Three days ago, I had to cut my work day short when I suddenly felt sick. How did I--a lupus patient who is accustomed to working despite pain and sickness--know that I was too sick to work? I threw up. I can work through insurmountable pain. I can work when my joints are too stiff to move. I can work when I am so fatigued I can barely stand. But once I throw up, it's over. Three days ago, I threw up eight times. And it was over. Eight times over.
The next day, I stayed in bed under a pile of blankets. My body was too sore to move. My mind was too hazy even to read a novel. Yesterday, I woke up with hopes that I would be able to catch up on some work I missed. I was wrong. And I never strayed too far from the safety of my pile of blankets and bed.
Today, my body is still tired and my mind is still cloudy. (It's taking me much too long to write this short entry.) I am not ready to return to work yet. (Thank goodness it's Saturday!) But today, I emerged from the pile of blankets and bed all by myself. And for a person who can remember a time when this would have been impossible, a day like today doesn't seem so bad. In fact, a day like today is a pretty good day.
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