Musings on the road to recovery


Today, a colleague called me cheerful, I nearly fell off my office chair in shock, looking around to make sure that there were no hidden cameras, that it was not a prank. No, definitely not a prank. She had asked me some questions about my disabilities and how I’d come across them, being a new  member of the department and, not being one to shirk such discussions, I gave measured responses to her questions. Her response? “How can you be so cheerful when you’re in that much pain?” I contemplated telling her that it must be due to the Prozac (weak laugh, it would be Citalopram in my case anyway), but when mulling it over later, I realised that I am cheerier these days. It may be the new found sense of purpose but, in the short periods of time when I’m not asleep or exhausted, I am genuinely more cheerful.

I know that the Depression hasn’t relinquished it’s hold yet, I can still feel it and I know that it’s, as ever, linked to the pain. The pain increased last night, causing my temperature to rocket so I was a human radiator, causing me to have nightmare after nightmare, with Mr RR having to reassure me as I whimpered in my sleep and as I woke every hour with the pain. I awoke this morning feeling flat and bleak, realising that the change in weather from warm and muggy to cold had triggered the extra pain and wondering how on earth I am going to survive days like this when I’m back to full time working, and the short answer is that I don’t have the answer but tonight I’m feeling more chipper again. The pain is more or less back to normal, my mood has see-sawed back to my default setting and I’m feeling ok about things again.


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