I think I've scared just about everybody who knows me, who has ever met me, who is related to anyone who knows me, who knows someone who has ever met me at a party/family barbeque/crawfish boil. Basically, if you and I are related by six degrees or less, you probably heard that I had a "serious" illness and was getting blood tests to see what was wrong with me. I also haven't told anyone except Tim about the results because I truly hate talking about it. I feel absolutely disgusting and I feel absolutely disgusting trying to describe my symptoms. As it turns out, using the most vague and euphemistic terms only prompts people to pry further. I know it's because they care, but the last thing you need when your insides are grossing out is to be grossed out by every social conversation you have.
To kill the suspense, I'm fine. No virus, no bacterial infection, no third world parasite eating its way through my small intestine (that I know of). Which is great, except that you must then consider why I did get sick. Without a physical reason, one must turn to a host of psychological factors that cause, or at least amplify, a bodily illness as severe and unpleasant as I faced. Certainly, I have not adjusted to life here , whether it be the unchallenging 40-hour a week job, a miserable climate, a crowded big city, or being so far from friends and family. It's scary to think that my ball of stress, the ache in the pit of my stomach that I constantly feel, is so physically potent to knock me out of work for a week. In comparison, an Indian überbug that a doctor can treat sounds like a dream.
(This entire passage is written by Tim, and is--in his words--a "summary of the things that have been dictated to him over the past two weeks." I think his offer to write my blog entry came partly from the overwhelming number of people who have asked me to update, and partly because he understands my sincere and extreme desire not to talk about this sickness anymore. The long and short of it is, I have been ill for a number of weeks and all of it culminated in me becoming EXTREMELY sick for a few scary days. No, I won't tell you the details [as much as you know I usually LOVE to give all the bloody plot-twists]. No, I don't really feel better. No, I don't know what's wrong with me. I suspect it has a lot to do with all of the things that Tim so carefully tried to express in my voice in the passage above.
Thank you everyone who has been concerned. Honestly I think it's the fact that I have to tell everyone I love about these things over the phone, or through e-mail instead of face-to-face that's just making me a little crazy and heart sick. I can't wait to get out of this stupid city.)
I'm sorry so aren't well :( Mrs. Holland and I brought as much kick-ass-ness to Homecoming as possible, but you and Tim were missed. We talked about a July 4 power reunion in Arkansas this summer, and I'm already counting down the days!
ReplyDeleteOMG that would be incredible. I'm there.
ReplyDeleteHm... suckage. True suckage.
ReplyDeleteSomeone once told me (actually I know it's my brother, but saying 'someone' is so must cooler) that when we are ill, it's our body's way of saying, "Dude. Stop it."
That makes sense. Honestly. Until you think about how we react to it. We run to the doctor and say "Fix me" so we can keep living our lives as we have been, never listening to what we're being told by the vessel that carries us. What a drag. Who listens to their body so intently?
Not I.
If I listened to my body I would have to stop eating the ice cream I'm intolerant of and reading books late at night that give me migraines.
Why does the mind want so badly that which is so destructive of the body? Hmmm. Good question.
Anyway, I hope you find your answers. Remember that these prying folk love you to pieces, and you have every right to simply say, "I plead the fifth."
Take care.