“Everything is normal. You are normal”
Now that’s what I like to hear from a doctor! I got that this week.
My liver is normal, inflammatory markers for my Colitis are normal. Palpitations and feeling generally numb due to anxiety, yup that’s a thing and that’s perfectly normal.
One thing my doctor did say was the C word. Counselling. I have enjoyed it in the past but as my life has got increasingly complicated, I often wonder, who in the world could actually help me. I’m rare. I have an unusual story, several medical issues, one of which is very rare. Am I even on the same playing field as anyone else?
In short counsellor, how can you help me? You have never known someone like me before.
Luckily my very understanding GP totally got this. A counsellor may not know me but they will know the struggles, the fear, pressure, anxiety and loneliness, that comes with a broken family, painful relationships, PTSD, a terrifying diagnosis, confidence issues and lack of self worth etc etc.
They can help me but only if I make myself known. They can’t help me if they can’t see me. Yes I have just read that myself and chuckled but I’m not editing that…
I asked my GP if there was anything I could take to help me get through my eye tests as I find the whole ordeal horrendous. The hospital. The scans. The waiting. The invariable chat and confirmation that I’m still visually buggered! Diazepam came up as a suggestion but due to its tendency to make you drowsy and less likely to react effectively; that’s not really going to help. I want to be chilled, without missing one of those little flashes of light, during a visual field test because I’m asleep! Looks like I’m just going to have to be brave. Yay me!!
I was completely honest with my GP. Over the phone (thanks to Covid), it was easier to be raw and honest.
“I use so much energy just trying to hold it together some days, I have nothing left for anyone else”.
Brutal but it was the truth. I feel like I have to be brave every day. Be fine. Be breezy. Be strong. My situation isn’t great but the moment I act like it, is the moment I admit I’m scared and my support network who are relying on me to handle this start flapping.
Truth is. I didn’t need anyone before 5th July 2019. When I got overwhelmed I would simply head out, take a time out and go for a drive. I would be gone for as long as it took. Listen to my music. Be alone. Be ok. Re charge. Feel independent. Feel ready to go back to whatever mess I had landed in. This was my compass. It would ground me. It would give me time to think and adjust. Time to plan. It would give me direction in a storm. I would often come back from a drive a completely new person.
Now I don’t have that. I do rely on others. They don’t have to fix me. They don’t have to say anything earth shattering, they just have to be present. It’s only now that I realise that people don’t know what to say. They often go to great lengths to avoid being drawn into a conversation because of that. I miss my car. She never failed to say the right thing. She never cared what I looked like. What I said or how I said it. I could be angry. I could cry. I could say nothing for hours and to her, I was just fine. Unconditional acceptance.
I know I’m talking about a car. An object. It sounds nuts but to me it was so much more. Despite being over a year since I lost my driving licence, I still mourn it. I’m still unbearably sad to have lost the one constant that was always by my side since the age of 17. It was the longest and best relationship I have ever had. Right now I can’t see myself ever not feeling sad about this but I hope to make my peace with it. To reach a point where I can feel love, gratitude and thanks for what I did have and let it go.