July Flares, Not Fireworks

Although They Often Feel Like Fireworks

Having just posted my Chicken Soup for the Soul submission, I thought I might go further along the backstory route. I know people scratch their heads when they see me upright, smiling, being part of the action or conversation much of the time. They wonder how in the world I could possibly be dealing with the health issues I mentioned and still look pretty “normal”. The bit about “sometimes not well enough to move about the country” applies to my general state. When we are sitting still, I guess sometimes I am not well enough to move about our park model trailer, or Pepsi can homestead. It’s not blue, but my first impression of living here kinda stuck.

I am celebrating the last day of July for a couple of reasons. Birthday month starts tomorrow, and I consider this day a birthday eve, of sorts, where I look over the past year and see where I have grown. It’s nice to take inventory and celebrate personal and collective victories, and to plan for the year ahead. I am also celebrating the end of July, because July was a doozy for me.

I play a game from years spent in bed called “the next five things”. When locomotion is a challenge, I pre-plan my walking adventures. I think of the next five things I need or need to do. Pee. Gather up some toilet paper to serve as Kleenex. Take the vitamins. Make sure the dogs have water. Grab a specific book off the living room bookshelf. Make a cold drink. Return to bed. These activities can be done with ease or with difficulty, depending on the will of the body on that day. If I am playing “the next five things”, I am moving with difficulty.

Having several flavors of arthritis and some unusual autoimmune issues (see my "about me" post), I find that planning can be a crapshoot. Thinking I can attend a cookout makes me agree a few days ahead of the event to be there with bells on. On the day of the event, I may be barely shuffling and pretzeled up, randomly, because that's how it is sometimes.

I can lean into the idea of getting out and seeing friends and propel myself out the door with homemade side dish in hand. Doing something always makes you feel better, right? I might have pain or other inconveniences whether I lay in bed or buck up, get dressed, and make the event. I really like to follow through when I make a commitment. However, time and experience have taught me to choose my battles. I can't always make it after all.

For the most part, I have two speeds. Either one must run to catch up with me, or I have no choice but to lay flat until I can regain my strength. Flat days are two-nappers, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. A collection of flat days that make up the better part of a week are called a warning zone. Increased activity in the warning zone time period can cause the machine to tilt, setting off a greatly increased need to lay flat.

Daily exercise like gentle stretching or swimming can often stop the tilt. Feeling helpless and not making an effort increases the tilt. Standing in the center of the seesaw, you have to make choices that lead towards balance. Tending to your diet, your mental state, and how well you are clearing emotional baggage around your situation tips you in the right direction. Spending time lamenting the fact that you can't go backwards in time to be like you were “before” steals today right from under your feet. It not only tips the machine but flips that sucker upside down. “There is only now, and now is all we have” scrolls out of the busted plans machine on a ticker tape 50 feet long.

A warning zone that goes on for more than two weeks is called a "flare". When I hear that word, I see jazz hands. So misleading. I certainly can't dance in this state and there will be no party. Lying flat becomes for the most part mandatory. Nap days become nap nights and soon run together in one huge puddle of wait. I can see my computer and notebooks on my desk from where I lay, and the half-finished art projects, but I just can't go there right now.

If I listen to my body and rest, I am eventually restored. If I buck the system and run my short legs off, I end up back at ground zero. July has been a month of patience for me. If I were jeans, I would have been shredded bell bottom flares. I have done all the things, and things have improved. I am joyfully blessed to be on the other side of it. But boy howdy have there been some double-flat days lately.

I have chosen my battles well and have spent hours with hands and feet in the sand and dirt anyway, because that's better than any pill or salve. Some days we pedal, some days we coast. I have painted and played in mud puddles, cooked some amazing meals, read a lot of books, wrote many words, and have spent quality time with Dan and the pups in between naps. They are often very happy to dog pile up and nap with me, too. I lean into these pleasures which keep me upright and functioning at my best, whatever that means on this day. I will always do my best.

I am glad we were here in our desert oasis, where it was far easier to shuffle around half dressed and crabby than in some parking lot on the way to some forest. We have plans to venture out to camp for a few days sometime in August, so it’s nice to start thinking about where and moving forward with my art and writing projects.

It feels good to know that after rough days, better day are ahead, and if you live right, every day is a celebration. This one goes out to my pal Mandy Davis, who is nodding her head right now in agreement with a deep understanding of those not so fancy flares. Love you, friend. Onward we head, always in the direction of our dreams. Bless for you listening with a heart that truly understands. Someday you and I shall dance upon the desert, my friend. ❤

August, let’s doooooooooooooo this!

All of my best,

Brenda Cordray

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