I remember when I would work my four hours in the morning, come home, take some painkillers, and try to get some sleep. After dinner, I would drive my eldest to soccer practice. I would wait in the car for her and cry, wondering how the heck I would be able to drive home because I was in so much pain. It was years later that I would tell her this. She would ask why did I take her then, well because she loved soccer so much and was very good at it. I would make it home, but I would have to take more painkillers. This is when I knew working was killing me, my quality of life sucked. I continued to work a few more years, switching jobs, thinking a job closer to home would be easier. Again, I would work a few hours, come home, take more meds, and try to sleep. My kids were older, so there were many days they would come home from school and have to make their own dinner. I was in too much pain. They would microwave the heating pad for me, bring me a drink of water, more painkillers and again I would hope that I could make it through the next day.
Life hasn’t changed for me very much except that I no longer work. Some days are good, but some days are bad, very bad. Everything I do is balanced around how much pain I am in that particular day. If I know in advance that I have an outing, I will try to be very careful so I will be able to go out. This does not always work. Just the other day I missed a Ladies Night Out Tweet-Up because well, I took a shower. Maybe next time.