Through The Lens Of A Flare

Sheryl from A Chronic Voice, as well as sharing her own stories and lessons with chronic illness.  Sheryl is an excellent support to other bloggers and writers living with illness and chronic pain.  One such way is through monthly link-up parties whereby bloggers and writers share their stories through given prompts.  I’ve decided to take part in this month’s Link Up Party, using the prompts to describe my experience during the latest flare caused by Functional Neurological Disorder (FND). 

Budgeting

Budgeting: Noun. An estimate, often itemised, of expected income and expense for a given time in the future, a plan of operations based on such an estimate.  An itemised allotment of funds, tine, etc for a given period.  The total sum of money set aside or needed for a purpose, e.g. the construction budget.

Often asked to contemplate the word budgeting, many would do so in regards to money and finances.  However, when living with a chronic illness, a more valuable commodity is energy.  Or spoons.

[Tweet “When living with a chronic illness, energy or spoons becomes such valuable commodities.”]

The Spoon Theory is a metaphor created by advocate Christine Miserandino. The metaphor is used to describe the planning that those living with chronic health conditions have to do to conserve and ration their energy reserves to accomplish, well anything. Christine conceived the favourite metaphor after a discussion with a friend.  Her friend had asked what living with lupus was like for her.  To use a visual aid to help with her explanation, Christine handed her twelve spoons and asked her to describe the events of a typical day, taking away one spoon for each activity.  It demonstrates the need to ration the spoons we do use to avoid running out before the end of the day.

[Tweet “During a flare we have to carefully budget the number of spoons we need for the day ahead.”]

During a flare, however, further limits the number of spoons available. And is something that I have been experiencing during this prolonged flare recently.  Even doing a small amount of chores has left me severely fatigued, and a need to recover the next day and sometimes even longer. As a result, I have had to carefully budget the number of ‘spoons’ or units of energy.  If I fail to do this, it could leave me in more pain than I’m already in, or not even able to get out of bed the next day.  It requires me to be strict with myself and my time, putting off some tasks until the next day or even when I’m feeling ‘better.’

Speeding

Speeding: move quickly

What a problematic prompt, especially when writing about an experience of a flare.

Speed is not generally something which is present during a flare.  Recently, the trembling and weakness have worsened, requiring to move slowly and methodically to avoid falls or legs suddenly collapsing.  To speed or move quickly, therefore, is not currently in my vocabulary.

[Tweet “To speed or move quickly, is not currently in my vocabulary.”]

The only thing I could come up with, however, is changing into pyjamas!  Anyone who is feeling unwell craves the pleasure of wearing comfortable clothing.  And is there anything more comforting and satisfying than a pair of warm, snuggly pyjamas? As soon as it’s convenient, or even as soon as I set foot in the house, I love to race inside to get changed into my pyjamas.  And this is never more evident than when going through a flare.  During such times, I seem to spend more time in my PJ’s than anything else.

[Tweet “There is nothing more comforting during a flare than getting changed into warm, snuggly pyjamas!”]

The intensity and duration of this flare also seem to be speeding, however.  I sometimes question and fear whether it is just a flare and not a deterioration.

Read more: Becoming Lost During a Flare: Revisiting Acceptance

Slowing

Slowing: moving or proceeding with little or less than usual speed or velocity: a slow train. Characterised by a lack of speed: a slow pace

Ah, yes, slowing is an apt noun for describing life during a flare.

Life seems to slow down while in the midst of a flare.  Days and very often nights are full of debilitating pain and the effects from other horrendous symptoms.  Symptoms so intense and crippling that minutes start to feel like hours, and hours feel like days.

[Tweet “Days are filled with debilitating pain…minutes start to feel like hours, and hours feel like days.”]

It feels that time has paused, and pain and other problematic symptoms are the only things that we can focus on during the present moment.

Physically I have been slowing down also.  The trembling and weakness in the legs have been severe, having an adverse knock-on effect on my balance.  As a result, I have needed to make small and tentative steps when walking around to ensure I don’t lose balance and to protect myself from falling.

Slowing down, in general, is excellent advice for anyone with chronic illness who is experiencing a flare. To learn to listen to what your body is telling you.  To rest when you need to recuperate.

[Tweet “Slowing down is excellent advice for anyone who is experiencing a flare. To rest and recuperate.”]

Evaluating

Evaluating: form an idea of the amount, number, or value of; assess.

I think there is an innate need in all of us to assess how well we’ve done at something.  To ask, had I done my best? Could I have done more?

During a flare, and with more time than I know, what to with or have the energy for I tend to start evaluating everything.  I assess the actions, or rather inactions of the day and the accomplishments (or lack of) and become wholly dissatisfied with both myself and my life.  I start to compare my experience with others and begin to grow depressed, feeling as everyone’s lives have moved forward while mine has stagnated.

Evaluating can both be useful and damaging.  Personal accountability is vital as it gives us greater autonomy over our health.  And evaluating aspects of our health help us with this, as we gain more understanding of appropriate coping strategies.  A better insight of the various signs that tell us of an impending flare.  We learn a deeper awareness of our health condition.  However, it can also be damaging as it has a detrimental effect on our self-esteem and mental health.

[Tweet “By evaluating the pain and what does and does not help makes it easier to manage future flares.”]

While in the thick of this current flare, I had begun noticing that some of the coping strategies that have helped in the past no longer seem to be easing the excruciating pain.

By evaluating my pain and what does and not help calm the burden of it, the better equipped I am to manage future pain flares.

Escaping

Escaping: break free from confinement or control.

I think everyone at some point in their lives has wanted to escape.  To pack our prized possessions and avoid the mundane routines and responsibilities of everyday life.  Escaping to a beautiful, tropical island or inside a film, or anything else a person desires.  Escaping can be enticing.

Living with a long-term health condition, like a neurological disorder that inhabits my existence, escaping can be even more appealing.  To avoid the very knowledge that chronic equals forever.  Escaping the pain, and the other incapacitating and constant symptoms, the treatments and its endless side-effects, and the limitations that exist.

[Tweet “The opportunity to be able to escape debilitating pain is appealing but sadly isn’t possible.”]

Unfortunately, escaping from our bodies and the illnesses that permeates deep inside them isn’t possible.

Can’t escape a flare, however

While in the midst of a flare, however, a yearning for an escape becomes even stronger.  To be able to leave behind the disarming pain, fatigue and weakness and to visit a quiet and serene place where such things don’t exist.  But we can’t.  We can only lie there and suffer the profound consequences of such a flare.  During such times, I find that my only means of escaping are through captivating novels, living vicariously through the stories and adventures of others, or by getting lost in a boxset binge of one of my favourite television shows, or a film that is both absorbing and comforting.  My current favourite boxsets to binge watch are Arrow and Blindspot, two box sets that I’ve added to my already extensive collection.  Or an escape via social media.  Anything to be able to get my mind off the pain, and trembling that is persecuting my lower limbs, and occasionally my entire body.

[Tweet “The only possible escape from a flare is anything to help distract me from the pain and trembling.”]

Any escape would be welcome, but when experiencing an intense and prolonged flare like the one I am currently enduring, the options are limited; barely being able to move from where we lay.

Of course, I would much rather an escape in the form of a cruise!

Read more: A Chronically (Ill) Boxset Binge.