Life with a chronic illness sucks some days.
I burst into tears when the mop fell over for the third time. I haven’t even started mopping yet. I could walk to the other side of the room and lean it more securely, but I’m already winded and hurting from getting it and the bucket out of the closet. I had to stop and empty the cat litter while I was there. The bag tore.
I shouldn’t need to be mopping, I paid to have the house cleaned this morning. Except I’m highly sensitive to smells, and no matter what I say, the cleaning crew’s home-brew cleaning mixture “it’s only soap and vinegar mam!” ends up stinking the house up with an awful artificial floral stink. So I’m mopping and crying, and it seems I’m stirring up the fragrance even more. Which makes me cry.
If I’m moving, I’m hurting. If I’m sitting, I’m getting stiff and will have a hard time standing and walking, and sitting is the only time the pain quiets and I can catch my breath.
This is invisible disability, nobody knows why I park in the accessible spot and put my blue tag on the mirror.
This isn’t an ask for help thing so much. This is long term – I’m damn lucky/grateful I’m not dying chronic illness that requires me to shift how I live. Metastatic cancer doesn’t show, I could live for a very long time with current treatment. I’m pretty darn lucky.
AND, I’m so freaking privileged to have a home, have health insurance that covers my enormous medical and prescription drug expenses, and to have enough to be able to hire cleaners. I’m so dang grateful for all of it.
And chronic illness sucks.
I got the floor mopped, quickly, not thoroughly. It’s good enough.
Want to help?
If you are able, when you see someone unloading a shopping cart at an accessible parking spot, take a moment and offer to put the cart back for them.