Think about the last time the sun was in your eyes. Maybe it prevented you from seeing the road more clearly. Maybe you were just being dumb and seeing how long you could stare towards that big ball of fire. (that's dumb.) Well, the sun is in my eyes on the way there AND on the way back from Cleveland. Light sensitivity is a newly onset symptom for me. It's obnoxious. I love the sun! But it doesn't love my headaches. Then, every time we pass a tree or a building, and the sun is temporarily not in my sun-glass covered face, my eyes relax and they're completely caught off guard when the brightness reappears. You'd think they'd learn.. Sometimes I feel like I seriously can't catch a break.
Even before I open my unexpecting eyes in the morning, it hits me. No, it doesn't just hit me, it attacks me. It's the ultimate "I don't want to get out of bed" realization. Some days are more challenging than others... today is one of those. After I become aware of how exhausted I still am, I'm overwhelmed by the headache. I've had thoughts of performing amateur surgery on my skull to remove pressure.. I mean, there's gotta be a tutorial on YouTube. So, I take a deep breath to take my focus away from my head, and my chest painfully tightens up- another reminder my heart likes to beat out of my chest, even if I'm lying still. That's frightening. I have to just reassure my self that it's just another symptom, and not a heart-attack My next thought is, "medicine". I know the orange bottle is across my room on the floor. The big, white, chalky pills will provide some relief for my pounding head. Then, I open my eyes. As soon as my head leaves the pillow, I'm dizzy. Light-headed. Woozy. Whatever. I slowly get upright, and offer some few choice and sarcastic words up to God, mostly out of desperation. Today, I felt bad (mostly because I was still inspired from yesterday's post and the conversations that followed), and apologized. I asked for the strength to at least get out of bed and humor the day. It's almost like I could feel Him chuckling at my situation, not out of meanness, but more of an "oh, Sara" moment. Like, "oh, Sara, you're stronger than you think. Hello?? Do you forget who I am??" My feet are swollen due to more cardiovascular and circulation problems, and they're tender as they hit my carpet. I feel sweaty even though I have prickly chills all over. My annoyance from this uncomfortable feeling pushes me away from my bed and toward the pill bottle. I stand up on my wobbly knees and try to focus my eyes on that loudly orange bottle. It's so orange! Whyyyyyy do they make those things so brightly colored? It's like another sun in my eyes.. Bending down is just another obstacle. I've learned to just quickly scoop it up and then blink away the blackness that follows. Again, with the bottle.. They make them so difficult to open. Stupid bottle. After I desperately fuss, I wash down the two, disgusting pills with the cool water mom has already brought me- God Bless her. I don't remember at which stage in my challenge of a morning I asked her to bring me some. And so begins round 1 of medication. I take a lot of medicine for a lot of different things. As I'm writing this, I'm on my iPhone on the way to Cleveland- after the first round of medicine has kicked in. I'm obviously in much better spirits than I would be without it.
Cleveland = "treatment". Treatment is in quotes because - to me - it's a joke. It's just a painful IV therapy of vitamins and junk to to help get me week to week. It's a long day in the car and a long hour or so in those gross chairs. So treatment isn't really treating anything. Everything I'm doing is defensive. Nothing is being done to cure me or really make me ultimately better. And gas-stations bathrooms disgust me. By now, my dad has already strategically mapped which ones are okay to stop at. Gas-station bathrooms are always sooo gross. And they're always wet. Like a sign is going to save you from slipping... Again with that stupid, loud, neon orange- but, I'd hate to be that stick figure on the "caution-wet" signs. He's got it worse than me.