What They Don't See

I'm very thankful for having chronic diseases that I can, for the most part, hide. It makes things easier in some ways--I don't have to explain anything unless someone offers me food or sees the MedicAlert bracelet on my wrist. But it makes things hard in other ways.

I'll use my recent trip to Maryland to visit my friend as an example.

What she saw:

My best friend, S, picked me up at the bus station and we took the Metro together. We sat on the benches and talked and laughed and enjoyed being able to speak in person. She handed me an iPod full of music we've both recently discovered and we shared headphones the whole way to her stop. We waited for the bus for about a half hour, got on, listened to more music, made each-other laugh really, really hard. We got off, went to the grocery store, walked a mile to the house she's been staying at this summer.

What I saw:

My best friend, S, picked me up at the bus station, after I'd been standing around holding a very heavy laptop case (that I was using as an overnight bag) with an even heavier backpack on my back. The straps dug in to my shoulders and the laptop case pulled and pulled. I felt myself getting dehydrated but I didn't want to drink because we wouldn't be near a clean bathroom for a couple more hours.

We sat on a bench and waited for the Metro. I was happy just to get the backpack off and stretch my back. We listened to music, and I was happy to share the headphones even though leaning over hurt my neck a bit. We sat on a bench and waited for the bus, and the heat made me dizzy. I said nothing.

The walk to her house was brutal. Uphill, uphill, uphill. Some downhill. Uphill, uphill, uphill. My arm ached from the laptop case, the outside of my knee ached where the case kept brushing against it, my back ached from the backpack, my shoulders hurt from the straps. I said nothing.

I enjoyed being with my friend. I really, truly loved it. I have no regrets about going, because the pain is fleeting but our friendship means a lot to both of us.

I don't like to tell people about the fibro and how much it bothers me. I don't like to tell people about my diabetes and how much it drives me crazy. I don't like to complain about how much trouble breathing I have. I don't like to complain at all, really. If I can avoid telling people about these things, then I do.

I doubt anyone I'm shadowing notices how much I bend my knees when we stand for "too long." I doubt they hear my knees crack after standing for five minutes. I doubt they notice how much I drink.

On Monday, the doctor I've been shadowing kept making comments on how tired I looked (he's a pulmonologist/sleep specialist). I was tired, but no more than I usually am. He might've been seeing the leftovers of the bad run I had on Sunday, but more than that I can't account for.

I could've told him about the run. He would've understood. But that would've meant telling him about the fibro, and I didn't want to do that. I left it alone, but I wonder if that makes a difference to him...

"I'll need a little more luck than a little bit/ 'Cause every time I get stuck the words won't fit" ~Faber Drive