I was in Philadelphia last week celebrating American Thanksgiving with my husband’s family. We go every year and for the first time, I had enough energy to particpate in many of the activities and long walks that I have previously had to forgo.
While this was a wonderful change, it caused me to reflect again on fatigue. I now realize how isolating it was for me to experience severe fatigue. On the trips where I was more tired, I would spend more time resting in the hotel room or planted on a seat somewhere while everyone else was out having a good time. I would finally muster enough energy to go out and everyone would be coming back for a nap.
I never resented this fact, it just was the way things were and I was too tired to care. But now that I can participate more, I understand how much I was alone and how much I missed.
Fatigue isn’t just a physical problem, but can become an emotional problem as it is harder to get out and access friends, family and support systems. It becomes depressing to be a limp dishrag most of the time and the isolation can just exacerbate the problem.
Of course, when I’m tired it’s not like I want to see anyone, so there is a bit of a built in catch-22. Maybe there need to be limp dishrag support groups where people just get together and nap. Sound like a plan?
An ode to a limp dishrag: by Samantha Albert
Oh my darling
your eyes are a beautiful shade of blue,
I cannot remember as your eyes are closed
most of the time.
Your heavenly snores
are fine music to my ears
And your pajamas,
oh your pajamas
The little duckies on your flannel pants
simply put me over the top.
Curl up here next to me
Keep me warm,
the same way the dog does
On cold afternoons
We will commune through our dreams and
the mutterings you make in your sleep
which I know are meant for me.
Oh my darling,
limp dishrag you may be
But you are my limp dishrag.