Bed Rest and Restlessness

I am an impatient patient. Bed rest is agony, not because of the pain but because I am railing against having to rest. Any other time, I long for a sleep in, a chance to have a leisurely morning, just not when I’m sick. Feeling unwell sends me into a spin of (mild) depression, feeling trapped and a sense of foreboding that I will never reemerge into the land of the hale and hearty.

I’ve had the luxury of a week off work. Was I pleased? Not a bit! I lay in bed checking emails, between coughing fits and fits of sleep. Things were happening without me running around. Everyone was coping but me. My colleagues were probably not even aware that I wasn’t there. I was superfluous.

Is this how retirement would feel? No longer needed, no one wondering what I was up to? I have always thought of the moment I leave as entering the land of milk and honey. I’d finally be able to do whatever I liked, whenever I liked. But would it be like this illness, stretching ahead without an end in sight?

Today I finally felt well enough to walk the dog and meet up with a friend. I came home, had a short rest and then proceeded to paint the laundry. First coat done, I had a longer rest before attempting the next tasks on my list. Is this what I have come to? Short bursts of energy to be followed by periods of rest before I can cope with the next item? Surely not!

Tomorrow, the second coat goes on and I have a shelf to assemble before the new washing machine arrives on Monday morning. I may then head out to the Christmas in July markets. I’m already feeling better just thinking of it. That fresh coat of paint will not only give the laundry a new lease of life but will also renew my spirits. Perhaps, I just need to find a new rhythm. One that fits in with what my body is gently trying to tell me. On the other hand, maybe I’ll hold onto that thought until at least Monday and let the sleeping dog lie on the bed. After all, I have a laundry to conquer.