A few weeks ago, I was talking about some of my symptoms with St. Lisa, my therapist, and explained that there's not much I can do to fix them, so I have to tolerate and manage them as best I can. St. Lisa told me she thought that I was being very brave. I immediately resisted the compliment. Brave? I am not brave. "Brave" is the fireman who rushes into the flames to save a child. "Brave" is the protester fighting injustice and risking arrest, or worse. "Brave" is the knight riding into battle. I think of bravery as almost a precursor to martyrdom - bravery, in all of the stories I've read, means willing to risk yourself for another, or for the greater good. Maybe I used to be a little brave, from time to time. But now I've become so chronically ill and it takes everything I have just to get through a day. I have become too small to be brave. St. Lisa also asked me how often I am afraid. I responded that I was hardly ever afraid - that I just have to do what I am doing, and that I am doing my best. I said I'm sometimes afraid about how my mobility will be impacted when I'm older, but that's about it. ...but the more I consider it, the more I know that that isn't true. This past week, I had a consultation with a highly-specialized, super-fancy gynecologic surgeon. As far as I can tell, this woman is basically Dr. Strange in green scrubs and a sensible ponytail, going around and healing female reproductive organs like a goddamn sorceress. She was attentive, listening to my description of my symptoms closely. She was thorough when describing how she wants to proceed, and how she thinks I may have problems other than just endometriosis. She was confident, explaining that she believes she can effectively excise all my endometriosis lesions, and fix or manage the other issues I may have either surgically or with medications. She was ready to make my pelvic pain her bitch, and crush it under the heel of her very practical shoes. She is, in a word, awesome. ...and I am terrified. I do not want to go to the hospital on New Year's Eve for an intensive test where they'll put me under conscious sedation. I do not want to go to the follow-up appointment after the test with Dr. Lady-Strange to make a surgery plan. I do not want to have an IV put into me so they can put me under for surgery. I do not want to wake up after surgery bleeding, with three new incisions in my stomach and no idea where I am. I do not want to sit at home by myself during recovery, crying quietly, but trying to act sunshiney and for fuck's sake clean this place up just a little bit before Tallboy, my husband, comes home. I do not want to go to the post op appointment a week later and hear my new diagnoses. I do not want to go to pelvic floor physical therapy for a month or two afterwards. I do not want to go through all of this again, and have it all turn out to not have any impact on my symptoms at all, like after my last surgery. I've been lying awake in bed late into the night, curled up, frightened of what will happen to me. Everything seems so out of my control. Everything hurts. I am afraid. I am afraid of needles. I am afraid of pain. I am afraid that every new treatment I try won't work, or will give me horrible side effects, or will somehow damage me even worse, permanently. I am afraid that my friends and Tallboy will get sick of me and leave. I am afraid that the hormonal acne from the IUD I have to have to stop my endometriosis from growing more makes me ugly. I am afraid to leave the house, in case a horrible pain flare strikes. I am afraid to be put under, in case I never wake up. I am afraid to wake up, in case I have to live through another day of horrible pain. I want the ride to stop. I want to get off. I want to hide in my bed for the rest of my life, never setting my feet on the floor ever again. ...but every morning, I eventually put my feet on the floor, and try to make it through the day. Which has me thinking that St. Lisa is onto something. Because if bravery is doing what you have to, even when you're frightened, than maybe it doesn't matter that I'm not saving some innocent child, or saving the entire world. Maybe right now, my bravery can only save myself. Maybe, right now, saving myself is enough.
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Grace Daly
I'm young, hot, and have multiple chronic illnesses. Come with me on this magical fucking journey. Archives
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