Retreating into pain

The thing about a flare up (as it is called in the trade) is that it makes the pain feel louder than a rock-concert, feeling as though you have run a marathon and that everyone is shouting at you.

Yesterday I waited to see if a friend was still able to go out in the evening, but I didn't find out until much later in the day she wasn't available. I had held-off taking any painkillers, but then felt it was safe to succumb, but I also just wanted to retreat into my shell like a tortoise. I had a bath (as that relaxes and warms me up) and then went to bed with a heat-pad. It is not always helpful to hide away, but sometimes it is necessary to feel less shell-shocked and because it is just so exhausting being in pain, carrying around a ball and chain.

When the noise subsides or reduces to a whisper, it is possible to function again, until next time.

Hoovering Hell

Sometimes it is the really mundane and basic tasks that others take for granted that are a real challenge for those with chronic pain. Take hoovering, for example. In my case, firstly there is the battle of getting the darned thing out of the cupboard (I only have one 'storage' cupboard in my flat). I really have to psyche myself up to do this before I even start the physical act of hoovering. Then there is the possibility of emptying the actual hoover bag or cylinder tube in my hoover. Next comes the fun of unravelling what seems metres of grey flex before plugging in the hoover. By this time I am wiped out, however to stop at this point would be fatal. One must heroically battle on. Once I get going, I am in my element, despite the awful racket this tortuous machine generates. Once I have got round my flat (thank God I don't have to do stairs or go upstairs) the whole charade happens in reverse. Winding the grey and endless flex around this horrific gadget before chucking the thing back in the cupboard and I collapse, hoovered out  - until next week!