Sometimes

Sometimes it's hard to remember that I'm a person, rather than a mess of things that don't work properly.

Nothing in particular happened to make me feel like I've completely fallen apart. I've finally seen my podiatrist, who diagnosed me with flat feet and a very collapsed ankle as a result of this stupid thing. He refuses to do anything until my new orthotics come in because he says that it's impossible to differentiate actual damage and pain from the flat feet. (So I've been using a combination of taping my arch up and a tightly wrapped ace bandage doing the same to help--which it actually has been.)

My blood sugar is, for the most part, holding steady--no major surprises. I had a 170 on Sunday night from sesame chicken (which I haven't made in a while), but it was probably from the fever I'd had for two weeks rather than the food. I had a 70 today, for reasons I don't understand. C'est la vie.

My fibromyalgia is neither worse nor better, though I think I'm going to try taking CoQ10 (a supplement with no real side effects but has been shown to help certain muscle problems that stem from issues with mitochondria, which it seems fibromyalgia stems from). I want to ask someone first, be it my endocrinologist, my rheumatologist, or even my pulmonologist. I probably need to see my rheumatologist sometime this year because I have pain in certain joints that just refuses to go away.

My breathing is fine--or as fine as it ever is (though exercise seems to help for a couple of days and I haven't done any lately).

I haven't had any major allergic reactions or sudden realizations that I'm more allergic to something than I thought I was. Even my eczema has been behaving pretty well lately.

So I don't know what it is that makes me feel like I'm drowning in my body's prison tonight, but I am.

I hate being in constant pain. I hate knowing that I have to eat something because I have to take Metformin, a multivitamin, two vitamin C's (it keeps me from getting colds, which usually leads to bronchitis, which has variably bad breathing outcomes), vitamin D, and Zyrtec. I hate craving sweet, cakey foods but knowing I shouldn't eat them. I hate the fact that I gained nearly six pounds this summer for No. Reason. I hate the fact that a patient asked me what my Tummietote was today. I love the thing, but I know that patients wonder why I'm wearing a thick, bumpy black band around my waist.

I find something interesting--maybe it's just me.

There's so much of me that's hidden from the rest of the world. I write, I sing, I play guitar. I'm donating my hair for the third time in a few weeks. I'm left-handed. I'm really, really good at science and math. I type fast. I have truly terrible handwriting. I love to learn. I hate clothes shopping, but I can (and have) spend hours in Target. I love planning every bit as much as I love going places or doing things. I love, love, LOVE music.

The health stuff is more hidden in that I actively hide some of it. The things that don't impact my functionality are well-known by the people around me. They probably think that diabetes and allergies are my central focus because those are what they hear about. In fact, I think fibromyalgia has the harshest impact, but I don't talk about it because it actually has the capacity to destroy my life. I don't tell people when I'm in pain or when I'm too tired to do something (unless the only thing I have the energy for is sleeping). I often will push myself to do things I don't have the strength to do rather than cancel plans or admit that I'm not up for it. I'm so desperate to keep fibromyalgia from controlling my life that it is, in fact, controlling my life.

I can still remember what it felt like sitting in that doctor's office in April, begging him to tell me that he found something, anything that could explain my symptoms. I remember his answer, too: "Why would you want a potentially life-threatening disease?"

It isn't that I wanted to be diagnosed with lupus or Sjogren's disease or anything else potentially scary, it's that an explanation, a possible prognosis, a possible treatment, were the only ideas, however far away and abstract, that were keeping me going. The idea that I might one day become too incapacitated to be useful is terrifying--especially given all of my talents and loves. There are some things I can handle--diabetes, Hashimoto's, food allergies--and there are some things I can't--deafness (because of music), lack of enough motor skills to type or play guitar or piano. I've already lost most of my ability to hand write. My guitar playing is not as good as it was--and not because I'm out of practice. I'd been playing for nearly a year when I woke up one morning and could hardly hold my guitar, let alone play it. It was like my heart had been ripped out. I think I've regained most of it, but I went from being my guitar teacher's prized student--according to her the best she'd taught in 30 years--to being clumsy and barely able to pluck out a tune in one night. It could happen again.

I had a very scary time about a year ago when I wondered if I could even become a doctor. There are days when I have a significant cognitive impairment. Everyone says they don't notice it, but I do. Some days, if you tapped on my nose, I couldn't tell you what it is, even though I know what it is. There are days when I can barely process other people's speech, let alone create my own. Sometimes this can be overcome with enough caffeine to make my brain rattle around in my head, sometimes it can't. I practically failed a Genetics test on one of those days (I ended up with an A- in this class, so you know that that wasn't usual for me). And then I wondered: if I can't pass a "simple" biology test, then how can I safely treat patients? And yes, that scared me for a long, long time.

And I have to wonder if my flat feet were caused by this damned disease, too. I know that my ankle issues are definitely worse because of it, because it seems like I'm more fragile because of this damned disease.

I truly feel that I do not function at a good level on a regular basis. I often don't feel well, I'm almost always in some minor amount of pain. I'm always, always, always tired, no matter how much I sleep and no matter how much coffee I drink. I honestly don't remember what it's like to feel good. I get by, sure. At the end of the day, I function well enough to get decent grades and get through the day, but I could be doing so much better. I think of all the students, all the pre-meds, all the people who don't understand the material on the same level I do but are getting better grades, anyway. It makes me sick to think that my lifelong dream of becoming a doctor--something I'd be really, really good at--might not happen just because of some horrible disease I never asked for, could not have prevented, and can't do anything about.

When I get like this, I have a friend who likes to tell me that I get more done with the limited amount of energy and strength I have available to me than anyone else she knows (this coming from a person who does more than I could ever imagine). It just makes me wonder what things would be like if I were a fully functioning, capable person whose ambition was reflected in the things she did and whose intelligence was reflected in her grades.

I realize this is a long post. If you're still reading, you're really, really awesome. Everyone feels like this sometimes, and I don't feel like this often. I don't know what set it off, but I feel much better now that I've let it out. If anyone has any words of encouragement, I'd appreciate it!

"Sometimes I don't want to be better/ Sometimes I can't be put back together/ Sometimes I find it hard to believe/ There's someone else who can be/ Just as messed-up as me" ~Skillet