Lately I have been operating with a serious spoon deficit.
For those
who don’t know, the idea of the spoon theory is that someone with a chronic
illness has a limited number of spoons that they can use each day, and once
those spoons are gone, they pretty much can’t do anything other than rest.
These
days, I have lists of things I have to do that never all seem to get done when I
want to get them done.
People without
chronic illness don’t understand, and they don’t realize that it literally
means I could be out doing something and suddenly feel sick and like I have to
lie down.
I’m
running on fumes. Less than fumes. Not even on reserve. My reserves are gone.
I can
literally be stopped in my tracks.
And it has
caused me anxiety when I am not close to home but realize I am running low on
spoons. How will I get home? Will I have to find a cab instead of the
subway or bus? Can I keep from getting sick,
regardless of the mode of transportation?
Can I walk the half a block from where I get dropped off until I get
into the apartment building?
I don’t have
copious amounts of energy. I have to
pick my battles wisely, and sometimes bow out of battles altogether.
And this
state of affairs bothers me a lot. I don’t
want to have limitations. I don’t want
to say no to things. But I don’t have a
choice.
For most
of us with chronic illness, our days are variable. Some days are good – we have more energy and
less pain – and some days are bad.
Some days
all my spoons get me is out of a bed, a shower, and breakfast. Some days – rarely – it’s like I am my
healthy self again.
For about
the past two months, I constantly feel like I am coming down with
something. I get a cough, my throat
hurts, I spike low-grade fevers, I get these weird skin rashes. This is my immune system telling me it’s time
to take a break. But I can’t
really. So I buck my immune system, but I
can’t buck my lack of spoons.
When the
spoons are gone for the day, they’re gone.
And I can’t bank them from days when I don’t use that many. It’s always a finite number of spoons.
Say I
start the day with 12 spoons. On a day
that I have school, my spoon count would look like this:
Get up – 1
spoon
Eat
breakfast – 1 spoon
Get dressed
– 1 spoon
Bus – 1 spoon
Subway – 1
spoon
Train – 1 spoon
Walk to
class – 1 spoon
Class – 1 spoon
Eat lunch –
1 spoon
Class – 1 spoon
Class – 1 spoon
Walk to
train – 1 spoon
Train – 1 spoon
Subway – 1
spoon
Bus – 1 spoon
Dinner – 1
spoon
Get ready
for bed – 1 spoon
Count
that. That’s 17 spoons right there when
my allotment for the day is 12. Now wonder
I am so exhausted all the time.
It’s stunning
for me to realize how little my body can actually handle. But it makes total sense…to me…at least…
It’s easy
for people who aren’t chronically ill to be judgmental and use terms like lazy,
aloof, or uncaring. But those
characterizations couldn’t be further from the truth. Like I said, I would give anything to do
everything I need to everyday and not have to take time off after a
particularly hard or busy day.
But that’s
not the reality.
If you are
not chronically ill: How much of your day would you actually get done if you
only had 12 spoons and every activity costs you a spoon?
I wish there were endless spoons for everyone
ReplyDeleteLeslie, is it possible your lupus is flaring? In addition to having more on your plate than you have spoons to deal with?
ReplyDeleteI hope that you find an extra stash of spoons somewhere (and if you do, could you pretty please send some my way too?)!