When Alex was younger, we used to use the “arm test” to tell whether he was really asleep, or still just on his way to dreamland. While he was lying on the sofa, or in our laps, we would lift up one of his arms, and then let go. If he was no longer conscious enough to pull his arm away, so that it would just flop limply to his side, we’d say that he had “failed the arm test.” That was generally the point where we considered it was safe enough to move him up to bed without disturbing his sleep.
I’ve been failing the arm test a lot myself lately. While awake.
Even now, two weeks after I first became ill, small amounts of effort still exhaust me. I took Alex into town for a few hours yesterday late afternoon. We did a little bit of walking around, but mostly we sat around on the High Street and watched the street performers. (Festval time–the city is abuzz.) I then came back and slept for twelve hours.
Today, the three of us went into town just before mid-day. We walked around for a little bit, then took a bus back by three o’clock. I collapsed into bed and had to sleep for an hour. When I woke up I felt thick in the head, dizzy, and nauseous.
The humorous cliché to use would be that I’m getting sick and tired of being sick and tired. But that doesn’t actually feel terribly funny right now.
I hate feeling like this. I want to be better.