Happy Holidays, to the me I miss.
Written by: Amanda Henderson, December 3, 2016
As I snuggle up and become more comfortable with the latest version of me, stroke survivor and ever-changing symptom lady, I reflect upon the person I once was, a shadow of my former self. I'm certain any chronic crony would agree that there are unmistakeable mile markers in becoming more ill day by day, inch by inch, that tend to bring 'what used to be' right back to the surface. I've accepted it as part of the vicious circle of chronic life, but I wish it were something that were better understood by those outside the chronic spectrum.
It's not a fantastic club to be in. I've met wonderful chronically ill people online, and we do our best to pull each other through the good and not-so-good times each day. It's not a way of life we chose and don't always find divine understanding and intervention from each other at every turn (though we struggle hard to try). While, we wouldn't desire it for anyone else, and we can have such vast differences in how we are effected by our symptoms, being invisibly ill can be so very isolating despite our best efforts to reach out. Many of us have close friends or family who try to understand and cheer us on, yet several of us fully rely on each other for the vindication of always being in some state of unhealthiness.
Diagnoses, no matter how long and how hard we've fought to find them, are not always good news of ultimate understanding. Usually, it adds to the long lists of issues we've known and struggled with for so very long- the only real difference is, it now has a name. We've also become accustomed to the guessing game that ensues from new discoveries. Generally, there is not a specific answer for anything on our list of symptoms, and each cure we try can either better our state of being or bring new symptoms. There is also so much cost involved- time, energy, and money to scratch the surface. Included is a myriad of emotions ranging from relief to confusion as each piece of the puzzle is put into place. To assume I should be happy or enthused about the enigma that is me becoming ever clearer is to assume that I don't have loads of disappointments packed in my arsenal from countless run-ins with the ups and downs of chronic life discoveries.
Finally, there is the past me- the person I often miss when I'm faced with rough days of doctor appointments, being a guinea pig for new or different treatments, and missing out completely on the life I once knew. I had a career, a clean and smartly decorated house, home cooked dinners at the kitchen table with the kiddos, lots of family gatherings, shopping in a store instead of online, vacations (with my hubby, with his kids, with family), holiday traditions, and a clear and vastly creative mind. I also have many regrets of putting off things I really wanted to do, thinking I'd have plenty of time to do them. We'd planned on having our own kids- a lifetime dream of mine. We'd wanted to keep moving onward and up in the world, as is the dream of many Americans, and it seemed to be within our grasp. Instead, the old me is a person who once existed, a character I sometimes miss. I don't consider myself weak for remembering her since I really enjoyed her. As time passes, I do my best to fill the void with new dreams, and to be happy with what I have. I consider myself lucky to be able to do what I am capable of, and I am a person of faith which has the added bonus of helping me through this. Always keep in mind, behind every invisibly ill mask is a person who once was, and will probably always be, a shadow in spite of the new self.
