Steroids are a very magical drug. They let you breathe when you can't. That is amazing. When you're gasping and coughing, they're a life saver, literally.
They also make you quite insane, volitile, tempermental, especially as you taper down.
They make you bloated, they make you eat everything, they make you retain water. They make you think on one hand everything is a good idea, and on the other hand, that nothing is a good idea.
This, I could do without.
Today my left leg is swollen, more than normal, and feels full, water or something. I've been drinking LOTS of water to try to flush out my system. Called the doc and he said to keep it up and see how tomorrow is--with a few caveats. Never mind all that.
I can't let go, release the stress. I'm trying.
I've spent my sick days this week with my laptop in bed. It was kind of like "staying home," since I usually work from the livingroom couch. I took some time off and went on vacation upstairs.
I've been having conversations with myself. I'm a good listener.
Some of these have gone like this:
"You have permission to be sick. You also have permission to get better."
"That thing you do--that feeling of living on borrowed time."
"Oh, yeh. I hate that. I know it's not normal, my thinking that I should leave Jenna's favorite pajamas out in case I don't make it home from a drive into town, that I should be sure her bed is comfortable and clean and cool and cotton and ready for her, in case she has to climb into it that night without me next to her."
"Yes that. It's not surprising, that baggage, since you almost died after Jenna was born, since you've already lived longer than your father did, but it's more than that."
"I think so."
"It's more than that--it's about your role then. The role of the innocent child who didn't know."
--more later. this is exhausting me.