At times it may be impossible for me to share exactly what I have been through, but this is only because the early years of 'falling ill' may be engraved in my mind, but it often feels as if it was someone else's life. Fragments of my past seem so surreal that I refuse to admit, even to myself, that all that actually happened. I guess I only have to sit alone, just my thoughts and I, to feel what I felt so long ago...was definately real.
I remember feeling like a crazy hypochondriac. Always going back to my doctor for answers, answers he never had. I didn't quite understand why, after 2 months of recoverying from a viral infection, I could hardly walk, I couldn't sleep, I didn't have any energy to bath myself, I couldn't digest anything I ate or drank, I couldn't quite remember how to say words, amongst so many other things. As always my doctor would send me to one hospital after another and another, for more tests each time. And the results...absolutely nothing!
Until one day, after some more routine tests, I was sat down my a very quirky looking doctor. I still can't forget her vibrant dress sense. Her clothes never helped the severe pain I had started getting at the back of my eyes. Everytime I wanted to focus on her it felt as if tiny needles were constantly being poked into my eye. However, I sat there looking at her as she shuffled around with my hospital notes and then looked up to stare at me and then looked back down to the notes again, and then she just blurt it out... 'Cancer! Anyone ever had cancer in your family?' I didn't quite know what to make of what she said. She continued to go on, without I may add listening to my answer, that my blood tests indicate a 'problem' that could be linked to the 'c' word. My heart sank and at that point all I wanted to do was to crawl up in a ball and sleep and hope that when I get up, this would have been some horrible nightmare.
I could go on forever about how many times I had tests done and how many times I was told it could be the 'c' word. Worst of all, how many times this 'possible diagnosis' broke my family's heart. So much so, that after the first few times I stopped telling them. I could not bare to see my father numb with pain and my mother cry and mourn my death before it had even happened.
As months went on and doctors apologising for 'still not knowing what is wrong', things starting getting much worse. I was eventually told that I had 'Post-Viral Fatigue' and I should continue my life as normal and one day, like magic, I would be back to normal. So I did as I was told and went back to University and work. But why couldn't I still walk properly? Why couldn't I understand a word of what was being taught in my lectures? Why couldn't I even hold a pen anymore? Why couldn't I now see properly? Why couldn't I remember what I was doing or even reading 10 minutes before? Why!? Why!? Why!?
A year passed with all these whys suffocating and tormenting me. I felt a part of me die every single day and I didn't know how to explain it to anyone. All I could do was put on a brave face and smile to the world, when every night all I did was cry myself to sleep with the pain and frustration.
If only everyone could have imagined, just imagined how it felt to no-longer have control over your mind or body anymore. If only everyone could have felt my desperation to feel 'normal' again. If only everyone knew, that for me, anything was better then living like this...even death itself...
