About all that health stuff…
I’ve got this deal going – in my head anyway – with the Three Fates. The Greeks called them Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos, and they spin out, measure, and in the end cut the thread of our lives. We are literally in their hands.
My deal is, I get to stay alive for some unspecified number of moments after the liver cancer and transplant. I get to be conscious, occasionally functional, and once in a while I even get to thrive. I also get to experience each and every sensation of a body running down its weave.
I’ve started and not finished a dozen posts on my health trials of the past year. One did refer to my struggle last summer just to learn that I’ve comedown two impossible–for-a-transplantee autoimmune diseases, but that’s it. I feel guilt for not having posted more.
Somehow I’ve made peace with the situation. A diagnosis and some medication to manage it – the AI’s, as I call them, will not go away until I do – helped. But somewhere along the way I lost the ability to write about it all.
If you really want to know more read up on dermatomyositis and Reynaud’s Syndrome. The acute phase of this mess, which lasted more or less from June to September, was the worst experience I’ve ever had medically. No, really: the liver transplant was a mere cut finger in comparison.
Until the Reynaud’s was under control I literally couldn’t write – rotting nerve-fired fingertips do not encourage typing. Now I’m just weary of of it all: repeating symptoms over and over to too many doctors; explaining to friends and family why I was having test A then test B and then test C then explaining to them what the docs found when they finally found something; wrapping my own head around the diagnosis because once again I achieved the impossible as someone with a transplant and a deliberately suppressed immune system can’t get an autoimmune disease except I got two… and blah and blah and blah and BLAH.
I just couldn’t whine anymore so I stopped. Better to write essays about California’s crazy seasons and anti-vaccine idiots hanging outside the H1N1 clinic and how the good old U.S. of A. is once again following California (coming soon).
So. Under the terms of my imagined deal with the Fates I live the frayed ends of a life and find the beauty and happiness where I can while trying to ignore the miseries. Denial, as I’ve pointed out, is a Good Thing.
Truth is, the Fates don’t deal. I have no idea when Atropos will snip my thread. It is chilling to know that even the gods feared the Fates. Even Zeus was subject to their whims.