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Thursday, December 11, 2014

POTS and Plans....

I should know by now that I cannot make any type of plans with this illness. POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, try saying that three times fast), is a bugger. It is an autonomic nervous system condition in which the body fails to properly regulate the pulse rate, blood pressure and various other vital components of  functioning upon standing. I have the sub type Hyperandrenergic. This means instead of a drop in BP, I get an increasing BP and heart rate the longer I stand and I produce way too much adrenalin which has lead to adrenal fatigue. Therefore, I recline  - a lot. Today is one of those days as I am reclined, home from work on a sick day. I have two new employees to train and had planned  hoped to start that today, but as I have said before Man Plans, God Smiles. My heroes are the young women( this usually is the case, but not always) who have this condition and they are in the prime of their life and have young children, family obligations or are in school. I don't know how they do it. I slept from 8p-8a this morning and struggled to get out of the bed today I was so exhausted. 
I love this, only when you have a love affair with a memory foam mattress do you really get it.  I get it, much like I suspect my dear departed Granny did as well. They're days I do give up on and just go to sleep hoping for the light of a clear blue morning.  The Granny Bed, a place of total surrender were the only Fifty Shades of Grey are on my pillow.
 I'm trying to get myself recharged a little for the holiday season.  I plugged in the fiber optic tree and the plastic Santa, so I'm good to go on decorations. I have not given in to the lure of the chocolate covered cherries yet. I'm sure I will, it's just a matter of time and the right stressor... I'm trying really hard not to get the Seasonal Blues this year.  Actually, I have been looking forward to the colder weather. I have been hot for two years now with no end in sight. My poor co-workers/employees look like Bob Cratchit huddled around a single lump of coal, bundled in sweaters as I scream "Did that *&*#  heat just click on?" I expect a visitation from three ghosts any night now. At home my heat never goes above 62 in the day and I turn it to in the 50's at night. That is one good thing about living alone, total control of the thermostat and the remote. My poor fur babies might disagree, they really wish mom would get on some hormones....