Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Enough is Enough is Enough
When I go to the doctor’s, I always bring along my trusty little journal. All of the medications I’m on, the tests I’ve had, and the names of the doctors I call my own are scribbled down in my incoherent cursive writing. It’s so helpful to have everything written down and be able to reference things, but I think of the journal more as my ‘Yes-we-will-be-equal-partners-in-this-decision-today-thank-you-very-much’ cue to whoever I’m seeing on that particular day.
I’ve had it up to my ceiling with these past few months. I’m only almost a year and a half out of my surgery and I’ve had too many obstructions to count; recap of Jennie’s summer - blockage every 4 weeks, every 3 weeks, every 2 weeks, every week... you get the idea, hence my chronic state of life at the moment. I’ve stayed in school and kept on top of work and done my very best to honor my commitments and see my friends and have my life. But who am I kidding? This isn’t the one that I want to be living, I want certainty and I want my body back.
But enough is so enough. I have a chronic disease, and no matter how much I blog or talk about it, sometimes I’ll wake up and before I remember where I am or even perhaps who I am, I think, is this really my life? Do I really have a chronic illness and an ostomy? Is this really what I have to fight each day? And we all know the answer is yes, but sometimes that doesn’t make it any easier to face my reflection in the morning and try to carry on in spite of the hand I’ve been dealt. It’s perfectly fine and good and necessary to get upset and cry - i.e. my last GI appointment when I cried for 3 hours followed by breaking down in the middle of the pharmacy - but here is my pledge to myself, I am going to do my best to put my chin up and move forward and get what I want out of my life.
I recently heard this quote: “In life, you don’t get what you deserve. You get what you negotiate.” And at first I was like, Wait a moment... but when I thought about it, it made a lot of sense. To me, it says that if I want my life, then I have to fight for it, want it so badly that I can taste it, and make sure that I’m heard. That’s a tall order to ensure I’m listened to by doctors who are decades older and who think they have me all figured out. But unfortunately, I’m the only one who knows what it’s like to be in this body of mine.
I heard another quote recently, “What’s the difference between school and life? School teaches you a lesson then gives you a test. Life gives you a test then teaches you a lesson.” So onward and upward, the battle continues. My armor is chipped and the paint may be peeling, but maybe that makes it all the more beautiful.