The Sinkhole

It started off so well. Today.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, I woke up.

It was glorious, waking up, on my own, without any exterior help. No pain, and no mini voices disturbing my slumber.

I yawn, I stretch, I assses.

Bag change day. Do I have the energy? Yes.

In that case, will I take a bagless shower beforehand? Yes

Children still asleep. What time is it? 7.15 am.

Do I wake them now, or let them sleep a bit longer? Let them sleep, then I can hopefully have an uninterrupted bagless shower, and apply new bag without my three year old trying to poke my Stoma.

Kitchen a mess. Will I clean it? Not now, maybe later?

I head to the bathroom. Turn on the radio, remove my bag and get in the shower.

Heaven.

The hot water cascades over me whilst cheesy pop music plays on the radio. I sing along to Queen's "Don't stop me now", and the lyrics resonate deep inside - "I'm having such a good time, I'm having a ball..." as the water invigorates, stimulates, refreshes and renews. My skin is tingling, my stoma is behaving, I feel alive. I feel well.

The children come down. I fix them breakfast, pack their lunches, get them dressed.

 I assess.

It's a beautiful day. Do we walk to school or drive? Drive. I don't want to push it.

Success.

 I get through the school run without incident. I have a full day to myself. The sun is shining and I don't feel like shit. The world is my Oyster.

I assess.

Kitchen a mess. Will I clean it? Not now, maybe later.

Living room a mess. Will I clean it? Not now, maybe later.

I sit on the sofa, put my feet up, turn on Netflix.

Hours pass.

I assess.

 I have acheived nothing. The kitchen is still a mess, as is the living room. It is still a beutiful day and I haven't taken advantage of it. I have sat on my arse, only rising to eat, piss and empty.

I am consumed with guilt. I have spent the past three weeks doing nothing. The housework has been neglected, along with my personal hygeine and relationship with my fella. Today I was presented with an empty house and no fatigue - the rareset of gifts. The perfect oppertunity to pick up the slack, take the reins, restore some order in the house and do my job. Instead I chose to do absolutely fuck all.

 I CHOSE to do fuck all. I didn't do fuck all because I wasn't capable of doing fuck all, I did fuck all because I wanted to do fuck all. And just like that, guilt is replaced with glee.

I assess

My partner will be home soon. Will I have to go to bed early? No, I can stay up and spend some time with him.

My daughter needs dinner. Do I have the energy to cook? Yes.

I turn on the dishwasher, I wash some pots, I make her dinner. I am still feeling well.

My fella returns. He asks me what I did today. My rely -  Fuck all. We both laugh.

Out of nowhere, the niggling turns to discomfort, discomfort to pain, pain to agony. Just like that. No warning.

I assess.

What time is it? 8.00 pm.

Can I ignore it? Stay up and spend some much needed time with the Old Man? No. The pain is all consuming and written all over my face.

He looks at me, tells me to take a pill and helps me up to bed.

Defeated.

It started off so well. Today.