I suppose that's what I've done, isn't it? I've collapsed under the weight of all the strange things my body is experiencing. I'm no wimp. This year will be my 9th on dialysis, and when I look back over those years, the starting dialysis year is like a little hiccup now. It seemed so monumental in 2013, but really it was just a new thing, and new things take time. I'm happy to report my dialysis is still working well and I am still hopeful about transplant in the future (still saving and looking for the right time). COVID slowed things down a lot for everyone, and I wonder at times if I would be as sick as I am now if all our hospitals and doctors weren't so overwhelmed with COVID patients and precautions.
Without too much detail, I'll tell you that I started getting sick in April. At first I was having skin issues and saw a plethora of doctors, none of whom helped. Over the past couple of months I've developed a foreign object sensation in my throat and nasal area. Doctors have, for the most part, dismissed my concerns and sent me away with no help at all. I finally broke down after 7 months of battling this on my own and called Hannah in melt-down-mode from work one day. She and the rest of my family have been very kind and helpful to me through this, but I don't think they even see how miserable I am.
Miserable. It's one of those words that people throw around a lot, so it loses its meaning somewhere in the tossing of it from one to the other. Miserable is a word that pops into my head almost as soon as I wake up in the morning. Miserable, as I lay down at night. Miserable as I survey the mess in my house that I have no energy or inclination to clean. Miserable, as my 15 year old, for the 500th time "forgets" that the trash has to go to the curb on Thursdays, or when he acts like he didn't understand that the kitchen trash was supposed to go out too. Miserable, because literally no one I've spoken to throughout the duration of this strange illness has any degree of understanding of how it feels to BE so miserable.
They say misery loves company because we want someone to complain with, right?
I think they got it all wrong. Misery loves empathy. Misery loves thoughtfulness. Misery loves knowing someone cares and at least WANTS to understand. Misery loves having a good friend or a kid, or even a dog to cuddle up with on its worst days and just forget all the miserable things for a while. Misery loves sleep. Misery loves anything that relieves any of the suffering--any of it at all.
I hereby declare that I am Miserable. I am alone. I don't think I'm getting better this time.
