Dead tired

A woman who suffers from a chronic illness or disability often finds herself at the end of "normals'" ideas of being tired. We are often looked at with contempt for being so tired that we can't perform our daily duties properly. Or that we have to go to bed early, rise late, or cancel social engagements at the last minute. We are not lazy. 

Before Corona, we were regarded with suspicion when we couldn't make it to church regularly and people harshly judged our spiritual health, deeming us backslidden.  Emotional and spiritual hurt exacerbates our ill state. We feel worse and they lack compassion.

Often we have to cancel doctors' appointments because we are too sick to get there. We find we can't drive and even if we could, we haven't got the strength to even get washed and dressed. It is not unheard of that some of us have crumpled in the shower, unable to get out and totally winded...

Our "tired" goes far beyond a sleepiness or drowsy feeling. We are so fatigued that breathing is too much effort and not for the first time we are grateful it's automatic.

Furthermore, our "tired" is not helped by a nanna nap or even 9 hours of sleep.  We fight our illness and pain even in our dreams and wake up unrefreshed and have to face another day when we haven't recuperated from the day before. We simply have run out of spoons.

"Tired" is overused and doesn't come close to the bone sucking quagmire of desperate fatigue we chronically ill people find ourselves sinking into constantly.  To have "normals" flippantly say, "Me too!" when we tell them we are tired invalidates us and makes us long for their brand of tiredness that can be restored through a good sleep.

We cannot even enjoy a shower or bath to help us sleep as the effort it takes to do this not only drains us of whatever energy we can find, but does not always bring a restorative sleep. Just muscle pain.

Such is my own pain on going to bed that I find I cannot place my arms anywhere comfortable. My fibromyalgia and polymyalgia rheumatica make it impossible to raise my arms upwards and extending them hurts my muscles and tendons. So I go to sleep with my arms folded on my chest.

I indeed look like a cadaver which has been laid out and testifies somewhat to the feeling of being dead in my tracks.  Because that's the type of exhaustion we face every day: we truly feel dead tired.

© Glenys Robyn Hicks

Cast me not off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength faileth. Psalm 71:9

We aren't just tired: we're dead tired

A woman who suffers from a chronic illness or disability often finds herself at the end of "normals'" ideas of being tired. We are often looked at with contempt for being so tired that we can't perform our daily duties properly. Or that we have to go to bed early, rise late, or cancel social engagements at the last minute. We are not lazy. 

Before Corona, we were regarded with suspicion when we couldn't make it to church regularly and people harshly judged our spiritual health, deeming us backslidden.  Emotional and spiritual hurt exacerbates our ill state. We feel worse and they lack compassion.

Often we have to cancel doctors' appointments because we are too sick to get there. We find we can't drive and even if we could, we haven't got the strength to even get washed and dressed. It is not unheard of that some of us have crumpled in the shower, unable to get out and totally winded...

Our "tired" goes far beyond a sleepiness or drowsy feeling. We are so fatigued that breathing is too much effort and not for the first time we are grateful it's automatic.

Furthermore, our "tired" is not helped by a nanna nap or even 9 hours of sleep.  We fight our illness and pain even in our dreams and wake up unrefreshed and have to face another day when we haven't recuperated from the day before. We simply have run out of spoons.

"Tired" is overused and doesn't come close to the bone sucking quagmire of desperate fatigue we chronically ill people find ourselves sinking into constantly.  To have "normals" flippantly say, "Me too!" when we tell them we are tired invalidates us and makes us long for their brand of tiredness that can be restored through a good sleep.

We cannot even enjoy a shower or bath to help us sleep as the effort it takes to do this not only drains us of whatever energy we can find, but does not always bring a restorative sleep. Just muscle pain.

Such is my own pain on going to bed that I find I cannot place my arms anywhere comfortable. My fibromyalgia and polymyalgia rheumatica make it impossible to raise my arms upwards and extending them hurts my muscles and tendons. So I go to sleep with my arms folded on my chest.

I indeed look like a cadaver which has been laid out and testifies somewhat to the feeling of being dead in my tracks.  Because that's the type of exhaustion we face every day: we truly feel dead tired.

© Glenys Robyn Hicks

Cast me not off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength faileth. Psalm 71:9

Normally abnormal

We chronically ill women try so hard to do "normal" things. Like look well. Be cheerful. Be patient. Kind. Hospitable. Our family and marriage are our first priority after God. We try so hard to spin our wheel not fast- but at a "normal" pace. 

By "normal", we compare ourselves to those who do not suffer from chronic illness and pain. Or are disabled. We are very careful to keep serving our family but sometimes with the illness that afflicts us: we fail. This often gets to us and causes us to sink into depression. 

Being unable to process that we simply can't act as "normals", we often berate ourselves and sink into the Pit of Despair. We are often judged by "normal" standards, as we simply cannot attend certain social functions like before. If we do, the pain and effort can make us tense and we can make us appear moody unsociable grumps aka the death head at the feast. 

If only "normals" would realise that we are pushing ourselves every day to live a life that not even closely is "normal" like in the days before our health failed. We get so adept at doing this, that we have become quite good at wearing masks to cover the Mask Of Pain. Hence the appearance of being in a mood. 

My fibromyalgia and other health issues have now made it impossible for me to disguise, and I have learned to acknowledge this to people and tell them in advance that my attendance or action or whatever is totally subject to how I am on any given day. 

Basically, I have had to pander to angina, spinal and knee problems, fibromyalgia, polymyalgia rheumatica, and submit to tyrannical spoons by being totally flexible about my appointments and so on. 

