Living with a chronic illness is hard. Living with a body that hurts is hard. This is hard, and what I am writing about below is a small component of what makes it hard.
|Taken on a beautiful drive right outside of the North Carolina |
mountains while I went to visit my wonderful grandparents a
couple of weekends ago.
Over the past few weeks, I have been overwhelmed by appointments and treatments and medical recommendations that will drastically alter my already limited lifestyle and decisions that need to be made. I have ached unbearably from medications and treatments that are tough on my body and from an illness that is even tougher. I have wondered if my body will ever allow me to do as much as I want to do, or even just as much as a healthy person can do. This question has resulted in a bit of heartbreak, considering that my somewhat tumultuous medical history points to the answer “probably not.” I am worried about what that answer will mean for my career, for my friendships, for my faith, and for the years ahead. How do I think about a career when my body is unreliable? How will I sustain friendships when my health is a hot mess? What is the appropriate way to relate to God when everything hurts? How do I plan for the future when I am not certain what state my body will be in tomorrow?
I have not been able to do as much as I want to. I have not been able to work as many hours as I want to, and I have not been able to love people as well as I want to, and I have not responded to as many emails as I want to, and I have not filled up my schedule as much as I want to. I have not been a very good friend or daughter or sister or church member or even puppy snuggler. I have cried to my mom, feeling like a failure, too many times. I want to feel whole and capable again. I feel like a reduced, weakened, and unimpressive version of me.
When my mom casually mentioned a few nights ago that she was proud of me, and that I was doing a good job and doing a lot, I burst into tears. I am a bit weepy these days, especially when my pain levels are high. When a Target employee complimented my eyeliner, I sarcastically joked that it was the only thing that I had done well that day, but my sarcasm was rooted in trying to be funny rather than in disbelieving my own words. My self-esteem is not thriving, but overall I am still doing okay. I have spent healing time laughing in the car with my friends, bonding with strangers in the grocery store, celebrating with people I care about, watching Queer Eye, and listening to people I love tell the very best of stories.
|Our little dog, Lexi, who I do not feature enough on this blog|
Chronic illness is not all IVs, MRI machines, X-rays, appointments, injections, and physical pain, although all of those things can certainly be a part of it. The pain of knowing that you would be a different person without so much pain is present as well. Thank you for listening to this part of it today. Thank you for trying to understand. If you do not have to imagine your life with constant physical pain, if this life is already your reality, then thank you so much for being here.
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