Skip to main content

HAWMC Day 17: The Hard-Learned Lesson

A lesson I learned the hard way. I feel like I talk about those a lot on here. Pretty much all the time. Like, I  went back to look at  past posts to link to as examples of this, and almost all of them would work in some way. So, I'm going to choose the one that both took the longest to learn (I still don't think I'm there yet...) and has had the biggest impact on my life.

Asking for help.

I've written about how complicated this is before, and I was almost certain I'd explained the moment when I finally started to get that it's okay to just ask for help, but I can't seem to find it. So, I guess I'm going to tell you now. 

In the summer of 2010, I pretty much bottomed out. It was the worst flare I've ever had. It had been coming on for a while, of course. A really long while. But I ignored all the signs and insisted I would be fine. That I just needed to keep moving forward and eventually I would pull myself together. Obviously, this is not the most helpful way of thinking, but it seemed entirely reasonable at the time.

So, I went on a road trip with my Aunt and Uncle down to Nebraska for a family reunion. The trip had been planned for a long time and it didn't even occur to me to say that I wasn't feeling well enough to go. Packing was pretty rough. I had to do it in fits between the constant diarrhea, regular vomiting and having to lay down because I was too exhausted to stand up. I have no idea how I made it to the train station and out to my Aunt and Uncle's in the burbs, but somehow I did it.

When I got out there, they were both immediately concerned. I must have looked like death warmed over and I was in the bathroom every five minutes. They tried to get me to talk about, but I just sort of said I would be fine. We left for Nebraska the next morning.

I don't want to go into a whole bunch of detail about the trip. I was pretty miserable. I mean, the reunion was great. It was fun to meet all those relatives. I just wish I had been well enough to enjoy it. 

Anyway, we got back to my Aunt and Uncle's house. I remember I woke up the next morning and could barely stand. I spent the entire day sleeping on the couch. It was the next day that my Aunt said either I needed to call a doctor or she would. She said it much nicer than that, but that was the jist. I got on the phone with a gastroenterologist's office that afternoon and made an appointment for the next available time.

The day before my appointment, my Aunt and Uncle drove me back into the city and dropped me off, saying if I needed help getting to the appointment or anything, just to call. I nodded and smiled and thanked them, but was not planning to call. The office was right off the brown line. Surely I could manage.

I don't remember why I left the apartment that afternoon. I was going to get something from the store, I think. Maybe dinner. Although, I wasn't really eating solid food... I have no idea. What I do remember is having to throw up in a garbage can on my way back because I couldn't make it to a bathroom. That's when I finally broke down and called to ask my Aunt and Uncle to pick me up and drive me to my doctor's appointment the next morning. 

That's when I started to get it. It's okay to just ask for help. You're not a burden. You're not pathetic. You're not less of a person. You just need a little help. I mean, I'm not saying that I'm now a master of asking for help. I'm still working on it, but it's getting easier. And the thing I'm learning is that if you ask for help just once, you're going to be a lot better off down the line and probably won't need help, but if you put it off, the need just gets more intense.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Overwhelming Nuance - Dancing Crohn's Disease

Below is small segment of my Dance Studies Research Project, "Cripping Dance: Radical Representations of the Disabled Dancing Body." It's the bit I wrote about my own work, Overwhelming Nuance (excerpted below), which, as you will see, was inspired by the feelings of denial that so often accompany disease.  Nearly four years after I was diagnosed with Crohn's, it flared massively. Lost in the idea that "my disease will not define my life", I ignored for months the signs of the looming crash. This breakdown forced me to come to terms with the reality of my disease. I suddenly understood that the idea that the mind might overcome the body just supported the willful denial of my disease. After this experience, determined to force an openness about disease in my own life, I claimed disability as part of my identity and choreographed my own "crip" coming out.

The issue with "mind over matter"

I think about this pretty constantly. Is "mind over matter" really a thing? Is it really possible to outsmart your body? If so, is this a useful tool? Or is it a harmful lie? Is it just kind of a white lie? Also, (and this is what the whole thing really boils down to for me) is the mind actually separate from the body? Are we our bodies or are we our minds? Do the two have to be mutually exclusive? Or are the mind and the body actually one and the same? My opinion on this subject has changed drastically and regularly over the years. Early on, right after my diagnosis, I was firmly ensconced in the pro-mind-over-matter camp. Without ever thinking about an alternative, ironically. Actually, this started long before I was diagnosed. For at least a year leading up to my official diagnosis, I experienced intense health issues and paid very little real attention to them. I just kept on going as best I could, thinking these symptoms would go away eventually. This, obviously, did n

Chronic Overshare

Every two weeks I take my Humira shot. No big deal. But, a couple days afterward the most wonderful thing happens. I poo. I mean, I take a dump . It's awesome. The thing is, I crap constantly. All the freaking time. Just not like this. This is one of those rare, deeply satisfying, glorious dumps. And I get to look forward to it every two weeks. It's a major source of joy in my life. And what's my immediate reaction every two weeks? What is the first thing I want to do as I saunter triumphantly from the bathroom? I want to tell people. I actively seek out someone to inform of the magnificent crap I just took. I'm genuinely disappointed if no one's around. My poor roommates.