If you’ve been following my journey for awhile, you may have noticed that things don’t always turn out as I hope them to. The raw truth is that after bumping into trial after trial, even when you already feel like you’ve hit the lowest of the low, it’s hard not to see the world around you without thinking you’re a victim. This, I am fully guilty of.
And I’m not talking about the big stuff, like not being able to read the directions for use on the bottle of tanning cream to cover my damaged skin (not working beeteedubs), or the fact that I can’t survive 20 minutes of brisk walking. It’s the person who slams the door on me unknowingly, the unfriendly Grab driver, the glass of orange juice I accidentally spill, that online sale I missed by a day, etc. Somehow, I get really frustrated when dealt the slightest hand of misfortune – totally unintentional and definitely blown out of proportion by me. I don’t know how or exactly when I became this way but I’m hoping to change that because I just can’t waste another puff of my precious breath, or another cell in my nervous system on actions and thoughts that hold me back from a full life.
When I brought this up to a counsellor, she shed light on something I had never considered. That my sickness and its complications brought on me intangible losses, that I never had the chance to grieve over. I was advised to list down my losses and allow myself to cry over them, but making sure that there would be people in my vicinity to talk to if things got overwhelming (not like randoms off the street, but family members or something).
The thought of doing this exercise scares me a little (the same way burpees scare me), because that would mean having to accept the loss of the elements in my life that made up big chunks of my identity. I won’t list them all here but I thought I might share a few major ones that come straight to mind.
My career – After working hard at my Masters degree for 3 years, passing every exam and completing every project, I graduated and was waiting for my official registration as a pharmacist to come through. Then I was sent to the Emergency department and this whole journey began. My registration came in the mail a week later.
My hobbies – As good as the “Just Dance” game is on XBox, it can never replace a fun dance class or a performance with your friends. Dance has played a huge part in my life growing up, it’s continually lifted my confidence (especially during my awkward teenage years) and a lot of my best friends are people I met through dance. Up to this day, whenever a piece of music comes on, I’m doing pirouettes and jetes in my head.
My youth – This might be the hardest one for me. Especially when I’m at the hospital and I don’t see as many patients that are in my age group. They have either gotten married, have grandkids or great grandkids. I’m in no way trivialising the pain and suffering people from these stages of life are facing. They go through just as much, if not more than I have. But this is just my personal journey and I hope I can share my heart with you.
What I mean is that it’s hard to find someone who I can relate to, as a young woman in her 20’s, who hasn’t had the chance to step out into the working world, dive into married life, or to submerge in the authentic joy of having a living being in her womb. When I was first diagnosed, it was as if someone had hit the breaks on my smooth train through life, picked me out of my seat and then placed me on a rough roller coaster ride. Ironically, “Rollercoaster Tycoon” was one of my favourite games growing up. And I now regret torturing the little people in the game (don’t pretend you didn’t do the same!).
Instead of going through the standard stages of life, I’ve had to fast forward to being fed, bathed, and clothed as if I were already living in a nursing home. Not to mention the cataracts, wheelchairs, and bedpans. I never imagined I’d have to put in this much effort into reading, walking, and pooping. It’s especially embarrassing when an older person is striding WAY ahead of you in the mall. These are the years when a woman in her 20’s should be thriving, or at least be on her way to achieving her goals.
. . .
My life had taken a detour, and as much as I’d like to turn back time, or find out if there are different outcomes of my life in a parallel universe (you can tell my fiance has gotten me into Sci-Fi), I want to believe that this alternate journey will bear much more fruit than it would’ve in the life I would’ve had if my bone marrow had not failed. I think to survive, this is my only option. Otherwise the guilt, and the shoulda-woulda-coulda’s would essentially kill any hope I have for a bright future.
So, I choose and I declare goodness and health on the daily; blessings, abundance, and return of what my loved ones and I have lost by a million-fold; and just sheer joy for having another chance at life.
. . .
On that note, I am thrilled to tell you that on this 2nd transplant anniversary, for the very first time since this rare illness familiarised itself with my body, my blood counts are within normal range! All three blood cells have finally defeated the “you must be this tall to ride” sign in the blood test theme park, and can now ride into the sunset together (hehehe). And I’m brought to realisation that the seemingly endless blood transfusions, bone marrow biopsies, bruises, bags of vomit, strands of hair lost, fever episodes, tablets and capsules swallowed, days of patience, screams of desperation, and countless tears shed, did not occur in vain.
If you haven’t already, you might want to meet me at the beginning: https://beebstory.wordpress.com/2016/01/18/first-blog-post/
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