Dust Bustin’ A Thing Of The Past.

I’ve never been a fan of house cleaning, but boy was I adept at it.
I could clean, scrub, mop, hoover and dust two bedrooms a large living room, a sizeable kitchen and the bathroom in an hour and still have breath to wash my neighbours cars, do the window cleaner’s round, shop for the old lady across the road and mow the whole neighbourhood’s lawns…Okay, that may be a little bit of an exaggeration.
I was, I admit, a little OCD when it came to hygiene and would whizz around the house like a speed loaded Superwoman on crack. Of course, being a virtuoso of germ busting, I could catch a speck of dust before it had time to land on a newly polished surface and if there was a water mark on the table, I would throw a rage so scary and of such apocalyptic proportions, that even Satan himself would be so terrified as to renounce the heathen life and turn to God. And maybe, just maybe, I did get a little carried away, especially when I used to wake the Womb-fruit up at three in the morning so that I could change his bed sheet and duvet cover. But fear not, for this was done with such skill and precision that come the morning, he would have no recollection of being hoisted out of his bed and thrown upon a chair, and so would awaken surrounded by the scent of lavender blossoms and pine needle forests, instead of dead man’s feet and Gorgonzola.

Back then, My little man was a great co-conspirator in my need to purge the dirt and when it came to ‘tidy up time,’ like Snow White and her demented men of short stature, we would whistle while we worked (ooh, an alliteration) and sing a merry tune with some twerking and slut drops thrown in. That’s a dance move by the way and not us dropping sluts off to various places. Nowadays, I have to make an offering to the Norse Gods in the hope that they will grant him the ability to pick his underpants of the floor, least they walk to the washing machine themselves.
Today, my need for a clean house is still there, but my ability remains hopelessly lost.
Thirty minutes ago, I hobbled downstairs to get the clothes from the washing machine. That was it. The result from such a simple activity left me out of breath, in pain and perspiring, which is just a nice way to say “sweatin’ like a pig.”

Housework consists of wiping a surface, then resting. Washing up, then resting. Plugging in the hoover, then resting. Hoovering then…well you get the picture.
I can no longer speed around the house. I can maybe clean one room and that’s it for the day because the resulting activity will bring on a flare and have me bed bound for a week and THAT is no exaggeration.
Thursday I went food shopping and that’s exactly what happened. I came home, dumped the bags in the hallway and literally crawled up the stairs to my bedroom. I was only suppose to rest for five minutes but passed out for four hours. And that’s where I stayed, in bed right through to 30 minutes ago when I went to unload the washing machine.
A triumphant day for me means changing a duvet cover (although once I’m finished, I have to crawl right into bed afterwards) or cooking a meal. I can’t attempt to even begin to clean the boy-pit that is the Womb-fruit’s bedroom. That requires at least two days, a JCB digger and Herculean strength.

I remember the time I attended a pain management group and how the therapist asked what would happen of we didn’t tidy the house. What was the worst that could happen? You could actually see the look of fear in her eyes as the group, which was comprised soley of women, snarled at her like rabid rottweilers. Because it isn’t just about cleaning, it’s about loss. Not being able to tidy is a daily reminder of yet one more thing that’s been taken away from us. It’s about our inadequacies at not being able to do even the most menial of tasks, which in turn, makes us feel inadequate about ourselves.
It’s about feeling useless and no longer having a defining role in our own households. It’s about our failure to be the glue that hold the pieces together. But more than that, it’s about the fact that our many illnesses has beaten us yet again.
I never thought that there would come a day when I would miss doing housework or think about how much we take being able to do such a simple task for granted But I can honestly say, that I do. I really do.

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7 thoughts on “Dust Bustin’ A Thing Of The Past.

    • That’s the thing Claudette, I really didn’t realise the extent to which loss comes in all sorts of ways. I mean housework? Really? Anyway, I’m in a foul mood today, so thanks for making me laugh out loud at your various expressions of cole loss all hugs. Moose aviv had me in fits. Ah, it’s the little things… ๐Ÿ˜€

      Liked by 1 person

      • Yes, I’m good at the little things (well, mostly, well, maybe sometimes, honestly, I’m probably not, but a girl has to have something they can pretend to call their own).
        Hope the fowls have been replaced with fluffy chicklets today.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. I remember going thru similar situations, Lily. I just wanted to be able to do even the slightest activity whatever it would be without having to stop and rest longer than the activity itself would’ve taken! I wanted to be normal again and I remember my dr. saying, “Well, you have a new normal now.” I got so angry with him. I didn’t want a “new normal.” I want my old normal, my old self, my own life. – Has anyone said that you? “You have a new normal now.” I found it to be infuriating.. – I’m feeling you all the way Mz. L. xoxo

    Liked by 1 person

    • Your new what now?!
      No, I’ve never been told that and if I had, I would have been permanently barred from my doctor’s office for physical assault! I’m raging just reading your comment, so heaven knows how angry you must have felt having to listen to such patronising bullshit. Who wants a ‘new normal’ that involves pain, nausea and fatigue?
      I feel for you for having to experience such utter bollocks. Huge hugs and plenty of love. xxx

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Lily, Iโ€™ve never been a fan of house cleaning either. Although not bad, I can say that Iโ€™ve positively never been a superwoman at it the way you were, wow, I am impressed. I had to laugh at the image of you and your little man like Snow White and one of her demented dwarfs whizzing around the house whistling happy tunes and twerking as you made the house immaculate. ๐Ÿ™‚

    Oh, I can imagine how frustrating it must be for you not being able to even do a little bit of cleaning without resting. ๐Ÿ˜ฆ I agree that itโ€™s not just about cleaning, itโ€™s about loss. I can understand that. The little things in life like cleaning which the rest of us who are well take for granted are so precious when one has fibro and cannot do these chores as before. Well, now I have a new appreciation for house cleaning. And maybe, just maybe, I will dust bust the house later today, and think of you. ๐Ÿ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

    • Madilyn, I always hated it, but it was a necessary sacrifice because I’m one of those people who likes everything in it’s place. Even as a teen, I cleaned the room I shared with my sisters, my brother’s and mum’s bedroom, hoovered the whole house and did everyone’s ironing. See, OCD. Tidying was only fun with Spawn as we sung our ‘tidy up’ song, before then blasting some rock or soul tunes and dancing around the house. Now he’d pass out at the thought of picking a tissue off the floor.
      So it is frustrating that it’s something I can no longer do and a daily reminder of my limitations.
      As you dust bust your house today, give a little twerk for those of us who are no longer able to. ๐Ÿ˜€

      Liked by 1 person

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