Two weeks ago, I met with my doctor to discuss the meds that I was currently taking. I had just returned from Cabo, and my stomach was in absolute knots. I felt like crap, I looked like crap, and to add insult to injury my skin was exactly the same shade of plaster-of-paris-white that I left with (apparently Irish skin requires more than 30 hours to receive any noticeable tanning other then the time-honored-beach-induced splattering of freckles). School had just finished for the semester, my kids were off on holiday break and already whining about universal boredom, and my job had temporarily slowed down for the holidays. By all accounts, I should feel rested… or at the least, look rested. But I wasn’t.
Maybe it was the fact that I accidentally swallowed some water while brushing my teeth in Mexico, and knew that I was going to die a slow and painful death (more than likely during takeoff and landing the following day). Maybe it was because the busiest four months of my life had finally culminated to 20 hour days. Maybe it was because it was Dec 18th, and I still hadn’t managed to throw the inflatable Santa into the front yard. But whatever the reason, I felt sick and knew that the pesky autoimmune disease that I had been fighting the past year was starting to get the upper hand.
Fortunately, I did what every good patient does when facing a symptoms increase: I whined, tried to ignore it, attempted to blame Mexico for all my woes…. And then finally stormed into the doctor expecting a few more pills and maybe some steroids. No big deal. Christmas would go on as usual, and I could keep pretending that I was totally healthy. Unfortunately though, the news I received floored me, and sent me into a tailspin. My doctor explained to me that I was probably going to need to be put on a strong immunosuppressant called Remicade, and that this drug was only available via an IV infusion once a month. Oh… and the IV’s take about 2-3 hours, so make sure you have plenty of time to deal with this. Free Time? Not exactly. Compromised immune system for the rest of my life? I don’t have free time, so I definitely don’t have time to be sick. IV infusion? Hell, that sounds like something out of Star Wars.
I sat there staring at him, like he had suddenly grown an extra head, waiting for the punch line. When exactly did this disease get the upper hand? Why couldn’t I control it? How am I ever going to be able to live a normal life with this kind of timebomb lurking in my medical history?
Now I am fairly positive that it was the longest as I sat anywhere without making a noise, and thankfully my doctor waited for me to process all the information.
“Have you been faithful about taking your meds Amy?”
I sat in silence.
“Have you really tried to avoid eating gluten? Wine? Red meat?”
I sat in silence.
“Have you even attempted to reduce your stress level at all?”
I sat in silence.
“Have you ever accepted that you may have some limitations?”
And that’s when I answered.
“No….. to everything.”
You see, I never took my diagnosis seriously enough, but rather just hoped the pills would make it go away and I could forget about it. But science has yet to discover a miracle pill that just blows away an illness leaving you feeling refreshed and energized—like a day at the spa-- but rather creates a multitude of treatment options to reduce symptoms and improve your quality of life… but they come with a price tag.
No, I never took my meds faithfully—I tried, but there were days when I forgot, vacations I forgot to pack them, and moments when it was just to inconvenient to bother…. So I didn’t. And no, I never cut out foods from my diet. Gluten is in freaking everything, and I didn’t have time to read lables and plan meals; heck, I have Papa Johns on speed dial on my phone. And finally, no, I never attempted to reduce my stress level, but rather piled on much as humanly possible and worked my way from crisis to crisis.
Suddenly, I realized that I was my worst enemy, and the battle I was fighting had nothing to do with an autoimmune disease, but rather trying to convince the person in the mirror that she could handle the world. People have always viewed me as strong. I am the Army Wife who has a sassy mouthed response for just about everything. I can run a marathon, stand emotionless at a funeral, survive a deployment… but I couldn’t be bothered to make a few insignificant life changes.
But this week is a new year-- another chance at a brand-new do-over-- so I left the doctor with the request to give me three more months. I gave up gluten, scheduled the crap out of my life so that I had some guaranteed downtime, and promised myself that I would start listening to my body. New Years is a time for resolutions and recognizing those aspects in your life that need to be adjusted. But living requires you to make those changes—whether it’s Jan 1st or Dec 31st-- so that we don ‘t keep repeating the same mistakes of the past. Wisdom comes with time. Acceptance comes with recognition. Peace comes with understanding. Cheers to all that 2012 brings you.
And as for accepting limitations? No. Sometimes you just need to give your doctor a little Army Wife Attitude and respond, “F#ck limitations.”
