Motivation

 

 

About the only thing that motivates me these days is my girl, JennyPenny.  I’m lucky to have her.  Otherwise I’d probably just sit here and rot.  But she has to be fed twice a day, watered, let out about every hour or two and get her medicine twice a day.  Which means I have to get off my duff, if only to transfer from bed to wheelchair, and move myself around.  Yes, that’s right.  Bed! Embarrassing as it is, I spend most of my day on my bed.  Reclining, with legs stretched out, back supported by pillows.

 

And that has got to change.  The longer I stay here in my bedroom, the more strength I lose and the weaker I get.  I notice my legs aren’t as sturdy as they used to be.  I’m losing muscle.  Just a small amount of exercise leaves me weak and breathless.  If I stand longer than a few minutes, my blood pressure goes up too high.  Then I feel light headed and faint.  It’s a viscous circle.   The longer I stay on my bed, the worse I feel and the worse I feel, the more I want to operate from my bedhome.

 

What’s operating most in this viscous circle is fear.  The physical problems, along with the consequences of not pushing myself, are real.  And scary.

 

I know I could do better.  I’ve got to just DO it!  Start slow and build up.  I don’t know what I can regain of what I’ve lost, but something, I’m sure.  Yesterday I walked back and forth in the sun room about four or five times holding onto a walker and felt no ill effects.  I’ve got to do this every day.  And I’ve got to move out of my bedroom into the sunroom.

 

sunroom
sunroom (Photo credit: meglet127)

 

It’s bright and pleasant there, with a view of the yard, my neighbors, and vehicles going down Luster.   There’s a world out there I don’t want to lose contact with.

 

My love for the bedroom started when I was a small child and sick.  I spent much time in bed reading, writing, dreaming.  Even when I wasn’t sick, I could hide out in my room from my brothers, who loved to tease me.  I was the only girl in the family until after I graduated from high school.   After I had Rheumatic Fever and a mitral valve prolapse, Mother became very protective of me.  She wouldn’t let me do heavy chores or go for long walks.  Once, in high school, when my classmates went on a hike, I sat in the back of a pickup which was transporting the picnic supplies to our destination.  The message was: I was different from everyone else, weaker, not quite up to snuff.  It’s a concept I’ve had to fight all my life and am still having problems with in my old age.

 

But now, I have to find the strength and courage to change my concept of myself and to be more active, to live a normal life.

 

WARNING: This is a pitty party of one

I fell apart after Betsy died and can’t seem to recover.  Have episodes of increased BP, nausea, blurred vision, ringing ears, passing out.  I’m anxious and depressed.  Don’t know if it’s stress or something else.  I’ve had these symptoms from time to time, but it’s more often now, and more severe.  It’s getting harder to hold on to a positive outlook.  In the past three days, I’ve been to the ER and seen three doctors.

I’m living the days I’ve dreaded for a long time.  I’m old.  I don’t like it, but I’m old, alone and lonely.  I’d love to have another furry companion but I’m afraid to get one.  Will I be able to care for her/him?  Would it be fair to the animal?  So I go through the rooms my precious ones have filled and the rooms are so empty!

A nurse from St. John’s Home Health Care was here today interviewing me.  Can they help?  I hope so.    My spirit has been broken before.  I hope I can heal it once again.

It would be wonderful to have just one person in the world you know cares what happens to you.  Seems to be a necessary requisite for survival.  I’ve always known why old souls in convalescent homes just shrivel up and die.

Enough said.  Tonight, I pray for the strength and courage to heal myself.