It's been a while since I've shared my thoughts in depth. I'll try and keep it as concise as possible.
In the Fog
I didn't realize it at the time, but from about 2003 to 2007 I was experiencing the slow creep of a chronic health condition that came a bit too close to me losing my life. Autoimmune pernicious anemia. My immune system is perpetually creating antibodies that target the part of the body that intakes vitamin B12 from food so that it can be transferred by the blood throughout the body. By the time I was diagnosed I was bedridden, sleeping most of the day, and never feeling rested. My body was maybe months away from shutting down.
With the first shot of B12 I felt like I had woken up from a years-long sleep. It took several years for the anemia-induced myopia to ease up and my vision was restored to 20/20. During the years in recovery, and entering adulthood, I found myself facing existential questions. How long was I meant to live? What was my purpose? Who am I? In a doomsday scenario, how long until the anemia comes back and I need to consider the difficult decision?
Setback
The questions didn't end there. In October 2014 I was on a road trip with friends in South Dakota, headed home. I was asleep in the backseat when we ended up in a collision and I hit my forehead on the door partition. In the weeks that followed I had to come to terms with severe whiplash, and a concussion. It took 6 months of physio to be cleared to work, a few years to regain some of the lost memories, and 8 years to be able to read books again.
By 2018 I finally felt like I was on the right track to having the life I wanted. I had overcome these experiences. I was healed enough to work again. I had my dream job and I was earning raises and promotions every season.
Snakes and Ladders
In June 2021, I found myself back at square one.
I had won a terrible lottery. One that is difficult to bring up in conversation. It's heavily politicized. I never know who's going to take my suffering and relish in it, or question its existence. I'm tired of talking about it.
In the three years since I've been fighting to regain some semblance of health, of functionality, of dignity. Recurrent pericarditis is not easy to live with. It's made complicated by the circumstances of how it came to be. I don't know what my future is going to be anymore. I don't know if I can work again. I try, I push my body, and the pericarditis flares again and again.
Weeks, months, years, I've been shrinking myself more and more to try and find that sweet spot where I can have some semblance of a life without feeling that pain that resembles a heart attack.
I don't know how much smaller I need to be.
Persist
I don't like to get stuck in the gloom of my circumstances. I will admit, it's hard to get up again and again after these life-altering events. That kind of hardship and pain can change a lot of who you are. Over the years people who have known me have remarked, "It's like you've died." I suppose, in a sense, I did.
What I can hold on to is the knowledge that I've made it through these circumstances. I have support. I don't know what the future holds for me. What I do know is that I will keep trying.
