by Savannah
“There is no cure.” I’ve been told this by several specialists, doctors, nurses, and recently Mama has even had to tell me. It’s like when I finally come to terms with it, it hits even harder again. In psychology (if you’ve taken it, or even biology) you learn the 5 stages of grief and loss. I go through all 5 stages at least once or twice a month. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Looking back on my life I feel denial with the person I am now. I had symptoms all my life that we just related to growing pains and growing up. I thought all teenagers went through the same thing I was going through. But even going through all of that I felt okay. I felt healthy (compared to how I feel now), and it’s hard to accept the fact that I was once active, participated in more groups and clubs that I can count on both hands, was able to run and play. Now, I can barely move most days. I have to hold onto someone or something if I walk, and most of the time i have to use a wheelchair because I’m constantly on the verge of passing out and the pain is so intense that even walking through the door of a store wears me down completely. Anger. I’m angry a lot. Deep down inside, seriously, I’m like the hulk. I never know when I’m going to just burst and everything that I’m hiding within myself will come pouring out. I angry that it’s me, that it couldn’t be someone who “deserves it”. I know that’s a terrible thing to think. I really wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy and I live with the thought that if I have to go through this so I can help someone else out in the future, then I’m glad it’s me. I’m tough most days. I’m stubborn as a mule. Bargaining. I bargain with my body daily and I have to laugh at myself because it goes something like this: “okay body. If you let me walk to check my mail, I will sit and rest for at least an hour or so before I try to do anything else.” And guess what! My body makes that promise, except for halfway to the mailbox I feel my heart rate start to climb rapidly, I feel the tunnel vision and see nothing but the dang mailbox, and my breathing becomes labored. I feel my joints start to cave, and my stomach wanting to empty all of it’s contents because the massive tsunami of nausea has hit and is dying to wash everything that I’ve eaten or drank that day away. Depression. I’m mostly a happy person, but there are days where I do feel depressed. That’s completely normal for a person with illnesses that have no cure! These days I want to give up. I lose hope. I lose what I have in sight, and that is still to help people even if I’m not able to help myself! Acceptance. The final part of this cycle. At the end of the day, I know that there is no cure. I know that I can have hope that I may have a cure one day. I know that there is no point of anything else except to accept this, because it isn’t going away. It’s here for the long run. It’s here for my good days and bad days. It’s here for the times I need to get out for appointments, for the groceries, for the occasional social get together. It’s here to stay. This cycle happens to me at least once or twice a month, if not more. But I think that it is perfectly reasonable to go through it. It’s healthy in a sense because you go through it and you are able to see that you can continue to move through it, even if you know there isn’t a cure. You know that you have to keep the hope and continue to move on because there are others out there like you that are going through the same exact thing. You know you have to continue to advocate for yourself and those like you. You have to continue to spread awareness so that maybe one day we can have a cure for all of the incurable syndromes, diseases, disorders, ANYTHING. You live for that day. You pray and you believe and you keep that thought in your mind that one day you won’t have to suffer through it anymore and that the suffering was worth something because it teaches you so much. So continue on you brave warriors. Continue going through the cycle. Continue to advocate. Continue to spread awareness. Continue to hope and pray for a cure, because I know that one day it will happen. |
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