It’s Fucked up Friday time! It’s a chance for me to share health based posts, circling around life with M.E., Type 1 Diabetes, General Anxiety Disorder, Social Phobia, Panic Disorder, Obsessive and Disordered Thoughts, Choking Phobia, Depression, Paranoia, Pulmonary Embolism recovery and getting my life back on track. I always feel like I’ve missed something there, but how many issues can you have? Seriously? Bah!
As you can see, Fucked up Friday isn’t in the title. I don’t want to offend anyone. However, Fucked up Friday has a certain ring to it and it’s me having a bit of fun with the kaleidoscope of health issues I have. I feel it’s best not to dwell too seriously on these issues. Take them seriously, yes, but don’t dwell negatively and let them take over your life. Henceforth, this will be the last use of the term Fucked up Friday in this post. Huzzah!
I mentioned last Friday I was going to discuss several topics over two posts. Having them all together made it read like it was on it’s way to a novella. Unless I’m intending to write one, I would like to avoid having one on my blog. I’m sure you can all appreciate that.
Today’s topics are M.E./C.F.S. birthdays and a realisation, or better yet a ‘duh’ moment I had.
Just to catch up for last week’s post, I’m recovering just fine. I have to get my potassium up, but can’t swallow the tablets, so I’ve been eating more bananas and will be stocking up on potassium rich foods during grocery shopping today.
I’m due to have a follow-up CT and blood-work in the next couple of weeks to see how that potassium is going and to make sure the particles in my lungs are gone. If not, it’s off to the chest specialist once again. Anyway, that’s that.
Last Friday was my ME/CFS birthday! I didn’t realise until half-way through the day. I’ve loved August the last couple of years. I’ve gotten to the point where I am not paying attention. Whether this is a subconscious thing or not, I don’t know, but I’m grateful for it.
My ME birthday is something I’m not really fussed about. It’s been eight years and I stopped bothering to be so intently aware of it a few years ago. I continued out of obligation and I question now why I feel obligated to pay attention to the date. Maybe it’s because so many others have it and it’s detrimentally affecting their lives, but I don’t want to focus my energy on such things. I do the same with diabetes. I just tell people what year now and only remember the beginning if it’s brought up.
It’s not healthy to dwell on negativity. This is what I find illness birthdays cause you to do and what’s the point? Why do you want to feel worse than you already do? Yes I’m in pain, yes I’ve missed out on a whole lot over the last several years, yes the illness has set me back, but do I really want to add to all of that by being lugubrious?
Fuck that shit (oops, broke my fucked up Friday promise). Fuck that shit right up. I’d rather reflect on how my supposed friends jumped ship at the start and were replaced by awesome people, how I was finally able to learn trust, how I came to respect myself, how I finally learnt the difference between toxic relationships and healthy, real ones, and how something finally made me really appreciate the small things.
I always have appreciated small things. I’ve always been grateful. I’ve had enough near death experiences and illness to force me to, but I never really acted on that gratitude. I was aware of it all, I was aware life was short and things change abruptly, but I never made the most of it.
As for my realisation… Well, this is slightly embarrassing! A little backstory first – I’m on the hopeless side of things when it comes to keeping track of medications. Especially when it comes to the strips I need for my glucometer. So many times I’ve had to ask my Mum or my partner to please, please, hunt some down for me because I’m all out! With the ME messing me about, it would be worse because I’d have to wait for one of them to get me some and I have guilt issues. I was always feeling guilty over requesting help, as most spoonies do.
My local shops are a fifteen minute walk away. When I moved here, I wasn’t even able to walk to the end of the driveway. Now I can walk around the block, over 4.5km’s, but I hadn’t attempted to walk to the shop until two weeks ago and that was only to see how long it would take me to get to the station.
It’s taken me two weeks to realise I can just walk to the shops to get strips when I’m running low! TWO WEEKS! When this revelation came to me I wanted to jump around in excitement. Yeah, like a big kid.
It’s been so long since I’ve had that degree of independence I’ve become mentally conditioned to believe I can’t do anything by myself. I will automatically think spoon cost and quick exit strategy whenever I think of going somewhere so now, when I consider going somewhere by myself, I think shit, what happens if something happens? Oh no! Arghhhh! And then if I let it, my thoughts spiral into panic mode until I snap myself out of it by asking what the hell is wrong with me?
After that first panic, I walked to the shop to get some meds and strips. So exciting. Although I didn’t go by myself, I was happy I went and knew I could do it again.
So I did! I walked to the shop… for some chocolate…