I know this now with certainty… this isn’t a virus. This isn’t an infection. This isn’t something my body is fighting off. This is my body misfiring.
My temperature has hovered between 99.4 and 99.8… for now, this is day two and a half. Not high enough to sound alarms. Not dramatic enough to look urgent. Just persistent… a low-grade reminder that something is wrong, even if it doesn’t fit neatly into a box.
Every single one of my joints hurts. Not sore like I overdid it, but weak… unstable… unreliable. My hands and wrists are so weak that I keep dropping my phone, even with a popsocket. My shoulders ache like someone pulled them the wrong way and never put them back.
It feels like my entire body is having a freak attack all at once.
I have zero spoons.
If you’ve never heard of spoon theory, it’s the simplest way I know to explain what living like this is like. Imagine waking up every day with a certain number of spoons. Each spoon represents energy… physical, mental, emotional. Healthy people wake up with plenty and don’t have to think about it. They spend freely, assuming more will be there tomorrow.
People with chronic illness don’t get that luxury.
Some days I wake up with ten spoons. Some days five. Some days none. Every single task costs spoons… getting out of bed, showering, holding something, walking, parenting, even thinking clearly. When the spoons are gone, they’re gone. You can push past zero, but you pay for it later… sometimes for days.
Right now, I have none.
Last night the heater was broken, so I slept in socks just to keep my feet warm. I knew I would regret it… it happens every time… but I was so cold that it felt like the only option. When I woke up, my ankles and heels were swollen… visibly puffy, tight, and painful. It took nearly two hours for the swelling to go down.
This isn’t just “sleeping wrong.”
I have very little muscle in my feet and lower legs. Over time, nerve and muscle involvement has caused wasting… meaning the muscles that normally help pump blood and fluid back up simply aren’t doing their job well anymore. When my feet get cold or I’m still for too long, fluid pools. Swelling sets in quickly. My heels take the brunt of it because there’s very little padding or muscle there to begin with.
So when you look at these photos, you’re not just seeing swollen heels. You’re seeing what happens when circulation issues, nerve dysfunction, muscle loss, and temperature all collide. You’re seeing why mornings can be brutal. Why standing hurts. Why walking feels unstable. Why this isn’t a fun thing to wake up to.
This is what people don’t understand about chronic illness flares. They don’t always look dramatic. They don’t always come with numbers that scream “emergency.” Sometimes it’s just your body hitting a wall and refusing to cooperate anymore.
I’m not being dramatic. I’m not exaggerating. I’m not coming down with something.
I’m living in a body that occasionally just… breaks down.
All I can do right now is respect the zero. Sit still. Keep warm. Drop expectations. Let my body settle when it finally decides it can.
This isn’t weakness.
It’s reality.
And today… reality hurts.
