My friends worthy of The Victoria Cross

Some days all I can think is “this is it. This is the time where my body gives up and shuts down to the pain. This will finally all be over.” Those moments usually come when I’m having one of my really bad days. It’s usually after a run of good days and my body can’t handle the strain, so I flare up. The brain starts running down, I forget things and am in a constant muddle. The headache overtakes all of my senses, the loving voice of my family only brings me pain and I struggle not to flinch at my mothers soothing tones. Smells set off the nausea; the light sensitivity means I don’t leave my room. I’m isolated, caught in the trap of my mind with no foreseeable way out.

But, I force myself to remember. Remember how growing up I spent most of my time with boys seven years older than me, but I never slowed down. When I wanted to touch the bottom of a 5-metre swimming pool, just like them, they would hold my ankles and pull me down. Once to the bottom I would hold my breath, but when my lungs felt like they were going to implode on themselves I would kick my legs and they’d drag me to the surface where I got that much needed air. It taught me to trust them. It taught me that no matter how close you are to drowning, all you need is someone to pull you up. And now, when that same pressing feeling on my chest returns I know someone will be there.


This challenge that I’m facing now is throwing curve balls left, right, and centre. I have to learn on how to survive this game. It’s a new situation, that’s unique to only me.  And when the moments come that I think I’m alone, I realise that I am surround by people who don’t even know how much they mean to me. They have stood by me, one way or another, on the front line of this warzone called life and absorbed the shrapnel along side me. Some couldn’t handle the harsh reality of my life, so they left, but the ones who truly matter help to clean up the aftermath. Some pull fragments from wounds, others stitch me back up, and then the truly brave ones are there when all that’s left is a scar but I’m so far from being healed. All of them are medics in their own devices. They’re there when I need them, just as I would be there for them. And sure, most of them I don’t see everyday, let alone every week, but when it counts most, I know I can send out my siren for help and they’ll be standing at attention, ready for the next battle that might win the war.

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