For the most part, I've been surprisingly able to scrape together enough motivation for rehab days. I think a lot of this is because they have made sure I don't go overboard, run myself into the ground, and get my ass kicked by the mind-fing fatigue. But man, today? Today I am cranky. Weather is all wonky, my period just ended, I'm tired, have had no focus in order to write or do anything creatively productive. And all I can think about is how MUCH TIME it takes me to do EVERYTHING. How I want to speed up but I can't—at least, not without fantastical bodily repercussions. I can't write this damn book any faster even though it's been years; I can't pedalpedalpedal through this program any quicker to the end of it/possible new quality of life; I can't take my sweet, darling dog on all the long walks she deserves and has missed out on over the last 10 years of this crap.
But it's not like I can slow down, either. Because that would just add to all the time it takes to do everything. Because then I would just be sitting still. Wouldn't I?
I try to take things as they come. To understand limitations and the reality of my situation. That things will happen when they will. And I'm usually pretty OK at keeping this viewpoint at the forefront. I have to be or else the stress and worry and emotional turmoil of it all would just exacerbate my body and nervous system and I'd wind up even farther back in my progress. But goddamn, is it frustrating.
So while changing my expectations and not perseverating on things has been a HUGE component of getting my health where it currently is, I have been flop-moping around the house all. freaking. day. Protesting and procrastinating on today's rehab like a champ because if there's one thing I can do other than throw silent, pissy tantrums, it's procrastinating.
But, the thing is, I know I'm gonna do it. Hell, I'm looking for my workout pants right now as I complain. Because what other option is there? Sure, if I couldn't physically do it today, that's one thing. But my pain is currently manageable. My fatigue, although present and accounted for, is no where near the shitbucket levels I've had in the past. So, really, what other option is there? I've already tried all the other stuff. I've tried not working out, not hydrating, not doing the bajillion other things I need to do daily. And I know where it gets me. So yes, while everything takes far too long and days (like today) I feel absolutelyfuckingcertain I will never accomplish any of my dreams, it's still happening right? I'm writing intermittently but I'm writingish. I miss soccer something fierce, but I'm exercising three days a week. Granted, it's low-level intensity compared to my full-on athlete days but, I mean, the last time I did any form of exercise three times a week was more than a decade ago. And Niyabear still isn't getting all the walks she deserves, but god am I trying.
And yet some days I can't help but think how nice it'd be it were, just, more. If #RareDiseaseDay was just the ONE day—where we can post all these infographics and things about POTS and then forget about it the next day like everybody else. But no, #RareDiseaseDay is every single day. And shit, I am still doing it. I have been doing it. And I will do it again today—not with a smile on my face or ounce of hope in my chest, but fuck it if I'm going to give up now. If I'm going to give up ever. There is too much I want to do. Too many walks I want to take with my puppy and too many things I want to see and and too much life I want to live. So if my choices are it all taking years upon sodamnmany years vs. never getting any of my dreams at all, then you can find me and my cranky ass pedalingpedalingpedaling away on this stupid, infuriating, and ironically-stationary, bike. Because, even though I may not be going as quickly as I would like, I'm still going.