Today I read a blogpost by Priscilla Gilman that hit home. I feel pretty exhausted today, which may explain why I cried, but it’s not just that. The same thing happened when I read Michael Nobbs’ Beany (#1, 2 and 3). On page 13 of #1 Michael writes about that story with the frog in cold water, slowly heating it up so the frog doesn’t notice it gets boiled alive. I had used the same example only days before, and he then wrote about his life getting smaller and smaller. I cried there too.
I’ve been ill for much longer than I’ve had my diagnosis. About two years ago I got the rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis. A little over a year ago I learned about my genetic defect, resulting in the removal of my stomach. Six months ago, after they took it out, I learned I already had cancer in my stomach (I had it taken out as a prevention, damnit). Yesterday I learned that my terrible attacks of pain in my big toes probably mean I also have gout. Tomorrow my doctor will call me with some bloodtest-results, because I just keep feeling so bad. The never ending fatigue has to come from somewhere, as does the hairloss, the flaky skin, the fuzzy head, the insomnia. Most easily shove it towards ‘stress’ or ‘mental issues’, but I don’t buy that.
Most days I feel I’m running on sheer willpower, not human energy.
And it’s getting harder to summon up that will.
And people keep on telling me I look great…