did. When I inquired further she told me that the other groomer has issue so it has omen dogs. They simply do not take to her and evidently the four-foot one didn’t take to her.
At home the four-footed one had to run around and roll in the grass for a while. Not in the least bit relaxed. It took hours before she opted to settle down for a nice nap. Beloved decided that spa day brings out the wild animal in her. The wild animal that must run and play until she is relaxed and calm. And has left her owners in a state of needing a relaxing day at the spa!
I am not a fan of breakfast in bed. To be honest I’m not a fan of any meal in bed, this may be a result of too many hospital stays. And then again, it may be a case of feeling that where I eat should not be the same place where I sleep.
This doesn’t mean that I don’t eat in bed, obviously that’s the case when I’m staying over at the hospital. And yes it is true, Beloved has served me breakfast in bed a few times as well as other meals. I just don’t enjoy it as much as some people seem to like eating in bed.
it isn’t just because of the crumbs and such getting in your sheets. You see friends, I don’t spend a lot of time in bed when I feel well. When I’m in a horrible lupus flare however I may spend days in bed. Those days pass by in a blur of sleep, pain and medications.
Perhaps it is because I’m a product of my upbringing where unless I was very ill my parents expected me to be up and about doing things. Heck my mother subscribed to the theory of get up and get dressed because you will feel better. Sometimes it works, sometimes I don’t even have the energy to get out of bed. At best I pull a brush through my hair.
So why am I telling you all this? Because recently someone told me they thought the most decadent thing in the world was eating breakfast in bed. Now I’m sure she didn’t mean the jello cups that I get in the hospital, but I just can’t see how eating in bed is decadent. How about you? Has lupus ruined a good thing for me?