This time last year...
A 2023 health crisis made me question what I want in life, but it gave me the resilience to face everything that 2024 threw at me. I've come out the other side a stronger, healthier, happier woman.
Being an old boot, I'm obviously a keen Faceboooook user. The following post popped up in my FB memories from this time last year. It shook me a little. In the shadow of this year’s almighty shitshow, I forgot that BIG BAD things happened last year too. In lots of ways last year’s events were bigger and badder than the shocking end of my marriage and consequent revelations that rocked the foundation of who I thought I was.
I still have the Chronic Fatigue Syndrome that I wrote about below, but having shed 120 pounds this year, my health is much easier to manage.
Now I’m emerging into my own new life, a life that’s more exciting, more interesting and far more fulfilling that I could have possibly dared to hope for, I wonder if having the ‘am I going to die soon?’ experience I wrote about below set me up to survive this year. And not just survive, but to reinvent myself as a ferociously independent woman, and create a new life to my own singular design.
You live and learn…
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Facebook: Dec 30th 2023
Right pals. I know I share a lot on here and for some people that may seem like a bonkers thing to do - for me, writing stuff down helps me makes sense of whatever’s going on. So bear with… This one is more of a blog that a Faceboooook post so if you can be arsed, strap yourself in for a long ‘un. If you can't be arsed. That's fine too.
This Christmas I got a present from my beautiful pal Judith that made me cry. Proper snot and can’t speak tears. Iain and Tom thought I was imploding.
So. As I’ve relentlessly twatted on about, I’ve been a enfeebled this year by ropey health.
In May I was in the swimming pool in Greece with The Glorious Sarah L (chebs out, obvs) when I showed her the lumps that have come up on my knuckles and fingers. I asked if she thought it was a doctor thing. ‘Yes it definitely is’ she said.
I’d already been having 20 hour naps by then, which I put down to the stress of 3 years of supporting my slowly dying dad without any help from any immediate family (aside from my brilliant Auntie and Uncle in Keighley who are always at the end of the phone it's just been Iain and Tom and me. Just the 3 of us.), the stress of managing my mental health around all of that upset, plus the ongoing worries around keeping our lad safe. And I felt really pissed off and guilty that I wasn’t well enough to work - despite Iain repeatedly telling me to chill the fook out (CTFO is an acronym in our house) and concentrate on getting well. So y'know. Lots of stress n that.
So I went to the docs, and they were more concerned about my sleeping than the lumps. Any road, I had a blood test. Then came the first time (now, a recurring friggin event) that the doctor called and said I needed to come in to see her the same day. I said I was having my hair done that afternoon and she suggested I cancel it. Chuffin bold!
It turns out there are some markers in my blood which show inflammation (which is apparently a sign of something serious going on) that were/are 4 or 5 times the maximum and my liver is off too - which is pisser considering I’m nearly 7 years sober.
Everything else is okay, which was a pleasant surprise. All of the ‘well what does she expect, a fat knacker like her?’ stuff I assumed would be up with me - heart, blood pressure, cholesterol, all of the fat lass stuff - all fine. Marvellous. The trifle hasn’t got me yet.
The immediate and obvious concern to the doc was multiple Myeloma (blood/ bone marrow cancer) which is terminal and with life expectancy of between a few weeks and 8 years maximum (it’s what my dad-in-law died of so we know a little bit about it). The doc said to manage expectations as I have almost all of the markers and she did some more tests. So after a fucking long few days (only Iain, Sarah L and Judith knew at that point and have been friggin superstars - proper 3am pals) the results were negative. Hurrah. But my blood was still bonkers so the doc sent me off doing the specialist rounds.
First rheumatologist who diagnosed ME/ Chronic fatigue syndrome, but couldn’t explain the blood. Then haematologists - who had no idea, who passed me onto immunologists who suggested more specific Myeloma screenings. That was a downer as we thought it was off the table at that point.
The day before Iain and me went on our American Adventure in September, those Myeloma tests came back as not negative but inconclusive, which was a right kick in the tits. The doc said to go on holiday anyway - it’d be a fortnight before the specialist came back with more info and also Myeloma isn’t like other cancers that are very time sensitive for survival - if it was in fact positive it was just about management and making me comfortable.
So we went. I decided that if it was positive I’d rather croak having had a brilliant adventure, seeing Yellowstone and the Wild West. And on a practical level if it was positive it’d be unlikely I’d be able to travel again. So Iain and me decided to shove the whole thing deep deep deep into denial, make a proper decision not to think about it, and have an amazing holiday. WHICH WE DID!
The only time I thought about it at all was while we were between flights on the way home in Minneapolis airport and I went into a book shop and saw the most wonderfully titled book : ‘The Swedish Art of Aging Exuberantly’. I fooking loved the idea of that. EXUBERANTLY! How utterly fabulous. I know lots of people who are aging with curiosity and energy and the capacity for wonder and friggin loving their lives in their 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s.
However, being a pragmatic Yorkshire lass, I popped the book back on the shelf and with an internal chuckle said to myself ‘I’m not going to get my money’s worth out of that if I’ve only a couple of years left’. And it all came back. This feeling that I might be coming towards the end. That I might not get to age, exuberantly or otherwise.
D’you know, during all that period when we were forced to think about all of that, the thing that upset me the most was not being able to see Tom continue to grow into a splendid young man and not being able to get old with Iain and maybe have grandchildren and a million dogs and shit loads of adventures with both of them, as well as my best pals who I love dearly. I also felt huge guilt about the possibly of messing up Tom and Iain’s lives for a bit (as Iain admitted ‘that would definitely be a difficult afternoon’. RUDE). I didn’t give two shits about work stuff or external measures of what constitutes a successful life. All I cared about was the people I love and sadness about what I’d miss out on - the ultimate FOMO. Due to being dead n that innit.
Anyway, panic over. A few days after we got back from America the most recent Myeloma test came back as negative, but still… manky blood.
So it’s ongoing. The ME/ Chromic Fatigue Syndrome is more of a symptom than a diagnosis. Every 3 weeks or so I have more blood tests and still they dunno. And I get every bug or infection going and it totally knocks me over. It’s pissing me right off cos I want to have shitloads of energy and do exciting things, and be productive and hardworking. But I mostly only have the energy to plod through the basics, see my dad, as well as doing my Masters which is a brilliant way of distracting myself and a hopeful thing too - learning new stuff gives me focus about something completely different from all of this shite.
Also, please take this sharing (for me it's not over-sharing, just my comfortable usual amount) as an apology if I’ve been late or forgotten to reply to emails or messages from bloody brilliant pals on here. I appreciate all the advice and chats and loveliness from all my FB pals.
My head (as well as my blood) is aaaaaall over the place, in addition to being a scatty old boot with menopause memory.
I got yet another ‘You need to come in urgently’ call from the doc just before Christmas and am going to see ‘em tmoz. Getting used to it now. My thought is that I’ve been seen by so many specialists now that if there was summat urgent and super serious they’d have found it. But at the same time I want a proper diagnosis so I can crack on with getting better. It’s been 10 bastard months now.
Anyway. Christmas morning and we set about opening the massive box of gifts that Judith sent from New York. And among loads of other chuffin brilliant treats, guess what I got… Along with a card reminding me that whatever the future throws at us there’s always possibility of squeezing some exuberance out of life. Not dead yet innit!
OH MY CHRIST I was in bits.
I’ll keep you updated pals. When I’m not asleep or studying.
Love ya! Xxx