It never ceases to amaze me how long it takes to get into shape, and how quickly we fall out of shape. I used to exercise daily either by running or going to the gym. I used to love running and was actually pretty fast. I hadn’t exercised since Ariella was in the PICU. Even though I was home some nights and still working part time I was too exhausted to drag myself out of bed to get to the gym before work. You see, nights in the hospital were not conducive to sleep. Nights were fraught with beeps and alarms, vital signs and transfusions. Some nights the lights had to be kept on and doctors were in and out throughout. So even though I did actually get fairly good sleep at home it was not enough to make up for the lack of sleep when in the hospital. After Ariella died I wasn’t motivated at all to do anything, much less exercise. I honestly didn’t care about taking care of myself. What was the point? Nothing mattered.
I finally decided that it was time to do something. Even though I don’t much care right now about my health I realized down the road I just might and would regret not taking care of myself earlier on. So a couple weeks ago I forced myself to go to the gym. Not necessarily on a regular basis but to try to get back into a routine. The gym is actually one of my safe places. I don’t know many people there and those I do know, know my situation and will ask how I’m doing but stop there unless I pursue it further. I’ve been doing some classes at the gym and it’s actually quite therapeutic. It’s an hour or so of distraction from reality. And it also helps to kill time. By the time I roll out of bed and get myself together, take our dog for a long walk and then go to the gym, I’ve managed to get through half a day. I’ve been running twice. I am nowhere near where I was when I was running on a regular basis. I think part of that is because I hadn’t exercised in a while, but I’ve also noticed that since Ariella died my heart rate and respiratory rate are higher. And sometimes I find it hard to breathe. Stress and grief impact your physical condition and that combined with an increased heart rate from exercise makes it quite difficult. But again it’s therapeutic. So I will keep trying.
Though it helps to have the structure and routine and to get out of the house for a bit so I’m not lying on the couch all day staring at the walls, it also saps my energy and at times makes me panicky. There comes a point anytime I’m out that all of a sudden, I’ve had enough. I need to be home. I’m careful about what I agree to do because I need to make sure I have an escape if I need one. I’m worried about going back to work because of this. On the one hand it will be good to be able to fill my days but on the other hand I’m terrified that I will breakdown and not be effective at my job. I have a very hard time concentrating on anything and I can only hope that work helps channel my attention into the job so I’m not so distracted by life.