Chronically sick and grieving

Apparently, I’ve been grieving for awhile. I didn’t get the memo.

Grief can occur in many different situations. It’s not something that happens only when you lose someone whether it be death or the end of a relationship.  Grief also occurs when being diagnosed with a life changing disease, the death of a pet, the loss of a job. A lot of people probably understand grief as something that occurs in stages. Culture is full of such references. Those five stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. However, there is also thinking that grief does not occur in stages but rather in a cycle.  Here’s a great explanation of grief with possible causes, the stages, and how it can also be described as a roller coaster. I like the roller coaster idea better than a cycle. Regardless of which you prefer, I like “cycle” or “roller coaster” better because they are more fluid and have more motion than what you get from the word “stage”.

Where am I going with all this? Because of the counseling I’ve been doing for the last few months, I’ve realized I have a lot of grief in my life. I’ve lost access to foods, social events, hobbies and other fun activities, as well as easily completely tasks or chores because of my health. There’s a list of things I can no longer do because of all of my different health problems. I don’t want to go into listing all of them here. There’s also a list of things I’m grasping onto because I don’t want to lose them – like reading books regularly. My cognitive problems make reading harder than it used to be. One such example would be learning – the “hard way” – that I cannot complete light yard work without having something to protect myself from dust, pollen, irritants beyond antihistamines. This is on top of the restrictions I already need to deal with like not being able to work outside when it’s warm.

This realization that I’ve been grieving over the things I’ve lost in my life makes me think I’ve been self-absorbed these past few months. I understand, at least on a logical level, that this is because I’ve been doing a lot of internal processing. That kind of thing takes time and energy. Especially since I’ve been sick on top of my regular chronic sick life. I’m writing this on my fourth day of taking 50 mg of benadryl every 6 hours. (That includes setting alarms the last two nights to continue at the 6 hour intervals.

I don’t know how to cope with this realization that grief has invaded my life other than thinking I need to do something more than what I’m already doing. I knit almost daily and that helps me. At this point I think knitting is a form of meditation that works for me. To add something else for coping and processing makes me think that writing will help. I enjoy the act of writing. I liked writing papers in school, even though I hated starting writing said papers. This blog seems like a great way to start but I’m not sure of the details yet. I’d like to post about things beyond my health, emotions, or random crap. More book reviews perhaps? Writing prompts? I don’t know.

So far, I only know this. I feel like I’ve lost control of my overall life and that this is causing me to feel grief, anxiety, anger, and fear. This emotional stress is also hurting my physical health. I need to do something about it.

 

Motions

This probably applies to lots of things so that’s why I’m throwing it up in a blog post. Right now, it applies to my life as a full time patient living along side multiple chronic diseases. Side note: People with chronic health diseases often have anxiety and or depression.

 

Going through the motions

The alarm starts playing music and your eyes crack open.
Crawl out of bed in the morning.
Shuffle to the bathroom.
Stumble to the kitchen.
Collect the foods necessary to build a breakfast.
See the husband off to work.
Now you’re alone with the cats.
Eat breakfast not because you’re hungry,
but because you need to take your meds.
Check your calendar. When is the next doctor appointment?
Nothing today. Breathe a sigh of relief.
Shuffle back to the bathroom –
take the rest of your meds.
Is it a bad day?
Then sit on the couch wrapped in a blanket, staring at Netflix.
Is it a better day? Have your meds kicked in yet?
Then find a book, or knit a sock.
Around noon, gather foods again.
Eat again. Maybe you’re hungry this time.
Check Twitter. Wonder how the little people inside your phone are fairing.
After lunch?
Maybe you can wash dishes or collect laundry from the bedroom closet.
Maybe you can care for the cats.
Maybe you can knit some more.
But maybe you’ll need to nap instead.
Check the freezer. Make plans for dinner.
Wonder where the day has gone. Check Twitter again.
Have a snack. Chocolate sounds good.
Don’t forget any meds.
Before you know it, the day is mostly gone. Your husband is finally home.
Dinner time.
Your husband cooks. Some days dinner is the best thing.
After dinner?
If it’s a better day maybe there will be some game playing, or some conversation.
If it’s a bad day, there won’t be much of anything. You’d be sad about the bad days if you could think through the fog.
Then it’s time for more meds.
Then it’s time for bedtime, and more meds.
Finally, you can go back to bed again.
When will it be easier? Maybe tomorrow it will be easier. Maybe tomorrow is finally the day.

There’s no way to know.

Tomorrow you go through the motions all over again.