‘You are a very strong and brave person‘.
I hear that a lot. Always have done. It’s not something I have been able to acknowledge about myself however for a very long time. That insight has only come in recent months. Looking back on what I have dealt with and achieved, it is amazing I have not run away from many things and situations. I have lived all over the world. I know that sounds exotic, but it has in actual fact only been Germany, America and the UK. But cramming those semi-permanent excursions into a mere 32 years of life is phenomenal. It opens your vision, broadens your horizon in a way a mere holiday for a few weeks never can. I trained in a foreign language (ok, granted, I have been bi-lingual for as long as I can remember so technically English is not a foreign language to me). I have had a child who I chose to raise as a single parent, I have moved countries with him (and am still in the process of cementing that life for me). I have been dealing with a rare genetic disease for the last 10 years, having me hospitalised umpteenth times.
If it weren’t for the characteristics of being strong (and brave), I am sure I would have not achieved, or been able to cope with half of what I am dealing with. Yes, I am strong and brave and determined (and a bit loopy in the head sometimes 😉 ) and I am not afraid to say it anymore. But even strong people have their weak moments as much as we hate to admit it.
I loath crying in front of people. Ironic isn’t it that, even though it is something that I would actually classify as being one of my pet-hates, in those moments I do wish to have arms around me. I reached my half-way point with my stent on Tuesday. I have taken off the strong pain medication one by one and am almost down to solely paracetamol. I guess chemically you could argue that my body is only reacting to the withdrawl of the strong stuff now. And I guess that does play into it, but I think only to a small degree.
I had a low these last few days. It just all got on top of me, having this plastic stuck in my throat and the caughing and mucus and all that goes with it. I was in and out of tears for a good part of Tuesday. Not sobbing, but I wasn’t really all that able to hold it together. My first delight was my friend and also ISS buddy was admitted to hospital for a minor ‘tidy-up’ procedure. I know, I know it is such a horrible way to describe it considering she was again undergoing a general anaesthetic and all. But very thankfully for her it was only a very minor procedure and she was allowed to leave the very next day. But we were both delighted to be on the same ward together. It was roles reversed this time. She was the one doing all the talking and I was the one doing all the writing. I was also very happy to actually be able to hear her the next morning across this huge room. It makes me hopeful that my voice won’t be too affected after this.
To add to all of the strife, I have also developed a relationship with temperatures ranging between 37.5-38.5 degrees. The doctors are on the hunt for the culprits which are to blame for this, though it could just as well be my body striking and saying ‘oi, I have had more than enough now, back off‘. Be that as it may, it is not exactly adding to my positivity. It makes me just want to be at home and wish time away.
Not a day has gone by without visitors, which I find is a wonderful thing. I am very grateful for that. I am even more grateful I have had people I trust enough to allow my loathed dam to break. And for me it is soothing to know there is a pair of arms to wrap themselves around me, or a shoulder I can soak with my stream of tears.
And now it is the weekend, and I have another 4 days to go until surgery number 2. And believe you me, I am counting. With tea, biscuits and a hug.