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.

These emotions...

are really something to take in. One minute I am completely overjoyed, and the next I feel confused and overwhelmed. I didn't realize it would feel like *this*, a feeling I find so difficult to describe, to be healthy.

My mother pointed out yesterday evening that I had been ill for over a third of my life. Seven out of twenty years. My world had been so focused on "something is wrong" and then "getting better", that I now feel robbed of key parts of my life, things that everyone else gets to experience, like highschool, hanging out with friends, going to university. Sure, I went through all those things, but I didn't get to fully experience them, not like healthy people. During highschool, when my friends were trying out for the soccer team, going on filed trips, staying out late, and dating etc. I was worrying about the sores on my shin, going to doctors appointments, and having surgery. I wasn't 'living' in the sense that I was enjoying life. I was just one big ball of tired and sore and worried and pain.

Am I able to catch up on what I have missed? Is it realistic to think that I can? Perhaps I should forget what I didn't get, and solely focus my attention to diving into my new, adult life. Life in the moment in a new way. Before living in the moment meant looking at the pleasant things in life because I never knew when I would be to ill to do so. Now it means enjoying the moment just because I can without having to worry about the future.

Oh I know this sounds so dramatic, and maybe it is in some way or another. But maybe that is not a bad thing. The last few doctors appointments have given me such reality checks. At one, my ID specialist threw around words like  'septic shock'. She said that is what you can get when you have an untreated osteomyelitis for a long time. I have not doubt that I would have ended going down that path sooner, not later, if I had not been referred to her and received treatment. When I look back I realize how tired my body was in 2011. When I was sleeping sixteen hours straight, yet waking up tired. No, not tired, exhausted. I was not living. My whole body was fighting to keep the infection under control, and as a result, there wasn't energy left for anything else. My orthopedic surgeon told me almost the same thing yesterday morning. He said that when one part of part of the body is infected for so long, that the rest of the body is effected. That your blood carries that infection throughout your body. I look back now at the things I have gone threw in the last few years, and cannot phantom how I actually did get threw them. At times I thought that "getting better" would never happen, that it was always something to happen to other people, there were so many set backs, but look! Now here I am! and it will all take coming to terms with. But it is better now. I am here, and it feels good. It is right. It just takes a little bit of convincing.