A mantra is a sound, syllable, word, or group of words that is considered capable of "creating transformation".
Every Monday I will post a new thought, idea, or focus for the week. When you need a breather from life, when you need a little inspiration, or when you're about to jump over the conference table and strangle your co-worker, remember the mantra.
On a recent three day weekend I had plans, you guys. PLANS. I was going to sleep in, clean my office, arrange my next vacation, and have some bubble bath and face mask time. It was going to be stellar.
Except it wasn't. Every single second of my glorious 72 hours went to hell and back again at least three times. Let me set the scene for you.
My brain was freaking out again (see this story for more thrilling details). We recently discovered what I've been suffering from all these years are vestibular migraines. They're caused by a load of things that are impossible to avoid for the most part like heat, crowds of people, looking around a room too fast, chocolate...see what I mean? Long story short: they suck, there's no cure and, oh yeah, hey, they suck.
On top of that awesomeness, I'd also been feeling under the weather with some weird stomach bug that seemed to be coming and going at will and this strange copper taste in my mouth that I couldn't shake. It was so odd that I actually thought I might be pregnant because my symptoms matched up pretty doggone well, which was not the plan right now, no no no, not at all. Needless to say, I was a mess.
On Saturday of my beautiful, glorious, three day weekend my husband came home from a football game hunched over, hardly able to walk. He'd messed his back up (again) and was in a good amount of pain. Throughout the day we iced his back and had him taking Ibuprofen, thinking that would help, but it didn't. By 6pm he was in excruciating pain, laying on the living room floor, unable to move. An ambulance was eventually called and they had to dose him with 20 mg. of morphine just to make a dent in the pain before taking him to the ER.
At the ER I had to chill in the waiting room where I was surrounded by people who were very, very, very sick with the flu. It was horror movie gross in there, friends. Because it was so jam packed with people we ended up being there for hours upon hours while they treated my husband, finally able to go home at 4am. That was Saturday (plus the wee hours of Sunday morning).
Later, on Sunday, my migraine was pretty bad (it ebbs and flows between nothing at all, manageable, and holy crap). My neurologist (aren't I fancy?) gave me some meds he wanted me to try when the migraine became unbearable, which had only been happening on and off recently. So, in an attempt to help myself so I could help my hunchback hubby, I took one of those suckers.
Flashback to one week prior: I'd been having a case of the crazy brain and, up to this point, hadn't taken any of the pills my doctor had given me. I hate medicine and really try to avoid it as much as possible, but I decided to take one and see if it helped. Later that night I became violently ill, which I chalked up to a potential case of the flu coming on thanks to this gloriously terrible flu season. My tummy was unhappy on and off the next week, but I was completely fine outside of that. This is where all of those "Oh crap, am I pregnant?!" concerns came in. Back to Sunday.
About four hours after I'd taken the pill I started to feel odd. Odd turned into downright terrible, which turned into Holy Shit I'm Dying. At first, I thought I'd caught the flu from all those folks at the ER. It was the only thing that made sense at this point, after having ruled out the pregnant thing (because seriously, if you're that sick when you're pregnant then it is not for me, people. Not. For. Me). But then I started thinking about that stupid dizzy pill I'd taken and a little light bulb went off in my head. Now, mind you, the side effects listed on the bottle said very mild things could happen, like being tired. I went to the source of all information, Google, and low and behold, in severe side effect cases you could get allllllll the symptoms I had, plus some bonus ones that showed up in the wee hours of the morning. Yay me.
Sunday came and went with me awake until 5am and my husband all jacked up in pain. Monday was a blur because both of us were so sleep deprived and still feeling terrible that we lost sense of time.
Bye-bye, beautiful three day weekend.
Sometimes, when life hasn't handed me lemons, but thrown them straight at my face, I get a little "woe is me"-ish and miserable. But I know I do this, so I try very hard to make sure I also focus on the good that's happening around me, even if it's very small.
While it was a legit awful weekend, when I was certain I was on death's door (so dramatic) and my husband wasn't able to walk (so legit), there was still good to be seen and acknowledged. I wasn't pregnant (whew - also, apologies to all my friends who really want me to be pregnant AKA Nichole), I got caught up on Black Mirror, and I got some serious puppy snuggling in, to name a few things. When we were both feeling a little better, we even finished the plans for our next adventure.
I guess what I'm trying to say is this: On the cloudiest days, it serves us all to remember that the clouds will, and always do, pass. The sun is out there, somewhere, shining. And if all else fails, Netflix has your back.
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