A Day of Tilting with Spoons – Part 1: The Night

^{My life is full of many wonderful things, but the one constant for me right now is the pain. It’s with me every second of every day: morning, noon, and night. It’s even there as I sleep. It’s almost impossible to wrap my head around everything I go through with this illness. So I decided to do a blog series on a day in the life of a Fibro Warrior. Come join me.}

^{Throughout the night, I fight the same battle over and over again. Every time I toss or turn, jolts of electricity sizzle through my bones until I have to stifle a cry. Other times, the pain gnaws through my dreams like acid bubbling away at paint, warping dreams into nightmares until my body rouses slowly back to reality.}

^{Breathe in.}

^{In the darkness, there is only me and the pain. And it looms over me as I curl into my blankets, trying desperately to hide from it, trying to find sleep again.}

^{Breathe out.}

^{I curl my fingers and toes, flex tendons and muscles, test each joint to see where the pain might be lurking. I find it in different ways and at different spots every time.}

^{Turn. Shudder. Wince. Breathe. Innnnnn.}

^{I grit my teeth against a flood of bile as the nausea simmers to the surface. Ripples of dull aches radiate out from my hip this time. I gently pull my leg over my pillow.}

^{Shuddering breath out. Bitten lip. Keep. Breathing!}

^{The air whistles through my nose as I try to keep quiet. Beads of sweat stand out on my forehead as the nausea builds. My heart pounds. The pain dials up and I twist my hips until I feel something pop.}

^{Breathe in.}

^{Tears pool on the bridge of my nose and on my pillow. As I sink into the bed, the pain recedes. I found a sweet spot. For now. My heart rate begins to settle.}

^{Breathe out.}

^{Darkness closes in around me, hiding the pain for another minute? Hour? Maybe even two? Even as I slip back under, I know the pain will be back.}

^{As the morning light creeps in and I know that this wake up is the final one, I squeeze my eyes shut against the encroaching dawn. I’m not ready for this battle. I’m never ready these days. The pain steals the deepest part of my sleep, never allowing me to slip into full REM sleep, the restorative kind of sleep. That’s why every morning I wake up just as tired as I was the night before.}

^{I fight the monster all night long. While the dreamers of the world rest their heads to recharge, I wrest solitary moments of peace from the jaws of the pain. But those moments never add up to the amount of rest I need to tackle my day. I lay my head on the pillow at night with a spoon deficit that I know I’ll never make up. Despite lying in bed longer than the average adult, I start my day feeling just a tired as I did when I closed my eyes the night before.}

^{Next up, it’s time to pick up a spoon and begin tilting for the day.}