Look closely and see the latest war wound; the puncture mark at my vein or the bruise on my hand, the temporary reminder of my recent battle. Yet time heals and soon the bluish marks will return to milky white and I’ll be right back on track.
If you’ve noticed my lack of blog post this week, then you might be wondering why. I guess the short answer to this question is that the last seven days have been pretty rubbish, and I am just only just about in a place where I feel I can put my fingers to the keys and write something that actually reads, rather than a muddle of nonsensical letters, jumbled up with spaces and line breaks, and generally meaning nothing. My first upset is having the confidence to put my faith into someone, and being let down. I’m not really surprised; I have learnt the hard way that you can only rely on yourself, and if you can’t put faith in yourself then you can’t rely on other people to do the same; to do so would just be foolish. But I felt recently that I was maybe a bit hard; that not everyone will let you down and that you have to have confidence in other people and give them a chance, otherwise you will be lonely and sad, and ultimately alone. So I did, and I’m sad to say that I should have stuck to my old thought process; no matter how much you are prepared to do something differently, if another person remains stuck in their ways despite everything then there is little you can do. It hurts that however much potential you see in someone and they see in you, your environment plays a big key in the way you react to a situation. You might be a fight type of person, but if you are matched with a flight type, a when-the-going-gets-tough-the-tough-gets-going one, then you might as well be a flyer yourself really. Yet I threw myself in and didn’t worry; something that my close friends thought was weird, only to fly smack into the wall. I can’t say I’m really surprised, old habits die hard.
And then I got sick.
So Monday and Tuesday were pretty grim; drips and beeps and hospital gowns and a cacophony of other people milling around you when all you want to do is sleep. It’s funny how going home is all that is in sight, and it’s a feeling that unites you with all the other people there; it doesn’t matter whether you are in the best place for you, all you want to do is kid the doctors and nurses that you are fine and you can leave and be surrounded by everything that you love. But actually I could have done with the distraction, anything to give me a physical reason for my heart feeling heavy, to prove that I was once again tough as nails and totally impenetrable by my surroundings. And it worked. Feeling so ill that you can’t lift your head from the pillow gives you a sense of distraction, and I got mine. I had ECG’s, I had three different kinds of drips, I had swabs, blood taken and was generally poked and prodded for as long as I was there. “But have you had a cough??!” I was asked and I found myself giving up information that I wouldn’t normally “I had one a while ago….” and off I was whisked for a chest x-ray. Fun and games.
In truth, I absolutely hate hospitals. I think anyone with any sort of chronic disease does; you will do anything to not end up there again. You barter with yourself “if I still feel ill in the morning then I will consider it” or “I’ll just give it half an hour and see if the feeling goes away” when ultimately you know that you just need a little additional help. But it feels like you are losing something by admitting it. And it sucks.
So five days later I am back to normal(ish). I’m a stone lighter, a little whiter and slightly less quick on my feet, but soon you won’t even notice I was gone.