This Body is Bullshit

Thursday morning started chaotic before it even got going. I made it back to Pilates — which, progress — but left without my water bottle, forgot to put my Apple Watch on, and was generally running on fumes. On the drive home I checked my phone at a stoplight and saw two texts from Kathy.

Your father fell down the stairs. I need help. I can’t get him up.

I turned the car around immediately.

By the time I got there she’d managed to get him up and he was sitting on the couch — in shock, clearly in pain, but sitting. They live in a tall townhouse with a landing midway up the stairs, and from what we could piece together, he made it to the middle of the first set and then took a header on the final few steps. The table on the landing was moved. The lamp was broken. Things were everywhere. She was home but had been out with their dog, George. She came into him yelling for help.

He ran through the inventory out loud — wrist, neck, shoulder, knee — all of it hurt. I thought we needed to go in right away. Kathy wanted to wait and see. We iced what we could. He could move everything, which was a good sign, and he continued to improve through the day. It ended up being a pull, strain, or tear — nothing broken. I genuinely do not know how he didn’t break his neck or his hip. He is impossibly lucky.

Late that afternoon he was sitting outside in his chair getting some sun. And that evening he came over and had pizza for Matt’s birthday. Mainly, I think, for a big slice of ice cream cake. That’s my dad.

Also last week — new fear unlocked. Or maybe more accurately, an anticipated fear finally coming to fruition.

I went to the dentist for a toothache. A small filling had fallen out of the side of my tooth a couple months ago and it’s been bothering me ever since. I didn’t know if it had fallen out again or was just extra sensitive. Turns out the filling was still there and yes, it could still be sensitive — but the x-rays also showed two new cavities in completely different parts of my mouth.

I am a terrible candy eater, I’ll own that. But I was never prone to cavities before. This is the beginning of something I knew was coming — the dental side effects of the medication I’m on, compounded by Sjögren’s, which means dry mouth and not producing enough saliva to protect your teeth properly.

Awesome. Just absolutely awesome.

Friday Matt and I went for massages for his birthday and out to dinner. Saturday we drove up north for a surprise luncheon for Auntie June’s 80th birthday. She had no idea. When she walked in and saw everyone — tears. Pure joy. She’s been pretty homebound for a couple of years now and hasn’t made it to many family things, so getting everyone together and bringing the party to her felt really right. It warmed all of our hearts. I’m so glad she was happy.

Tomorrow is Wes’s birthday. His second since we lost him.

A photo popped up on Facebook today — one of my favorites of him — and I just sat with it for a minute. I sent it to Crissy and Kevin with a note letting them know I was thinking of them, and sending love to Cal and Mae too. Then I second-guessed myself immediately. Was that the right thing to do? Did it bring them some comfort, or did it just make an already impossible day harder? I genuinely don’t know. You never really know how to handle these things. There’s no right move when someone you love is missing. You just try to show up in whatever small way feels true and hope it lands gently.

And then the last few days my pain has been exasperated in a way that’s hard to explain and harder to push through. I don’t know if it’s an autoimmune flare, if I’m fighting something off, if it’s the weather doing its thing — probably some combination of all of it. Whatever it is, it’s sitting on top of a fatigue that goes deeper than tired.

Which brings me to Waffle Wednesday — our weekly video check-in that Cathy, Donna, and I send each other, which I love and look forward to every week. Cathy’s question on Monday(we do it any day we remember at this point now) was simple: Molly, why are you always so tired? I just sat with that for a second. Because apparently I say it enough that it’s become a thing.

Here’s the honest answer: it’s not just physical tired. It’s not the kind you fix with a good night’s sleep. It’s emotional tired. Mental tired. The kind that lives in your bones and your muscles and doesn’t lift no matter how much you rest. And when that’s layered on top of the joint pain and muscle aches of the last few days, it takes everything I have not to just stay in bed and not participate in my own life.

So I’m putting this here to hold myself accountable: I need to get back to Pilates consistently. I need to start lifting weights. I need to be walking every day. My body needs movement even when — especially when — it’s the last thing it wants. Writing it down makes it real. That’s the whole point of this thing.