What Good is Suffering if I Can't Write About It?

I have been sick lately and I don't do sick well. Actually ill, not just a cold or sinus infection. I have been undergoing medical treatment for a condition I have. The treatment was said to have "mild side effects." Nights of insomnia, days of vertigo, sometimes I see dark critters move out of the corner of my eye, and then the pain. Legs broke out in nodules and bruises, and my ankles and knees swell up with bright red bruises and the arthritic pain in the hips, knees, and ankles. In the mornings, it's worse. I crawled along grabbing walls trying to get my broken body to the bathroom. I no longer enjoyed waking up. I cried every night, unsure how I would make it through another day. This is still happening. I finally decided to take time off work after my primary care doctor found nodules in my lungs. Another side effect? Probably. Probably an autoimmune disorder brought on by the medical treatment. I should know tomorrow. Or maybe it's from smoking. I quit May 5th of this year. A friend of mine commented that I am like a House episode. Except my doctor picked up on autoimmune by the second visit and I'd bet money he is right and didn't need Vicodin, a cute assistant with an Australian accent, or Neil from The Dead's Poet Society to help him with the diagnosis.

My mind is toxic. Self pity? You betcha. I am now realizing how miserable I have been for over a month. I can't believe I worked as long as I did. I hobbled in and felt like I would collapse at any moment. I'd whine about the pain or stay busy and mentally scream and wonder how I was going to take one more step let alone make it through the rest of my shift. I had a coworker say horrible things about me being sick. Some people don't do well with sick people. I don't. I'd probably be all freaked out by it, too. I wouldn't talk bad about the person but I would definitely wonder why they weren't staying in bed.  I have cried and cried to my boyfriend, mom, and best friend. I cried and felt crazy when the treatment doctors dismissed my side effects and said it wasn't side effects. I am very happy my primary care doctor listened. My body freaked out and I am sure it occurring during the medical treatment isn't just a coincidence.  My mind is spinning. I worry about the nodules on my lungs. I worry about my job and coworkers. I worry I have driven everyone mad with my pain and my inability to see beyond it most of the time.

So what's the solution? Persevere. I am not stoic. I see that. Anyone in close proximity to me sees it. I may scream, cry, and limp my way through this. The room may spin out on me and my breath may be shallow and leave me for a moment. I may send my best friend 100 plus text messages a day all about me and have moments of guilt for not being there for her right now. Every night at 9:30 I may be convinced that I am dying and cry hysterically. But I will persevere with hope and faith that all this is temporary and I will recover and be better than ever. And not just my body but my mind, too. I will no longer be freaked out by sick people. I will let them cry to me. I will listen to their concerns. I will run my fingers through their hair and give them the best seat in the house. When 9:30 hits, I will hold their hands and tell them that they absolutely are not dying. I will tell them how I got through it and that it wasn't pretty. When someone gossips about them at work, I will stand up for them. At their doctor's appointments, I will be their advocate. Their bodies will rest while they receive the reiki I scheduled for them (Thanks, Sis).  I will do for them what all my dear dear friends and loved ones are doing for me. 

Finally, I have been keeping a journal and it is full of daily lists of side effects, spiritual reflections--on one page I praise Jesus and touch the hem of His garment, on the next I rip out my hair and ask God why He is punishing me (that's the scary God of my Southern Baptist childhood), I dig up stories from my past, and mostly my words rattle down the page in pure lunacy. Once this is all over and I am completely healed (I am owning it--I will be healed), I want to do a CNF piece about this whole ordeal. I mean seriously, what good is suffering if I can't write about it?

This Wednesday is my birthday. I haven't been excited. In fact, I have been dreading it. My thoughts have been dark and hopeless. I didn't want to celebrate my 36th birthday in arthritic pain and swollen limbs. I am too young to feel this way...weeks ago I was running miles everyday! There it is--a few weeks ago I dreaded my birthday because I was getting old. Hell, I will be the age of Charlotte on her Luck be an Old Lady birthday at Atlantic City! Yet, wait, I am too young to be this ill. I realize I am young. Maybe not 23 young but sheesh, I don't want to be me at 23. I don't think my maturity level is anywhere near 36 anyways. So that's the bright side, I suddenly feel young. I suddenly want to live life and spend time with friends and family and go on big adventures. And write. I am ready to resume my life.