Just two short weeks ago, I was battling the wearying, life-draining effects of what I suspect to be long COVID - too weak to do anything much apart from sitting or lying down, so much muscle aches and pains all over, a deep metallic taste that will not allow me to eat solids for 2-3 weeks, hot flashes, difficulty breathing, difficulty sleeping, diarrhea, chills, fever like a virtual smorgasboard of symptoms you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. I think I lost 15-20 pounds in just a week. Earlier, Bioflu had the weirdest side effects on me (losing spatial sense and my balance to name just two).
Then, I had serious withdrawal symptoms from Tramadol for 3-4 days and truth be told, every evening, I wish I wouldn't wake up the next morning. On hindsight, it may have been well and good that I wasn't able to secure a project or a job yet as my health issues left me in a haze. Brain fog, fibromyalgia, extreme fatigue, hot flashes, hot extremities, not much muscle coordination. It all sounds like a joke yet it wasn't. Just dressing up and going down to the 7-Eleven downstairs to buy Gatorade and bananas was an epic struggle. I don't have to write at length how that impacted my mental health (not pretty is all I can say).
Anyway, I really miss my foster strays - I had to stop feeding them for now as I have to admit that I am not yet well, physically, emotionally, financially. This is a time to take a step or two back and let others take the reins. I have to care for myself first because no one else would do it for me. I have to reach out to the Divine to ask if there's any more reason why I'm still around. Why all these hurdles are put in front of me. Why my luck/life has yet to turn around. Maybe there's a bright light coming because the past 3-4 months have been such a very dark place. Maybe God is giving me a masterclass on things. I await great things to unfold for a change. I claim it. I believe it. I deserve it.
P.S. - I had to venture out a little two weeks ago to pay my respects to Ferdz's dad who passed on. The rather short commute took a a lot out of me. Never mind losing a lot of muscle mass (I can accept that now) but taking the stairs on the MRT felt like hiking up a mountain. I wanted to cry then and there. I took baby steps instead. Lesson/s learned.
P.S. 2 - I love Alvin. I apologize for the many times I've been hotheaded when she wakes me up at 5am when I'm really struggling to fall asleep (Long COVID can do that to you, I found out). She's my lucky cat and I love her dearly. There's a lovely reason I rescued her (or she rescued me). As Spock muttered, may we "live long and prosper." Indeed. So mote it be.
