When you live with chronic illnesses, just getting through each day can seem like a challenge. It becomes a lot harder to find enjoyable things each day. Everything becomes a challenge that needs to be overcome. When I hurt my hip, it was like I'd fallen into a hole that I couldn't climb out of. I spent each day lying at home thinking about how much my life sucked and starting to believe that maybe I was crazy. My scans were clean, there was no reason for me to be in pain. I started wishing with every scan that something would show up, just so that I could say 'I told you so' to all my doctors. Then I met my physio. She showed me that I wasn't crazy, finally someone believed me. And not only that, she showed me that there might be a reason behind all this, she gave me answers. She pulled me out of the hole. I was getting back on track, going to physio every week, doing my exercises, improving. I thought that everything was looking up. After all, I went from not being able to walk at all without crutches, to being able to go back to work and stand (with breaks) for hours. Sure my hips ached and my ankles and feet burned when my shift finished, but I could do it. I never expected her to be able to get rid of the pain all together. I gave up on that dream years ago. The week I broke my ankle, I felt on top of the world. I had 3 closing shifts in a row, followed by a 9-1:30pm shift the next day, which was meant to be followed by physio. I was going to physio that day so she could teach me some personalised pilates exercises for the class I was going to join the next week. I had planned my timetable for uni and fitted in when I would work and exercise, everything felt like it was going to be ok. Sure I have chronic pain, but I was coping, accepting, managing.
Then I broke my ankle.
And I got chucked right back down the hole. I tell people that I didn't think it was broken when I did it. Sure I heard it crack and the pain was like nothing I'd ever experienced, but I think people find comfort in the unknown. Like you didn't think it was that bad, therefore it couldn't be broken.
I, on the other hand, do not find comfort in the unknown. I've lived in it my whole life, I hate it. Waiting for a diagnosis, waiting for explanations. The unknown scares me more than the possible brain tumour that I dreamt about in the days after my MRI 3 years ago.
The truth is, I did know. I did know it was broken. I'd never felt that kind of pain. In the past, when I've fallen, I've been able to walk on it, touch it, or the pain has eased slightly. But this pain just got worse. As soon as I came down, I knew it was broken. That's probably why when even the paramedic told me she didn't think it was broken, I didn't believe her. It calmed my mum though, to know that someone with knowledge thought it wasn't broken, but I knew better.
So now I'm stuck again in this hole that I can't get out of. I need someone to help me out of it. But this week feels different. I have started doing mini walks with my boot from the couch to the kitchen (whilst holding on of course) and I think I'll be able to attack stairs with help soon. Sure this means nothing, recovery will soon stall as my muscles have no idea what to do anymore, but its a start. On thursday I'll go back to the physio. She won't touch me, she might want to look at my foot, but we'll just talk. Talk about what's going to happen over the next couple of months, after all, it's the same leg as my hip. Coincidence?
I think maybe, just maybe she might be able to pull me out again and get me back on track. I know I have to. I can't just live in my little world of self pity. It's not very flattering. But at the same time, I know stuck down deeper this time. It's going to be harder to get back out. But I'm a perfectionist, so I'll have this outwards appearance of "I want to do this on my own", when really, I just need someone to tell me I need help. I hope my physio tells me. I need her to. It's stupid I know! But I know that I'll eventually get back out, either that or I'll snap and my mum will take matters into her own hands.
It's important to get back on track, however this never happens without bumps and sidetracks. It's impossible. This week feels like the week, the week to start standing on my own two feet and stop making excuses. Acceptance is hard to come by, but once you find a little bit you grab it and run. I don't think anyone truly accepts their chronic illness, it's basically impossible, but just a little bit, half a day, is enough.
BB :) Oh and by the way, if anyone has instagram, my chronic illness journey can be seen through my account@hypermobilespoonie
Then I broke my ankle.
And I got chucked right back down the hole. I tell people that I didn't think it was broken when I did it. Sure I heard it crack and the pain was like nothing I'd ever experienced, but I think people find comfort in the unknown. Like you didn't think it was that bad, therefore it couldn't be broken.
I, on the other hand, do not find comfort in the unknown. I've lived in it my whole life, I hate it. Waiting for a diagnosis, waiting for explanations. The unknown scares me more than the possible brain tumour that I dreamt about in the days after my MRI 3 years ago.
The truth is, I did know. I did know it was broken. I'd never felt that kind of pain. In the past, when I've fallen, I've been able to walk on it, touch it, or the pain has eased slightly. But this pain just got worse. As soon as I came down, I knew it was broken. That's probably why when even the paramedic told me she didn't think it was broken, I didn't believe her. It calmed my mum though, to know that someone with knowledge thought it wasn't broken, but I knew better.
So now I'm stuck again in this hole that I can't get out of. I need someone to help me out of it. But this week feels different. I have started doing mini walks with my boot from the couch to the kitchen (whilst holding on of course) and I think I'll be able to attack stairs with help soon. Sure this means nothing, recovery will soon stall as my muscles have no idea what to do anymore, but its a start. On thursday I'll go back to the physio. She won't touch me, she might want to look at my foot, but we'll just talk. Talk about what's going to happen over the next couple of months, after all, it's the same leg as my hip. Coincidence?
I think maybe, just maybe she might be able to pull me out again and get me back on track. I know I have to. I can't just live in my little world of self pity. It's not very flattering. But at the same time, I know stuck down deeper this time. It's going to be harder to get back out. But I'm a perfectionist, so I'll have this outwards appearance of "I want to do this on my own", when really, I just need someone to tell me I need help. I hope my physio tells me. I need her to. It's stupid I know! But I know that I'll eventually get back out, either that or I'll snap and my mum will take matters into her own hands.
It's important to get back on track, however this never happens without bumps and sidetracks. It's impossible. This week feels like the week, the week to start standing on my own two feet and stop making excuses. Acceptance is hard to come by, but once you find a little bit you grab it and run. I don't think anyone truly accepts their chronic illness, it's basically impossible, but just a little bit, half a day, is enough.
BB :) Oh and by the way, if anyone has instagram, my chronic illness journey can be seen through my account
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