Expecting Death

i realize this sounds pretty morbid, but bear with me; just some thoughts and feelings i recently discovered and how they've changed my thinking. i have been diagnosed with fibromyalgia - unfortunately, i'm pretty sure fibromyalgia (literally "soft tissue pain") is just a fancy word for "there's something really seriously wrong with you, but since we're not sure what it is, we're going to lump you into this category and just try treating your symptoms." there are several symptoms - a few are recent additions - that don't fit into the fibro category, so once i have insurance again, i'm sure there'll be more testing in my future.

it wasn't until very recently - maybe the last few weeks or so - that i realized something: for a while there, i was completely resigned to having a terminal illness. all those months of pain and fatigue and fuzzy mindedness and sleepless nights and pain... it was clear that there was something very wrong with me. and if you were one of the few people who actually saw me during this time period, you probably agree that i looked seriously ill. and i don't mean "oh you must have a bad flu" kind of ill... i mean "at death's door" kind of bad. i hobbled around like an 87 year old woman (and that's not even an exaggeration. both my grandmothers, one of whom is in her 90's, move around better than i do at times), i often had crippling pain in my hands and fingers, and i went through some scary lack of mental abilities (for example, i wouldn't be able to recall my own address, which i've had for over 2 years). even now, though i am somewhat better, i have to apply makeup in the full-kabuki fashion in order to look normal - otherwise i make people uncomfortable. (true story: rob and i went to chili's a month or so ago, and since i hadn't planned on going out in public - i had only intended to hang out at his house - i had no makeup on and my hair was pulled back. our waiter, after one initial glance, would not meet my eyes the entire meal. he would ask if i needed anything and bring me water when i needed it, but his eyes would sort of glance off to the side instead of staying on me. he talked to rob normally, but not to me. and that's hardly an isolated incident; in my natural, non-cosmetic state, i apparently now strike a "there's something really wrong, like cancer wrong, with her" chord in people which, understandably, makes them uneasy.)

it went beyond what i looked and felt like, though... the worst part was the medical staff. all the doctors and specialists i saw all greeted me normally - and then they looked at my vital signs, my blood test, whatever it was in that chart in their hand. they would examine me, look back through the chart, and then a sort of change happened. it was something in their face, a slight gathering of tension, and their voice would become a little kinder. their eyes would take on a wary cast and they would have to take a deep breath before giving me the verdict. and the verdict was always the same: more tests to be run, more blood to be taken so that we would "know for sure." i'd ask what the next batch of tests was for and was given the same answer pretty much every time. they'd list all the extreme probabilities - lupus, cancer, brain or nervous system tumors, etc. - and tell me if that came out negative, we would do some more testing for more benign things. "it's just to rule them out," they'd invariably say, "just so you won't have to worry." but i could see it in their eyes (and, well, i am an empath... it was just there). they wanted to test for the worst case scenario because that's what they expected it to be. and they didn't want to waste time looking for the minor things when we could use that time to treat the illness, whatever it was.

slowly these reactions - without me ever consciously thinking about it - settled into my head and took root. it was a slow process... i couldn't even tell you when that idea became part of my everyday life. but it changed, just as slowly and unobtrusively, my outlook on a lot of things - and life in general. i can't be bothered about little stupid things anymore. pride rarely gets in the way of anything anymore. i know my body's limitations, and however much i may hate it, i have to be realistic. i have to ask for help. i have to back out of things i really want to do. i can't deal with other people's stress that has nothing to do with me. i have to be honest about it. i can no longer hold onto grudges or misunderstandings. i can't expect people to speak up first. i can't hold back or sugar-coat my thoughts and needs because i think someone might need that. i'm not even stressing overmuch about my current (precarious) job-and-rent situation. life is just too short not to enjoy it - and apparently i needed to assume i was dying to remember that.