Saturday, October 23, 2010

Don’t Have That Luxury- Part 6

Fatigue Challenge

There’s another challenge, which for me, is even more debilitating than the foot thing. Six years ago, I came down with a weird drop-dead fatigue, which at first I chalked up to having taken Algebra for five months. I figured Algebra would do that to anyone. But my doctors said it was caused by a tumor on my parathyroid, which was pulling the calcium out of my bones, and damaging my nerves with it. (Kind of an overly simplified explanation.) They said that once the tumor was taken out, the fatigue would go away, but it didn’t. 

For roughly a month at a time, I usually need at least a two hour nap during the day, in spite of a full night’s sleep, and sometimes it’s closer to five hours. And when I’m not sleeping, the brain fog quite often makes it difficult to think and write, so I’ve learned to live very quickly, when I get my month of relative normality. 

In college days, I had to do roughly three months worth of homework in one month, or I’d never be able to pass the classes, not when I needed to sleep twelve to fifteen hours a day. Obviously doing housework, other than keeping the laundry and dishes cleaned and feeding myself, did not take top priority of my time. When I felt good, I cleaned.
Same thing happens with writing the blog now; I go like a Jack Russell and write ten or fifteen posts, and then use blogging software to date them so they get posted on the blog over most of a month. That way, I don’t have to worry about getting them posted in the middle of a brain fog.

So far, no doctor has been able to figure out why the fatigue is still here, or what to do about it. Prescription anti-depressants to keep serotonin in my head longer don’t work for me at low doses, and make my dizzy and barfy at higher doses. The only thing that seems to let me function in the middle of a fatigue cycle without massive amounts of sleep, at least half the time, is a big dose of pop and carbs. So, if anybody out there can figure out how to get rid of this sleep monster, I’ll gladly give you a free massage.

A SIDE NOTE: Despite having an Algebra teacher who knew how to make math understandable and the class an absolute blast, you will never convince me that Algebra did not cause my tumor and darn near killed me, either from uncontrollable convulsions, or from a heart attack. And I never plan to let him forget it. You never know when it’ll come in handy to blackmail an Algebra teacher. 

Continued Monday

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