My body is a deviant machine.
That’s a slightly more poetic and less angry way to say that my body is a fucking bastard, most of the time.
This machine loves to do the opposite of what it is meant to do. Or at least, what people who have studied medicine and anatomy think it is meant to do. I am the one percent of people that actually get the side effects on the labels of medications, or worse, gets the side effects that haven’t been written down yet. I am the person that makes doctors say, “I don’t know,” a lot more than any person would ever be comfortable with. For the computer also known as my brain, to be placed in this machine causes constant conflict. And sometimes, it just makes me want to scream. This is one of those times.
Lately, I have been even more sick than usual for two months. These last two weeks it has thankfully calmed down. I have had episodes every single night that lasted hours. I woke in the middle of the night sweating, dizzy, nauseous, in pain, confused and convulsing. I screamed for my mother, scared and burning as I try to force myself to throw up whatever demon decided to take refuge in my belly.I kept falling down and hurting myself because I was disoriented for no reason, and could hardly walk down my hallway because it seemed like a maze. I went to doctors constantly who would diagnose me over and over with things that sounded right, until they were wrong. Finally they gave up and just hoped it would eventually subside. My mother panicked, thinking I was pregnant (naturally, that was the first thing we ruled out. Considering my boyfriend currently lives in a different state, that was highly unlikely, but I was tested anyway to be sure). I finally ended up in an ER, shaking and frightened, and still, nothing. I was sent home frustrated and tired and still, sick. After all that, still sick.
In the last few weeks I have had non-stop blood tests, urine tests, MRIs and a minor surgery to try to figure out what my body is doing, why it hates me so much, and what I can do to make it happier. And every single result from every single test came back entirely normal.
This is just one of dozens of examples of what my life has always been like. The cycle goes something like this: I have a problem I’ve always had that has worsened, or something new altogether, I am tested and researched, the doctors come up with nothing, and I am told to just live with my conditions, or that it is normal. But I assure you, it is not normal to constantly live in physical and mental pain. It is not normal to be scared of your own body because you don’t know when it might suddenly decide to throw you into agony. I, nor anyone, should have to “live with it,” because it isn’t living. It’s struggling to keep my head above water, and I absolutely hate that.
My most recent onset of mysterious episodes is the smallest of the problems I have been trying to find answers to, yet it has ended the same way as all the others. When my family and friends are stumped, that’s one thing. When I exhaust doctors of all their options, especially those who are supposed to be some of the best in the country, that’s another thing entirely. A horse of a different color, if you will. A really shitty and disappointing bubblegum colored horse.
Disappointment is a world that I use to describe my life often. I have been disappointed more times than I can count by other people, but even more often by my own body. It seems every time I try to get better, I spend all the time and money I can, and am left empty handed, or with even more pain and questions than before. I try so desperately hard to get better, to be healthy and happy and alright. I try to tell myself constantly that I am okay, and most days, it works, because there are a lot of moments where I really do feel pretty okay. But some days it doesn’t work, because there is always a part of me that really does not know what is going to happen to me. And I can’t lie – I am scared. I am terrified of the deviant machine.However, I do think admitting fear takes strength. Pretending pain and fear don’t exist, I think, is cowardly.
Through all I go through, I at least try to be an honest person to both myself and others. I believe that thinking positively can change the world and is important, that being realistic is not equivalent to being pessimistic, and that there is always a little more good in the world than bad. But, I also believe that no one should have to lie when they feel horrible or when they are sick or scared. I don’t believe in minimizing one person’s problems because someone else’s is worse. It is unfair to expect a human being to not be affected by all the things we go through, or to hide emotions. Emotions are so incredibly powerful.
So that being said, I will once again say it. I am scared of the deviant machine. I am scared of not knowing if whether I will get more sick or more healthy as my life goes on. When I was young I wanted so badly to be unique. As I grow older, I now wish nothing more than to be just a healthy, fairly regular person. I have met people who have never been in an ambulance or hospitalized. I want so desperately to be like them. While it may be a lot more boring, I’d be very grateful for less hospital visits.
I am sometimes glad that my mind is as stubborn as my body. That being said, I absolutely refuse to believe that my all of my health conditions are mysteries that are impossible to solve. I will go full on Sherlock Holmes if I have to. I hope that I will be able to live a very long and happy life. Not a perfect one, but a good one, a less painful one. I know it won’t come easily, as it shouldn’t, but that’s all I’ve ever really wanted, ultimately. Just a really good, healthy life. I think I’m on my way. I guess the future will let me know later.
In the midst of a storm searching for shelter,
I came upon one single feather,
A half-hearted wish for something better.