Tag Archives: occipital neuralgia

Hot and Cold.

I’m more or less back on track after my hiccup a couple of weeks ago, and typically enough, my body is engaging in its time-honoured tradition of stress reduction = get sick. I’m feeling flu-y and fatigued and my vision, which gets messed around with periodically by my occipital neuralgia, has been dodgy – I’m finding it hard to focus on a white computer screen and the letters are all blurry around the edges. Which is, of course, great for getting a research proposal completed in a timely manner.

Feeling vaguely feverish last night and this morning, I took my temperature and then realised I didn’t know what constituted a fever so took to Googling. Apparently, while 37 C is the average, anything from 36.4 to 37.6 is fine. Above around 39.5 is cause for concern, and 35 and below can indicate hypothermia.

So, maybe everyone else already knew this, but I’ve forgotten everything I ever learned in human biology in high school. And because I’ve been monitoring my body temperature daily for the last couple of months, I now realise – my body temperature is rarely if ever in the ‘normal’ range. It’s only been 36.4 and above for two days out of the last month, and is typically between 35.5 and 36.5. I’ve had a couple of days below 35.5 although never as low as 35.0. My highest body temperature in the two months has been 36.9, last night, and it’s never reached 37.

I already knew my body was weird, but this seems bizarre. I knew I subjectively felt like my body couldn’t regulate temperature well, and my extremities are cold and sweaty for most of the cooler weather. Mostly I don’t handle heat though – I suppose if a hot day in my hometown is often five degrees warmer than my maximum body temperature it could explain why it feels ever-so-slightly like dying.

Does anyone else out there have a lower-than-average body temperature? Do you know why? It seems like it could be a dysautonomia thing – my resting blood pressure is often the low end of normal, maybe they’re tied in? And how the hell do I work out if I have a fever?!

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Silver Linings and Small Victories.

Belated to include the long weekend this week. Yesterday was the first day back at uni, and between class, a supervisor meeting, travel, and a music festival, I was out of the house for 16 hours. I feel like lukewarm death today, and probably will be paying for it for a week, but I’m counting it as a victory (a big one!) because I did it and I didn’t die 😀 Also, A PERFECT CIRCLE WERE AWESOME!

In other good things, this week:

I am grateful for good days; although I’ve had fatigue and have been feeling low-grade-ill this week, my pain has been negligible (at least prior to yesterday), and that’s vastly preferable to dealing with everything at once.

I am grateful for my body’s muscle memory; my anxiety-relieving yoga routine is becoming habit and I’m becoming more able to relax my jaw, neck, and shoulders quickly when I get stressed, which seems to head off my more severe occipital neuralgia flares.

I am grateful for fleeting moments of confidence in my capacity to meet the challenges in my life (and would like to foster more).

I am grateful for miracle-find natural beauty products.

I am grateful to be able to move my body in ways that feel good to me.

I am grateful that I am developing the ability to be grateful to my body, and to love it now and then, instead of constantly berating it for not meeting a social ideal in appearance or function.

I am grateful for the (technical) end of summer (even though I know it will be another month or two until it actually cools down).

I am grateful for a winter holiday booked, and something delightful to look forward to.

I am grateful that my state is stunningly beautiful and affords so many and varied destinations that it doesn’t matter too much if getting on a plane is currently out of my reach.

I am grateful for hidden reserves.

I am grateful for positive feedback when I need reinforcement.

Thought for the Day.

I went with my partner yesterday while he enrolled in a massage therapy course (this is why I love him, and no, I didn’t make him do it, but I am happy and grateful). It involved sitting bored in a classroom featuring anatomical posters for about an hour, so I read the posters in excruciating detail.

One was on the spine, and I discovered that everything on the ‘disease’ half of the poster features in my scans. I also have a couple of things that weren’t on the poster. This was simultaneously depressing and filled me with a weird sense of achievement. At least I will be the best, most complicated massage practice dummy ever! Yay for something about my medical weirdness being helpful 🙂

Sick Day.

Weary, weary.

I am having one of those bone-crushing, limbs-made-of-concrete, too-tired-to-walk-across-the-bedroom-for-my-meds days. Which is made even more frustrating by the fact that I’m not even in much pain today. This should be a good day, where I catch up on chores and walk to the shops, and instead, it’s 3:50pm and I’m still too tired to shower. Washing my hair seems about as achievable as climbing a mountain right now. I am hungry and home alone and too tired to prepare food.

I realise sharply, on days like this, that although I tend to think of myself as having ‘a stuffed back’, or sometimes as having chronic pain, what I actually have is an illness, of which my back problems are only one symptom. The largest, most inconvenient, and most life-altering symptom, definitely, but taken together my health issues are more complicated than that.

Most of the time my other problems are minor: skin rashes and eczema, hair loss, poor temperature regulation, low blood pressure, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, reflux, diarrhea, constipation, profuse sweating, shortness of breath, heart palpitations, tremors, Reynaud’s phenomenon (purple feet with white toes), occipital neuralgia (migraine-like symptoms from a neck issue), other joint pain. Each of those things in isolation, although irritating and occasionally debilitating, is largely manageable, so I often focus on the minor problem occurring at the given moment and lose sight of the fact that each piece is part of a bigger picture.

For the last week or so, my brain fog has been particularly bad. I’ve kept losing words on the tip of my tongue, forgetting why I entered a room or opened a browser window or the fridge or picked up my phone, started a sentence only to leave it hanging mid-air while I panic, eyes darting, trying to retrieve my thought. Sometimes I can piece it together, sometimes it comes back the next day, sometimes it is gone for good and I worry it was important.

When my lovely, articulate, intelligent brain – the brain I count on to get me through my course and into my profession, to keep me who I am, to make me who my partner and family and friends love – is failing me;

When my body, despite having nothing obviously wrong with it, is overwhelmed by the simplest tasks;

When this happens, on days like today – more than in hospital, hooked up to IVs, with fresh surgical scars and scans and doctor’s appointments – I feel sick.