Posted on | October 18, 2011 | 24 Comments
The last six months are catching up to me in a very real way.
For six months, I have kept my head up, shouldered the grief, and pushed forward with creating a life for myself and my son. For six months, I have kept it reasonably together, kept it moving, and kept on keeping on. I painted and built patios and planted flowers and trees and bushes. I kept myself always on the go, always busy, always moving on to the next project for fear that if I sat still for too long, that first week in April would catch up with me. I was scared that sitting still would make it all come rushing at me like a tidal wave of despair… so I kept moving.
This weekend, I started to come down with a cold. I kept on. I mulched and weeded and planted until the area in front of my house started to look a bit more decorative. I coughed and sneezed my way through Lowes, picking out the perfect plants with the $75 gift card my parents sent me to commemorate what would have been my anniversary.
By Sunday night, I had a fever. I kept on. I read stories and built forts. I snuggled with my child and went to bed early. By Monday morning, I had no voice and I started to register that what I thought were fire ant bites on my right arm had been there a little too long to just be fire ant bites.
I worked all day on Monday, straining to talk and get my point across to clients and opposing counsels, and making jokes about my Kathleen Turner voice and my future as the next Janis Joplin. I made a quick appointment with my primary care physician just to check on a few things and make sure it was safe to host the baby shower I’ve been planning at my house on Saturday.
Stress-induced, painful, itchy, shingles. From wrist to shoulder on the inside of my right arm. I should have known something wasn’t right about these fire ant bites when they seemed to spread, grew in clumps, and stung worse than any fire ant bite had a right to sting. I mean, it hurts to sit my arm down on my desk. It hurts to pull on my cardigan in the morning. It hurts to lie down to sleep.
Little patches of pain stretching from April to October, from wrist to shoulder, a reminder that you can not always run from your pain.