I remember, a long time ago, sleeping in, especially on a Sunday morning.
Sleeping in didn’t necessarily mean sleeping – it meant waking up, dozing on and off for a while, reading, napping, just lying cuddled up under the covers. Essentially, it was a wonderful way to spend the morning/afternoon/day.
I wake up exhausted. I can turn over and try to go back to sleep but everything starts to hurt. My muscles are extremely tight – I must have completed a decathlon in my sleep! Squeeze your bum really tight – feel those muscles at the bottom of your bottom? Those muscles are crammed together so forcefully, I can’t even massage out the cramps. My triceps (those muscles that were so difficult to work when you used to go the gym, that is: pre-Fibro) feel like they have been shredded. Moving my arms is a new lesson in pain – not only my triceps, I move my arms and the piercing agony begins to permeate the whole area that makes up my shoulders (I have no idea what all the bits are called).
So I drag myself upright, with only a half-hearted effort and my eyes half-shut. It doesn’t matter what the time is – it’s too early! I grab my fluffy bed socks, which are incredibly comforting; at least, until you stand up! then it’s onto my poor, broken feet to make my creaking, decrepit hips move my heavy, stiff legs. Quick (Ha! for a fibroMAGICian) visit to the bathroom, then collapse onto the couch.
A lot of effort to find a comfortable place to rest. Needless to say, no tai-chi for me today.
***Can you tell that it’s four days without Zoloft (sertraline) and only my first day on Cymbalta?