Seventeen days ago, I got sick
with a virus. The sudden intensity of how hard and fast the virus hit me apparently gave some kind of nasty wallop to my autoimmune
system and my previously happy thyroid. In these past 17 days, I have been hospitalized for
nearly a week, readmitted to the hospital for another 24 hours, and
have spent the rest of the time in my pajamas, trying to both get my
job done (my boss
has been AMAZINGLY WONDERFUL about letting me work from home) and
mother my children, plus be some kind of wife/friend to poor Jon, who
has been stuck doing everything I cannot do (which is a lot when you
are talking about 4 kids, 3 dogs, a giant old house, and - yes, believe it or not - his own paid employment at which he's actually expected to appear on time each day and do good work. )
Even after all the CAT scans and blood tests and spinal taps and MRIs, the
docs still can't tell me exactly what the virus was that did this to
me. All I can tell you is that right now, I feel like I was hit by a
Mack Truck and I am trying to recover. The last doctor I spoke to
(during my hospital readmittance late last week) said he strongly
suspects H1N1, but we will simply never know for sure. Whatever it was,
it has given me a really excellent reminder of what it means to be
humbled in the face of something bigger and more powerful than I am.
You
see, I am used to being in control, on top of things, busy and very
productive. And ever since this illness hit, I have been unable to be
any of those things at even close to the level I am used to. I remain
absolutely exhausted - bone tired in a way I cannot even adequately put
into words. Getting dressed wears me out. Standing up for periods
longer than 10-15 minutes wears me out. I am able to sit in a chair at
home and work - phone and computer at hand - but even that still kind
of wears me out. At this point, I have not yet returned to my actual
office. I had hoped to do that today, really hoped to, but there is
simply no way I was up to it today.
Frightened is the way this whole thing has made me feel. I am not
in control. I am not driving this bus. It does not matter how much E
needs me to take him shoe shopping this evening (and he REALLY does), I
have no $$#&%ing idea how I will pull that off, as the idea of
going to a store and buying something (which I did one time since this
all started - a trip to Target last week - made me need to lie down for
4 hours afterward) sounds a bit like trying to climb Mt Everest.
Tomorrow I will start partial work days in the office. In
fact, tomorrrow I have an actual work-related presentation to do - to a group - and
I had really been looking forward to it, so I am trying to draw on that
previous enthusiasm to gather the energy to do the good job I want to
do. Again, I can't tell you how
much it means and has meant to me that my employer is being so
understanding. This removes a huge, huge stress from me and from Jon. I
know that not all employers are so kind about letting employees ease
back in to work after an accident or serious illness, and I am truly
grateful.
But honestly this whole thing of being "sick" with some sort of non-specific
viral/autoimmune something for 17 days now is beginning to feel, well,
embarrassing. People have been SO nice (I can't even begin to express my gratitude. I get teary just thinking about it) about bringing us meals, and helping in other ways, but at this point are people seceretly starting to think I am kind of faking? Being a drama queen? Milking
the situation in some way so that I can continue to be treated
"special." Abusing my body in some way that is causing me to be so
unwell? These are the worries that plague me at the moment. I hate
feeling like people are maybe thinking I am drawing this thing out. I
mean, come ON, who is sick for 17 days with something no one can
actually put a name to? That sounds kind of suspect, dontcha think?
Mostly, I just want my body back. My energy back. My life back.
I want to be in my office, brainstorming with my coworkers and having
lunches with clients. I want to take my kids to the zoo. I want to fix
a real meal for my family without feeling like I have to sit down every
three minutes. Heck, I'd even happily take back the- far-more-than-10-pounds
I've shed since this all began if I could just be myself again.
One
smart friend reminds me to surrender. This is bigger than I am. More
powerful. The fact that no doctor can give it a simple name, like
"meningitis" or "snakebite" or "she was run down by a a recycling truck
while crossing Cumberland Avenue" makes it even more important to
surrender, she says. The fact that the specifics are somewhat
unknowable gives it greater power.
And maybe she's
right. Maybe I need to be more forgiving of myself, because right now I
am feeling like this is somehow my fault, and that there is some
magical SOMETHING I could be doing right now to make the recovery go
faster. To regain my strength more quickly. To get back to where I was
before this began so suddenly one evening just 17 days ago (it seems
like an eternity at this point).
I will be well again. I don't know if that will be next week or next month, but I will. The thing I am realizing though, is that I don't get to decide when. I want what I want when I want it... I want to
drive the bus. My bus, in particular. But apparently, that isn't how this life thing works.
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