Wednesday Valuables: Remembrance of sick days past...

(from www.albany.edu)

Feel like you have the plague?

There is a small handful of people who have taken care of me during those pathetic icky days of colds, stomach flus, intense migraines, etc. They are the ones on my mind today as I try to be one of these heroes myself choosing a soup to make or pick up for my laid up sicko down the street...

Mother, naturally, has been that hero most frequently. I can't start this entry without acknowledging her. She was exactly what a mother should be... tucked the blankets around me good and tight... made me bowls and bowls of noodle soup... made my tea better than anyone else on the planet (even me)... rented my favorite movies... and best of all, she managed not to kill me as I rested on the rocker moaning. Thanks, Mom.

I'm thinking of my high school nearest and dearest, too. When I was being tested for everything under the sun my eleventh grade to see what was wrong with me (eventually I was diagnosed with FMS), my friends would come over occasionally. Murray, Caleb, Tristan, and Anya would bring me flowers, send me cards, bring me tea or coffee, etc. I had heard of another young girl (she was diagnosed after two full years of testing at age 13) who actually lost the majority of her friends after she became ill. No one seemed to believe her. She's not alone. FMS works like that... because there are virtually no physical, outward signs distinguishing its victims from healthy people. You know how most sick people... well, look sick? FMS patients look like everyone else. All you might pick up on is how tired they are... So, I consider myself lucky. My friends stuck with me.

There was the time I caught my roommate's stomach flu. She was on her way out to visit her family just as I was exhibiting symptoms. I had taken care of her while she was ill, but now I was on my own. I felt particularly weak one day and dropped a glass in the kitchen. I decided I needed to sit down and I called my aunt. She came over and cleaned up the glass for me (I was paranoid about my cat stepping on it and felt I could not trust myself to do a decent job). I encouraged her to stay away from me, but she grabbed me a drink on her way out. I will never forget this... she lives in Hampton, so, that was quite a trek in the middle of her weekend when she could have been relaxing, grading, or spending time with her family. I felt loved that day despite my condition.

I remember one summer in France, my skin broke out all over my right hand. I had carried a heavy suitcase all over the countryside, from train to train, trying to get to Silvia's mother's house. The stress and frustration of travel added to the weight and my hand looked like I had put it in a blender and hit the puree button. When I arrived, I tried hiding my hand, but once Silvia's mother saw it, about five people came flocking to me and babbling in faster French than I could compute. Silvia's mother found a way to cool the skin down, clean it, and then her husband gave me a Ricard. The next day, I was taken to a very friendly doctor who gave me some of the most beautiful cream of all hand creams. I still have the handkerchief Silvia's mother gave me with which to wrap my hand as I carried my case a few days later to the airport to fly home.

I've had scary, throw-down migraines. I've had to ask David, and always unintelligibly, to put pressure on my brain. I imagine that's a scarier thing to do than to ask for... when I'm in that much pain, for some reason, intense pressure on the head helps. I wonder if it's because my head is splitting in two and I need help to hold it together. I lay there, sputter through tears and gasps for air, and David dutifully takes most of his arm strength and squeezes my head back into place. It takes courage to do something strange like that to someone for whom you greatly care...

There are also brief moments when someone steps in before you have an opportunity to feel bad. I am thinking back to my yoga teacher training days. I remember there was a low pressure system blowing through one weekend. Low pressure tends to inspire my headaches. I'm one of those people though... I'm stubborn about how much pain I should be in before I medicate. I guess it stems from the early years of FMS... I was on so many medications and just felt tired and groggy all the time. I don't like leaning on pills, so, I don't for the most part.

But this one afternoon, Stacy could see I was fighting something off. She looked at me and said, "It's your head, isn't it?" I agreed but insisted that I would be fine. She glared at me. She reached into her bag. I heard the clacking of pills and plastic. She produced two Excedrin. "Don't make me hurt you," she said with a smile. I took the pills. I felt better. What a concept, right? My moronic method has been to wait until the pain is bad enough to treat.... Stacy says you should nip it in the bud before it gets out of control. Since then, I'll admit it, I give in a little sooner.

So, if anyone else is feeling rotten, curl up with a book or a movie. Distract yourself from the nose, the shivers, the aches, and the neighbors. Give your loved ones a chance to bring you some comfort.

Now, off to figure out a soup for tomorrow...