People may still misjudge me but that is not my problem. I just pray that the LORD will allow them to see that I am not lazy or unsociable, but am just a chronically ill woman who finds just breathing some days enough effort. 

The LORD knows I am not well, but people take a lot more convincing. I am normally abnormal.   

Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, longsuffering; Colossians 3:12

A moment of truth

As a young mother with 4 children under 5, I often felt woefully inadequate as a housewife and a mother. It wasn’t because I wasn’t trying to excel at these things, it was just my perception of myself. There never seemed enough hours in the day to accomplish what had to be done and I often felt frustrated with myself. This changed dramatically one day when I was taken to my friend’s sister-in-law’s house.

It was about 1 pm, when we arrived and although we had been invited to come for a visit, we were appalled by the lack of cleanliness, the untidiness and the obvious squalor around us. But what horrified us most was my friend’s 12 month old nephew standing in a dirty cot, soiled nappy and ragged singlet, crying and flushed whilst his mother sat unperturbed reading in the dust covered living room.

My friend immediately swooped on her nephew and comforted him. She inquired of his mother if he was hungry- she replied that she had given him a bottle in the morning. We looked in the cot and there was an empty feeding bottle complete with flies on the teat. We felt revolted. The unmistakable odour of the soiled nappy was overwhelming and when my friend took it off to change the little fellow, it revealed red blistered welts where his nappy had been. Immediately the child was given a warm bath and his nappy rash was plastered in Vaseline- there wasn’t anything else in the house for it.

All the time, the child’s mother kept reading, seemingly oblivious to us. It was very disconcerting. We opened the fridge to get something for the little boy and it was growing all types of green mould. The milk was out of date. The pantry was under stocked to say the least, and all we could rustle up for the baby was an egg in bread crumbs. He was starving and we were angry and sad.

My friend rinsed out the soiled nappy and singlet and opened the lid of the washer. We exchanged shocked glances as the rancid smell of half washed clothes met our nostrils. As the clothes were going mouldy, we presumed they had been there a long time. And there was no excuse for this laziness, because the child’s father had bought his fiancee a new washing machine during the pregnancy.

That day, I learnt a lot about myself. I learnt that I was too hard on myself, too perfectionistic and unrealistic. My children and home were never even on a really bad day, as bad as that. I learnt that I was not lazy, incompetent, or backward- I was exhausted and overwhelmed. Not so with this girl!

What was wrong with this girl? She only wanted to do what she liked doing- reading. That was what consumed her time and life- books. Not her little boy or her impending marriage, (which didn’t take place fortunately) but just her desires were her life. She could not see anything wrong in that. And she was a very well read and quite intelligent woman. She was to come to see that it did matter indeed.

She told my friend’s brother when it all came crashing around her ears, that she didn’t want to have to keep the house clean, look after her baby and tend to his needs. She wasn’t harming anybody by reading and she couldn’t see what the fuss was about. We were incredulous that someone could be so self-centered and unenlightened about life. And totally indifferent to her child- not even a toy was in his cot the day we visited!

The washing would get done- eventually. The child would be fed- eventually. He would be taken to the doctor when he was suffering earache- eventually- but not before repeated ear infections made him deaf in one ear.

I couldn’t help but see the contrast between the Proverbs 31 woman and her. And I certainly wasn't evenly remotely close to this selfish woman. So I lightened up and relaxed a bit. I stopped being over perfectionistic and settled for a balanced approach. I enjoyed my children more. And I made sure that I never put off doing something just because I didn’t feel like doing it.

Now whenever I see a well-kept baby,  I always remember another one- a sad, hungry and dirty little baby boy with a mop of blonde curls and a dirty nappy. And I thank God that He gave him into his Daddy’s caring hands.

© Glenys Robyn Hicks

Ecclesiastes 10:18 “By much slothfulness the building decayeth; and through idleness of the hands the house droppeth through,"

I am not "normal"

We chronically ill women try so hard to do "normal" things. Like look well. Be cheerful. Be patient. Kind. Hospitable.

Our family and marriage are our first priority after God. We try so hard to spin our wheel not fast- but at a "normal" pace. By "normal", we compare ourselves to those who do not suffer from chronic illness and pain. Or are disabled.

We are very careful to keep serving our family but sometimes with the illness that afflicts us: we fail. This often gets to us and causes us to sink into depression.

Being unable to process that we simply can't act as "normals", we often berate ourselves and sink into the Pit of Despair. 

We are often judged by "normal" standards, as we simply cannot attend certain social functions like before. If we do, the pain and effort can make us tense and we can make us appear moody unsociable grumps aka the death head at the feast. 

If only "normals" would realise that we are pushing ourselves every day to live a life that not even closely is "normal" like in the days before our health failed. We get so adept at doing this, that we have become quite good at wearing masks to cover the Mask Of Pain. Hence the appearance of being in a mood. 

My fibromyalgia and other health issues have now made it impossible for me to disguise, and I have learned to acknowledge this to people and tell them in advance that my attendance or action or whatever is totally subject to how I am on any given day.

Basically, I have had to pander to angina, spinal problems, fibromyalgia, polymyalgia rheumatica, and submit to tyrannical spoons by being totally flexible about my appointments and so on.

People may still misjudge me but that is not my problem. I just pray that the LORD will allow them to see that I am not lazy or unsociable, but am just a chronically ill woman who finds just breathing some days enough effort.

The LORD knows I am not well, but people take a lot more convincing. I am not "normal".

 © Glenys Robyn Hicks    

Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, longsuffering;  Colossians 3:12