They say that living is a choice.
In the world of chronic illness, both are connected on a molecular level within the human systemic form.
“What in the blue hell are you on?!?”
Two years ago I went to my GP for an appointment.
Two years ago I went to find out the extent to which my cellular activity was damaged.
Two years ago I was in a small examination room, alone…and I would shoulder a burden no one should ever have to bear.
Two years ago I was given a timeline. My doctor’s moist eyes imploring me to help her help me because she was afraid that this demon residing in my immune system was unbeatable. She simply had no knowledge of it, and was unsure of who would.
I shouldered that burden for a couple of months. Alone. By choice.
Do I even need to tell anyone? What purpose would it serve? Pity?
Pity is my kryptonite. Don’t give me pity. It pisses me off and makes me feel “disabled” and/or “inadequate.” I am very much neither.
Would it “enable” me to wallow in the fear and pain in my soul caused by the revelation that my kidney damage is more extensive than I’d thought, exacerbated by a heart that wills itself to follow suit?
I don’t wallow. I refuse. I can sure-as-shit moan and groan with the best of the Eeyores…but I will not allow it to spiral out of control. Stubborn, I am.
Determined, I am.
I didn’t get it out the way I’d intended, this secret.
I didn’t tell the people who I felt should know “in the right way.” I didn’t even tell most of my immediate family and…truth be told…it might come as a shock should they be ones who, in fact, follow my blog.
*note: At the recent wedding, no one of my extended family knew I’d had a heart attack this past December…my step-mother was upset I didn’t tell them…”I did,” I said…”I told my Dad. It’s not my choice whether he wanted to actually listen.”
And I simply do not have the time to reserve to explain to the people who I love why I’ve done what I’ve done, the way that I’ve done it.
How many chronically afflicted folk don’t mention their appointments?
How many chronically afflicted folk don’t mention the extent of the aggregate of health issues they currently face?
Since my initial diagnosis, I’ve been faced with a very hard, very difficult situation: Not much has changed to the chaos of my reality.
I became an advocate. I gained strength of virtue. I’d like to think I’ve established a really kick-ass journey of self-improvement.
But…I still do far too much with far too little having far too many physical limitations about which I simply never let on.
I still have to live. And be productive. And remember homework and projects and to sign agendas…and heal from caring for a substance abusing son and a son who wanted time to live with his dad…and I have a job.
I don’t like living this life any more than anyone else would.
But…it’s a choice. Truly. I struggle with the fact that I will be 39 years old next month and I feel the need to find #gladitude in order to make such a challenging existence even remotely worthwhile.
“Throw this Momma a bone, Cosmos, cuz I have to get outta bed in the morn’…”
I struggle to imagine life with this level of continual pain any further past the timeline I was given.
Two years out of…………………..
I guess my purpose is to remind people that attitude is going to be necessary to breach the shadows that threaten your sanity…and that it is a choice. YOUR choice.
You can blame the cosmos or your mother or your Grade 4 teacher, but the truth is…you need to own your shit and come to an understanding that it will be hard work, that, no, it’s not f*king fair and that you can have a life regardless of pain because…..
…life is like a box of chocolates…
…and I plan to eat all the good ones first…
…because you never know how much time you’re going to get.
Timeline Challenge: [Accepted]