Sunday, February 10, 2013

New Struggles. New Fight.

One morning you wake up, shifting into the monotony of The Day. It hardly matters what Day it is, because all of them seem dreadfully similar. Or, depending on your personality type, comfortingly similar.

You walk down your corridor, or your parent's corridor, deoending on your age. You settle in front of the television to watch the news or Cartoon Network. Maybe you're like me and flip between the two, as in this society there is little difference any more.

There is nothing out of the ordinary out of this day...or so you imagine. Yet, for some unknown reason, as you head out the door...something changes. The colors of the outdoors take you aback as you swing the door to your home open, and when you introdufe yourself to the world out side, you are engulfed by all the wonders the world has to offer. You have become as a brand new cold in the springtime, galloping in the tender grass, nary a care in the world...

...but watch it. As Life As You Know It is about to change.

There is a storm approaching -- on your way back from work, from school. You leap up the steps to your porch, taking them two at a time. You pull out the keys to get in; you are a latch key kid, always have been and always will be. You slip the key into the lock, only...it doesn't fit. Bewildered, you stare at the key. It is the ONLY KEY on that keychain. There is no way you could have taken out the wrong key. You ring the doorbell. Surely some one is home?

You stand outside for a good minute or two, realizing that there aren't any cars in the driveway. This concerns you even more. You next plan is to signal anyone inside your normally lit house...for storms, the lights are kept low. Everyone has agreed the storms are lovely.....

You cup your hands around your eyes only to find the house completely bare on the inside. The furniture, the dog, everything is gone.

Nothing will ever be the same.

...

So it is with living and dealing with a chronic illness. Literally, one day everthing is just fine. The next thing...it's your second Christmas in a row you've spent inpatient. It totally takes you by surprise, and nothing seems the same. Nothing looks or even smells the same. You are a stranger to your own home, your own family.

So what are you going to do about it?
Do you want to kniw what I've done?

Ok. First, I threw a big huge fit. Yup. Sure did. I snapped at people who had no bearing on my issues...innocent passers by. Then, I blamed my unstable childhood, God, my genetics, and became very, very bitter.

Once I became I little more objective about my situation and declining condition, and realized I could either make this a tragedy or a victory, in July 2012 I made a blog, called Surviving and Thriving: The Journey of Danielle Nicole. So that others like me won't feel unwanted, crazy, hopeless &c.

Now after a month inpatient at Barnes-Jewish, wheelchair bound, with no promise but uncertainty in my future, I am back. I am back because this is what I want to do. I want others: parents, grandparents, the patients themselves, to see, feel, and KNOW that circumstances can be dire and abysmal...

But there is absolutely no sense in quitting before the fight is clearly over.

And in my case, it is not.

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