Smelly Things

I'm currently the victim of chemical warfare in my office building.

A catastrophe happened over the weekend, where the kitchenette flooded. The maintenance people sucked up all the water, then put on a fan to 'dry' the carpeting.  Then today, some enterprising cleaning person decided the damp carpet looked dirty and sprayed the most noxious carpet cleaner on the floor in the middle of the work day, with the fan pointed out into the hallway spreading the fumes into the entire office space.

Yes, my head is splitting. I can't eat and I'm currently in an email battle with the dimwits at corporate facilities and the building maintenance. I haven't puked yet - only because the mere thought of food sends me into a panic so there is nothing there.

As I tried to explain to the chemically brain-rotted maintenance person, as he started to add a layer of aerosol fragrance to the already nasty chemical stew floating in the air, that he was making people in the area sick -  I was told that he felt fine and that I didn't know what I was talking about.

I felt that projectile vomiting, while it would have made my point, was beneath me.

This afternoon, the smell of the chemicals has dissipated, but the damage is done.  I know that the next couple of days may turn into a complete cluster, courtesy of the nincompoops here at work.  I can only hope that when I get into the fresh air some of the headache will go away.

If not, someone is going to pay for my missed work.  It won't come out of my vacation.

"Looking Sick"

I'm finding it challenging to have to defend how I feel when I don't 'Look Sick'.

What does that mean, looking sick?  Do I need to be breaking out into pink polka dots and zebra stripes? Seriously?

The truth about this disease is that sometimes it simply does not manifest itself in physical signs that can be readily identified.  Sometimes it does.  Do I have the 'butterfly'? Yes, but I've had that for years.  I always chalked that up to a ruddy complexion, so it's considered a normal part of me.  I'm fortunate not to have the discoid blemishes.

I just feel fatigued. I wake up exhausted. I hurt.  My joints ache, I have weird pains in my muscles.  My head hurts.  None of this is particularly new, just worse than it has been in years past.  All of this is hard to quantify.  Without gushing blood, open wounds, projectile vomiting or spiking fevers, there is nothing for someone outside my body to see.

When I'm trying to convey to my aged mother how I'm feeling, it becomes a oneupmanship - who's feeling crappier.  Apparently, I'm taking attention away from her.  She won't acknowledge that I could be having a bad day.  After all I'm functioning.

Well I've been 'functioning' for a long time.  I have to.  Who else is going to pay my bills, take care of my dog and do the things that are necessary.

I have a high tolerance for pain and discomfort.  Because, I've never put myself first. Well all of this changes.  I'm starting to get really angry.  My health, how I'm feeling, this disease is not a competition.  IT'S MY FREAKING REALITY!!!!!!

How dare it be minimize it because of fear.  I respect her fear, but I can't condone her diminishment of what I'm going through because she can't deal with is.  I am not looking for sympathy.  Frankly, I'm not looking for special circumstances.  I just want to be able to refuse an invitation or say 'I'm not up to going out today.' without getting a guilt trip.  Or without the most condescending of phrases, 'You don't look sick.'

I'm even angry at myself for allowing myself to play second fiddle.  I'm important.  My needs have to come first.  This is not being 'selfish', this is about me being healthy.