Good evening everyone!
As I mentioned in one of my last posts, I’ve been really sick. Remember back when I wrote that post about my “perfect” life? Well, the Sjogren’s has struck again. The truth is, I haven’t been feeling “well” for the last month. I use the term well loosely, because I don’t usually feel great. But I have definitely felt better.
It’s the time of year when everyone gets sick, colds and the flu are easy to contract, but usually, they’re not a big deal. Unless you have a compromised immune system.
Wednesday, around the end of my work day, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Nausea set in and a fever took hold. I left work an hour early and didn’t return until this morning. I spent four days in bed. I had a fever, chills, and I was dizzier than I care to remember. All of my joints ached and I some how managed to pull a muscle in my calf, making my trips up and down the stairs even harder.
I’m used to having joint pain and feeling my hands give out mid-way through my day. It’s been a part of my life, since I contracted Lyme Disease about three years ago. I’m accustomed to struggling with the stairs.
I don’t generally write about these things, because what’s the point? But with everything that has been going on and people ragging on me for the theme of this blog, I thought I’d open myself up and be a little bit vulnerable.
When I have these episodes, not having Jay here is the hardest thing. I have a dog to walk, I have to feed myself and I have a job to do. I need help getting up and down the stairs.
When I have these episodes I become wracked with guilt. I know that I can’t help it, but I feel like I am letting everyone down — from my husband, to my dog, to my friends and family, to my co-workers and my employers.
Anyway, I went to the doctor who said I had fluid in both of my ears (double ear infection, FTW!). Beyond that, she gave me a referral to another specialist for the autoimmune disorder. I’ve seen two already. The first told me to go online to read all about my new found disorder. The second treats the elderly and felt that because I was 22 years old, there was no way I could be that sick.
“Maybe it’s fibromyalgia,” he had said. I shook my head and left in disbelief. Though I have many of those symptoms, I have others that prove it’s more. I gave up on doctors after that.
Now, lets go back to Saturday. This is day four of having a fever, headache, joint pain, and all kinds of other awesome symptoms. I just sprawled out on my floor and cried. Every time I have an episode I am reminded of some really scary facts. It could get worse instead of better. There is no cure. Since I don’t produce fluid very well naturally, having children may be very difficult.
Seriously. Why can’t I cut myself some slack? Why do I have to put myself through that every time I have an episode? It’s insane and gets me no where. But I was very sick, very vulnerable, and my husband had been gone for three and a half weeks.
I wrote this because I thought it was only fair to give you some insight into what it’s like to live in my dry, itchy skin every day, and to take a peek at what I really go through. This is the best I’ve felt in a month, and I can still feel the ear infection and mild fever. I try to stay positive about things because, well, where is being negative going to get me?
It isn’t going to change my situation. Maybe this new doctor will be able to help me. I doubt it. But I did some research and spent over $100 on vitamins and supplements and I’ve found a massage therapist who actually gets me and what I’m going through.
In a little less than two weeks, I’ll have my husband back for 10 days. I’ll have a small slice of my family life again. That’s what I most look forward to. I love my career and working keeps me busy, but there is something to be said for having what you love waiting for you at home.
Anyway, I have a recipe for beef barley stew that I am hoping to get up in the coming days and I also have a story to right for Watertown Patch. Now that my energy levels are becoming a bit more regular, I should be able to post more normally.
So, how is that, anons? My life as a Sjoggie. It doesn’t get more real than that.