Most years since I’ve been having flu and Covid jabs they’ve not been too troublesome. At worst a little ache at the injection site. This year? Holy cow… I feel utterly appalling.
And it’s not just physical. It’s made me ultra depressed. And it’s affected my sleeping patterns. Lasf night was a real struggle to get through.
Since a few hours after the Covid jab, around 10.45 am, I’ve felt aches and pains, a general ickiness – uncomfortable in my own skin (one’s own flesh kind of crawls!?) – a headache, continued coughing (this latter poss’ a legacy from my previous and ongoing respiratory stuff/colds?), unreal exhaustion coupled with a hyperactive mind, and profound anxiety.
Truly and deeply ‘orrible!
Reading about it online this morning suggests it’s quite a normal response. And poss’ a good sign; my body is fighting the infection, producing antibodies, etc.
But as someone whose everyday baseline health has been a state of physical and mental war with oneself, for most of my life, the desire for equilibrium – peace and good health, etc. – grows ever stronger. And, perhaps counter intuitively? The threshold of tolerance might in fact decrease.
Up to a point the constant ill health develops a tolerance. Beyond that point? One starts to get fed up of feeling fed up.
Thank goodness for Teresa. I went downstairs to tidy up a bit – my mind was freaking out (about clutter in particular!) – and try and sleep on a sofa. Being upstairs, in our bed I was simply getting more and more wound up. Our room seemed to smell very weird, and very strongly so…
Sometime around 2 am we were all downstairs, Teresa and Antonio using the loo, me on the couch. Teresa persuaded me to go back to bed. And she gave me a long back massage, which helped me get to sleep.
Thanks, my love!
Tragically my mental state is so volatile and fragile that episodes like this are potentially life-threatening. I’m so fed up with being fed up my mind immediately goes to ‘how do I end it all’ trains of thought. Sadly these trains run all too frequently, in my head. Not good!
I was reading about hanging – medical studies on how suicide-attempters view it, and suchlike – and seriously contemplating heading down the garden for a third attempt. Sheesh…
I wound up missing my afternoon shift yesterday. Whether that was a good or bad thing I really don’t know. But I do know I feel so shite now, I won’t be booking any work today. A day of rest is indicated. I believe.
I don’t look forward to that, to be honest. As activity, and especially my current work, is one of the things keeping me together. I really did think, last night, that I was falling to bits.
I’m very glad that hasn’t happened. And – tho’ I’m not religious – I ‘pray’, fervently, that I’ll get better, ASAP.
It’s 7.15 am. Antonio’s out, on one of his super-early swimming sessions, at the local pool. Teresa’s just left to catch the train to work. I’m in bed. Totally shattered, typing this. And hoping for a swift recovery.
Thanks also to Teresa for a nice hot cup of cream of tomato soup. Where would I be without her? Dead and gone, I reckon.
Later…
Well, I got off an hour long chat with The Samaritans. Thank goodness they exist! It’s great to be able to talk to someone who is supportive and non-judgemental.
Then I made myself some lunch: mango and kiwi, followed by a cheesy baguette (Red Leicester!). With a cup of Valerian tea.
And, whether this a a good idea or not I don’t know, but I have booked a short shift, 2-3.30 pm. Having missed a shift yesterday, I really need the money! I just hope my mind and body are up to the work?