Eight feelings

I went through a variety of feelings when I was first diagnosed with chronic osteomyelitis - feelings the continued as I went through treatment and even after I was given the all clear by my doctors in 2013.  This feelings have returned with the relapse. Sometimes I think of them as water bursting through a dam, mixing all together, overflowing me with thoughts and concerns, confusing. Being ill has taught me how possible it is to feel numerous, and even conflicting things, simultaneously.

Here are eight of the most common feeling I have:

Anger - angry that I am ill, again. That I not only had to go undiagnosed for five years, but then had to go through treatment, had hope to get better, was granted that wish and moved on with my life, only for the whole damn thing to come back once more. I am angry at others who try to help but do not know how (this is not their fault - friends and family care for me and want to help, but I am sick of needing supports. I want to be better. The anger is not so much directed at them, but my situation itself. I am frustrated!). Angry with myself - I know I am not coping as well as I could be, but I am tired. I am angry at myself for being tired - physically and emotionally. Angry at my body - it has betrayed me.

Sadness - more often than anger, I am filled with sadness. It is deep, it makes me ache. I think about everything that I have lost because of this: a social life, physical activities, keeping up with my friends and classmates, dating, time itself. I miss everything I could have had instead, normal things. And sad that I have to go through it all again.

Hope - that beautiful unfailing things, that sole inhabitant of Pandora's jar, always fleeting in and out of sight. Despite the relapse and my fears that my doctors will not be able to make me better, I still have hope that it will all be okay. I talked about this earlier this month - my hope that each new set of scans will show that the infection is gone, even though I know it won't be, stubborn old thing.

Fear - fear that the infection won't go away, ever. Fear of uncertainty. Fear that the surgeries won't work or may cause a new infection themselves. Fear of pain and discomfort. Fear because there is something inside of me that should not be there.

Guilt - towards my family, for having to ask them for help and support - physically, emotionally, financially.

Trust - I have trust in my doctors that they can make this right. When I speak to other people, they reassure me that I have some of the best doctors that I could possible have. ER doctors, my family doctor, second opinion orthopedic surgeon, etc. all tell me this, and I believe them. Trust and fear go hand in hand.

Envy - or jealousy, if you will, of all of my friends and classmates who are healthy and have never gone through a medical diagnosis or crisis before. I don't want them to be ill instead of me, but I wish it was not me at the same time. I have been through more medically in the last years than some people go through in their entire lives. Why does it have to be me once more? Why can't someone else have a turn so that I can lead a normal life? Everything was going so perfectly, and now look! It feels like it all falls apart again.

Indifference - I hate this feeling, but it is fact becoming me friend. It costs to much time and energy to deal with all these emotions, doctors appointments, concerns for the future, etc. What ever happens will happen, regardless of my input or feelings.

I saw my family doctor today to get a prescription for Tamiflu. I am not sure if I need it or not next month when I start my clinical placement in a hospital because flu season is over. I figured I would get it anyways, just in case, while still in St. Catharines. It is easier to get it now through my family doctor when I have a week off than to realise I need it next week once classes have resumed and I am in a new city in which I will have to hunt down a walk in clinical and likely sit there for several hours.

Of topic now.

I saw my family doctor for the prescription. He asked me how things are going. I said "Mostly good, but the bone infection came back." Doctor replies "I know (he gets automatic updates from my other doctors). You medical chart is sad." We laughed at that, but it hurt a little. It is true. My medical chart, a big fat binder full, tells a long and winding story. The ending will hopefully change, but the current chapter feels kind of grim.