Photo by RonAlmog of Israel, courtesy of Creative Commons I overdid it this year celebrating Hanukkah. It's not that I stayed up too late, indulged in Manischewitz wine or let my long-lost inner dancer come out to play. I mean I broke my "one outing per weekend" rule, which is not really a rule as much as it is one of my self-imposed guidelines. In the spirit of flexibility I let loose and went to three social events within a few days. Three.
That's a lot for me. The aftermath of doing too much means more than becoming tired. It usually means exhaustion. It also means the burning in my nerves increases; my joints swell and hurt; medication has less impact and the pain wakes me up more often at night. At times it has led to a pain level higher than the typical one that is already off the charts, which then results in visits to the emergency room.
Ordinarily, I avoid adding to the existing pain by padding my time. I put up soft, cushiony barriers of space, in varied amounts, between any two things that require energy. A doctor appointment, a fun and relaxed outing, a mundane errand, a meaningful interaction or getting ready in the morning-they all count. I think of it like discs that are meant to provide protection in our spines so our vertebrae don't rub together and cause pain. (The fact that my discs aren't competent at their job is another story.) While I don't have control over the substance between my bones, I can consciously choose how much padding sits between each of my activities in order to keep me functioning within my norm.
I would prefer to have the abundance of energy and physical ability I had in the past; that's a given. But the hard truth is that I have lost those precious things, at least for now. As a result, padding my time and pacing my activities (finding a middle ground between over and under-exertion) has become a part of my overall approach to managing pain, and it usually feels reasonable and healthy.
There are also times when I make exceptions, like this month. Knowing that I would pay for it, I still opted in for all three activities.
The first was a no-brainer; I wasn't going to miss celebrating Hanukkah during Shabbat (Shabbanukah?) with my congregation. After the service, I had a good time schmoozing with old and new friends around the potluck table. But we were all standing, and I stood too long. That night and the next morning I felt it. Swelling in my legs and an increase in nerve pain once again reminded me that everything I do (or don't do, like taking sitting or standing breaks) has a consequence.
The next day we had lunch plans, which we had scheduled a month prior, with a couple of friends. My brain and body were in major conflict, which is not unusual for me. Do I reschedule? I asked myself that question as I forced myself up at the unseemly hour of 11:00 am. I continued to ponder my plan of action during my morning bath as I struggled to extend my arms to lather up with soap. I decided that I needed this connection; I could always rest or sleep afterwards. I'm going.
I enjoyed a great meal with wonderful people. It doesn't hurt that one of them also struggles with ongoing pain. Well, it hurts her, but you know what I mean. It's that experience of connecting with somebody who knows. Sometimes I need to be with other people who live a good life despite pain, so I gave that to myself.
The following day was event number three, a Hanukkah dinner gathering with two other couples. Sounded really great, but no way. I was pretty wiped out by then. Still, I wanted to participate, and besides, I had cancelled the last time they had dinner in their home. Or maybe the last two times? I knew they would understand, but the part of me that gets isolated from disability reasoned with my body, saying, "She needs this. You can rest during the evening if you need to but please, let's go."
Again, glad that I went. The several days of increased pain and fatigue that followed were difficult, yet not surprising. While there are times I do regret overdoing, I always know I made the choice for a reason. Sometimes this amount of engagement in community and connecting with people I care about takes precedence over padding against a flair-up. Sometimes.
There are also those times when I have to decline or cancel plans. Decisions about participating in activities come from listening to my body while she talks with the other, more active parts of me. Usually, an agreement to place that cushiony disc in the middle is the ideal conclusion. It doesn't take the pain away, but the mental and emotional benefits keep my candles kindling throughout the year.
May your New Year be filled with plenty of choices that are good for your entire self!
That's a lot for me. The aftermath of doing too much means more than becoming tired. It usually means exhaustion. It also means the burning in my nerves increases; my joints swell and hurt; medication has less impact and the pain wakes me up more often at night. At times it has led to a pain level higher than the typical one that is already off the charts, which then results in visits to the emergency room.
Ordinarily, I avoid adding to the existing pain by padding my time. I put up soft, cushiony barriers of space, in varied amounts, between any two things that require energy. A doctor appointment, a fun and relaxed outing, a mundane errand, a meaningful interaction or getting ready in the morning-they all count. I think of it like discs that are meant to provide protection in our spines so our vertebrae don't rub together and cause pain. (The fact that my discs aren't competent at their job is another story.) While I don't have control over the substance between my bones, I can consciously choose how much padding sits between each of my activities in order to keep me functioning within my norm.
I would prefer to have the abundance of energy and physical ability I had in the past; that's a given. But the hard truth is that I have lost those precious things, at least for now. As a result, padding my time and pacing my activities (finding a middle ground between over and under-exertion) has become a part of my overall approach to managing pain, and it usually feels reasonable and healthy.
There are also times when I make exceptions, like this month. Knowing that I would pay for it, I still opted in for all three activities.
The first was a no-brainer; I wasn't going to miss celebrating Hanukkah during Shabbat (Shabbanukah?) with my congregation. After the service, I had a good time schmoozing with old and new friends around the potluck table. But we were all standing, and I stood too long. That night and the next morning I felt it. Swelling in my legs and an increase in nerve pain once again reminded me that everything I do (or don't do, like taking sitting or standing breaks) has a consequence.
The next day we had lunch plans, which we had scheduled a month prior, with a couple of friends. My brain and body were in major conflict, which is not unusual for me. Do I reschedule? I asked myself that question as I forced myself up at the unseemly hour of 11:00 am. I continued to ponder my plan of action during my morning bath as I struggled to extend my arms to lather up with soap. I decided that I needed this connection; I could always rest or sleep afterwards. I'm going.
I enjoyed a great meal with wonderful people. It doesn't hurt that one of them also struggles with ongoing pain. Well, it hurts her, but you know what I mean. It's that experience of connecting with somebody who knows. Sometimes I need to be with other people who live a good life despite pain, so I gave that to myself.
The following day was event number three, a Hanukkah dinner gathering with two other couples. Sounded really great, but no way. I was pretty wiped out by then. Still, I wanted to participate, and besides, I had cancelled the last time they had dinner in their home. Or maybe the last two times? I knew they would understand, but the part of me that gets isolated from disability reasoned with my body, saying, "She needs this. You can rest during the evening if you need to but please, let's go."
Again, glad that I went. The several days of increased pain and fatigue that followed were difficult, yet not surprising. While there are times I do regret overdoing, I always know I made the choice for a reason. Sometimes this amount of engagement in community and connecting with people I care about takes precedence over padding against a flair-up. Sometimes.
There are also those times when I have to decline or cancel plans. Decisions about participating in activities come from listening to my body while she talks with the other, more active parts of me. Usually, an agreement to place that cushiony disc in the middle is the ideal conclusion. It doesn't take the pain away, but the mental and emotional benefits keep my candles kindling throughout the year.
May your New Year be filled with plenty of choices that are good for your entire self!
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