Yesterday I read a post on the Sjogren's Syndrome Foundation blog entitled 13 Types of Sjogren's Fatigue. It was a well-written attempt to categorize and explain the fatigue associated with this disease.Now I may not be as erudite or informative as the author of that article, but I thought I'd give voice to a few more of my own:
The Oh No, I’m Awake!
Tiredness – This is the one I face each and every morning. Sleep?
Did I really sleep? I know I
spent time in my bed, because I distinctly remember waking up about 25 times
throughout the night but the word “rested” somehow just doesn’t seem to apply.
The Bone Tired Fatigue
– This is the one that comes from dealing with joint and muscle pain. All of that ouch-ing drains my
energy and makes getting from here to there a feat of great proportions.
The Lead Foot
Weariness – Having a lead foot usually refers to one who has the propensity
to drive fast, but there is nothing fast about this. It feels like something or someone, is
literally weighing me down – forcing me to move in slow motion.
The All-But-Surgically-Attached-to-My-Bed
Sleepiness – These are the days
when I just can’t wake up; when my children or husband try to rouse me from my
bed. I respond and tell them I’ll be up
shortly, and drop back into a d-e-e-p
sleep within seconds; unable to move from the bed.
The I Emptied Half of
the Dishwasher and Need to Rest Exhaustion (a.k.a. I Just Took a
Shower Fatigue) – All of
that up-and-down with my arms, spine, and head.
Exhausting. This particular
fatigue is somewhat akin to the I
Vacuumed the Living Room Depletion
– sucks the life right out of me.
The In Your Face Fatigue
– This is the one that brings cobwebs to your brain, glassiness to your
eyes, and a sense that you are already asleep to your very face. I have no choice but to surrender to this one
– for where the head goes, the body must follow.
And then my friends, there is the BIG one:
The Walking
Dead Wipeout – This is the one that descends in a heartbeat and drops me to my
knees. This fatigue begins by turning my
leg muscles to rubber, spreads by squeezing the life-sustaining air out of my lungs,
and completes the wipeout by leaving me with a blank facial affect and a brain
which can only think of three little words in one specific order:
Must.
Lie.
Down.
Must.
Lie.
Down.
