For the last two weeks, I have been enduring a persistent, un-ending Lupus flare that has kicked my ass so hard, my poor body is completely knackered.
There isn’t an inch of me that this two-week Lupus flare hasn’t hammered.
For Pete’s sake, the palms of my hands got swollen. How does that happen?! Have you ever tried holding onto something when your palms are swollen? Fortunately, nothing I’ve dropped has broken … yet.
I can’t remember the last time I had a Lupus flare last this long. But it hasn’t been recently, that much I can tell you.
You probably already noodled it out that Lupus was terrorizing me since I haven’t been posting much these last two weeks. And you’d have been right.
It takes me about five hours to get through the work for my paying job. And by the time I’m done, hoo-boy, I barely have the energy to stay upright let alone stay here at my desk writing for Patriot Retort.
This flare has been so bad, for the past week, by two in the afternoon, I’m falling asleep on the couch like an eighty-year-old grandma.
I just wanted to check in and let you know that, though I might feel like it right about now, I’m not dead yet. Though I am at the point where I occasionally wish someone would kill me. Or at the very least knock me unconscious so I can get a break from the constant, inescapable pain.
Since I don’t work on the weekend, I’m hoping I can expend the energy I use on weekdays for my paying job to actually get some new material posted here. That’s my plan anyway. Lupus, however, may have different weekend plans in mind.
The only thing to do when a Lupus flare hits is ride it out until it passes. Admittedly, the ride usually doesn’t last two freaking weeks.
So now I’m going to lie down on the couch and rest my worn-out body. No doubt I’ll be nodding off like grandma by two.
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