J quit smoking on Saturday, and I am over the moon about it…. but I am really struggling to help him get over his withdrawal. He’s mean and tired and grumpy (all legit, and to be expected), but ever since he admitted that he doesn’t want to tell me when something’s wrong with him because what I’m going through is inevitably worse (which is sad, and I don’t want him to feel like that) I’ve tried to pretend I’m okay anytime he’s been feeling ill.
Yesterday, though, I totally overdid it and I feel like crawling under my desk and dying. I barely have the strength to pick up my arms, let alone use them in any functional way. I just want to scream “OOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” but instead, I will continue (quietly) to do the dishes until my arm is numb, and chop vegetables until I can’t hold my arms above the counter anymore. I know it sucks for him, so I will say nothing to him… but to you guys, I say: O.U.C.H. Only three more days until I see my “palliative care” doctor (another post forthcoming) and find out if he can diagnose me as RSD.
As for J, I am so proud of him – quitting cold turkey is very, very hard, but he’s so damn stubborn, I know he’ll be able to do it. If he can quit, then maybe we really will be able to grow old together – me with no boobs, and him with clean lungs.
Signed,
Exhausted, Hurty Puppy
Up A (Giant) Hill 