These last few days have been all about me--how I'm feeling, what happened, my symptoms--blah, blah, blah. It's not that I don't think it's important to get proper medical care, or follow up care, or keep track of the healing process. I do. I know all of those things are vital. Like I keep telling my husband, if I don't get up every now and again I don't know how well I'm doing. (or not doing, as the case may be)
Last night he told me I would not be allowed to do any grocery shopping unless I woke up this morning perfectly healed. Well, that didn't happen, and I'll be honest that the more I'm up and around the harder it becomes to be up and around. So no, running off to our regular big grocery trips we do at the beginning of the month is probably a bad idea. Even though we're out of stuff. And quickly running low on other stuff.
One thing I've learned in all of this is that I have a very hard time shutting off my brain--or even putting it on low power. I'm frustrated by my limitations. Not just the physical ones, but the mental ones. I never realized how much a concussion can affect one's thought processes.
I think all the time. Plot, plan, analyze, over-analyze, plot some more, etc. I'm a writer. It's hard-wired into me to be like this. Tuesday I figured if I was going to be stuck at home for another week at least, then I should be able to get this book finished. I've got less than 20 pages!
A very smart friend (ahem, Jaclyn) cautioned me not to over do it. To pace myself, write slowly, take breaks, etc. All of this makes sense on a logical level. But then I started writing. It didn't hurt. This was great. I made progress!!
Then I woke up the next morning feeling like I had Sunday. It. Was. Awful. I'd totally back-slided, or back-slid, or whatever. I was so frustrated by the end of Wednesday that I was in tears. Not that I could cry--that would just make my head hurt worse. Even though it took me all day, and was hard, I took Jaclyn's advice Wednesday and wrote only about 500 words--which is a far cry from my standard. It's pitiful, really, pathetic.
But I woke up this morning feeling fairly decent, all things considered. So I'm going to call it a win.
Still, though, the more I'm up the worse I feel. I made huge strides today. I got up before ten, showered on my own, put some clothes in the laundry, fed the animals. All of these things were ridiculously harder than they should be, and took me longer than they used to, but I did them. Now I'm ready for a nap.
My advice? Avoid concussions as best you can. They are seriously no fun. And even when you think you should be able to do something, your brain or your body may feel otherwise.
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