So – I finally had a moment with my sister on the weekend and she is the first person I have physically told that I’m out of remissions. I text my best friend and, well Stocker was there. I think I’ve had problems with getting it out of my mouth. I think I’ve had problems because people just don’t know how to react and to be 100% honest I don’t know how to react to some of the reactions.
We shared the moment during an amusing discussion about random health issues – something only someone in a similar situation would understand. We sat there at Bam Bam Bakehouse on Sunday enjoying the sunshine and exchanged stories. While I’ll not be repeating her side, I have no issues telling mine.
I’m on the crux of starting a new fitness plan – I really want to get my ablation out of the way first because all the starting and stopping is really problematic for my head. Anyway, we have fitness to consider and also money – we’re out of money and technically I’m already planning a second trip next year, back to the states. So we’ve returned to our culinary ways – trying to make meals and money stretch. I think I’ve spoken before about my very ordinary remuneration situation at work which has actually lead from being on a decent wage to being very much behind the 8-ball over the last 7 years. I’m not going to get into the reason I stayed again – this is a different story.
We have found – through some trial and error, that Chicken Schnitzels and Veggies are one of the cheapest per plate meals we can make – so that was the decision. We normally make between 6-8 portions out of a total cost of about $40. Last Monday – Stocker got into making these Schnitzels freshly purchased from his new butcher at Helensvale just hours before. We sat, we had dinner and it was fine… until an hour later…. at the time, I didn’t know what it was. I assumed because of my new “out of remission” status it was flare up – we’re not so sure now. I spend the next 5 hours in the bathroom – it was painful and nasty and all to familiar, really. At about 2am – it subsided I reluctantly fell asleep a few hours later. Naturally I was NOT feeling like attending my work place the next morning – but with the procedure on my heart coming, I knew I had to. I got up with about 20 minutes to get ready and out the door – I was groggy and exhausted. At the time I didn’t notice my symptoms from the night before starting to resettle… I didn’t have time to notice. Instead I ran out the door, got in my car and sped down the street. It wasn’t until I got to exit of our estate I realised the mistake I’d made… I was actually pretty close to agony – but for all my rushing I didn’t realise. That was the minute I had to make a big decision – trust that it would subside or head home to the safety of our bathroom. I looked at the clock and not being able to stand another lecture about being late (regardless of my health) I pushed on… This decision resulted in one of the most painful and terrifying 30 minutes of my life. The pain ebbed and peaked – but the urgency never did. I had the aircon on a crisp winters day turned to 4 and pointed it right at my clammy face… I thought to myself “I’m going to make it – it’s only 20 minutes from here” right before rounding the corner and being stuck for 8 minutes at the first lot of roadworks I encountered that day… after that pretty much everything that could go wrong, went wrong. I was stuck behind ever slow car, there was a traffic jam at the Robina exit and I caught every single red light. By the time I made it to the Robina traffic jam – I had run through all 5 stages of acceptance and I was there. I WAS going to have an accident in my car resulting in my calmly turning around and staying home for the rest of the day to clean up… I wasn’t horrified at the notion anymore… I was somewhat at peace with it…
By some miracle – I made it all the way to work. I threw my car in the first spot I had access to and ran inside with my belongings flinging across the room as I went… Of course to add insult to injury… the ladies toilet was occupied… I didn’t even have time to bang on the door or plead my case… I instinctively braved the mens toilet (which was the sight of horrors that I still can’t bring myself to recount). I remained there for some 40 minutes not even slightly caring about the abuse I was copping through the door. When I emerged I said nothing… I was white and felt like I’d just ran a marathon… I shrivelled into my chair knowing that I had to soon tip a coffee in on top of what was obviously a very unhappy body or brave a caffeine headache on top of everything else… I did get the occasional question about being sick, followed by being told I should go home… It still amazes me that people can’t grasp that this is my normal. It’s painful and totally humiliating but this is how I get from one day to the next.
The remainder of my day was marked with oh, about another 15 trips to the bathroom and just quiet reflection on what I believed was my symptoms returning.
As the week progressed we started to think that it wasn’t in fact my disease rearing it’s ugly head – but perhaps my body just not tolerating chicken we’ve come to believe was old or off. Stocker suffered through several bouts of stomach issues – but was determined not to throw out the remaining meals and waste the dinners… I think it was taking the whole “saving money” thing to the extremes but, hey. Totally his decision.
At the conclusion of my story my sister just laughed and said “your the only person I can share stories like this with – because your the only one who gets it”. While I doubt I’m the ONLY one – it is rare that people can retell a story like this finding the humorous side or listen to it understanding it’s not to illicit sympathy – just simply to recount an experience along the road.
We don’t know where my health is at the moment – and probably wont have a good idea for some time yet. It’s hard, I’m in this weird place where every time I have an itch my head instantly goes to “well that must be a symptom”. It makes it almost impossible to tell if I am having any which makes it very difficult at reviews to tell doctors how I’ve been. I mean – seriously, what’s normal?