Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Those few days without the internet to waste my time and being home from work because we’re still trying to find my blood, means I’m not racing around like a maniac living my life.
On March 21st, I see the super-fancy disease doctor. At that point, I’m sure he’ll put me on yet another medicine for the disease, which will inevitably have serious side effects. The prednisone I’ve been taking for the last two weeks has started to kick in. My cravings for extremely bad food have started (I won’t give in! I won’t give in!) and I’m a bit puffy. The really fun stuff like the acne (face, chest, back) hasn’t started yet and neither has a lot of the water weight, so those are positive things.
But what’s weighing my mind down isn’t whether or not I’m dying from the disease (because I’m not) but more how I need to change my life in order to deal with its presence. Change is hard regardless of how it comes about. Whether it’s forced or whether you force it upon yourself, it always involves pain, pressure and release (metaphorically, of course).
So now I’m kind of at a crossroads. I have a good job that I’m not necessarily well enough to do but I don’t know if I’m sick enough to stay home. And then there’s the guilt: the guilt about taking care of myself, the guilt about getting paid but not working, the guilt about just staying home if I really need to. In the end, much depends on what the super-disease doctor says next week. I guess maybe he’ll force my hand, and change is on the horizon.
It’s time for you to let go of the guilt. Let it go. Time for you to take time for yourself. “Your inbox will not be empty when you die,” a small self-help book given to me by former flaky boss says. Think about it.
“Get busy living or get busy dying,” as my wise husband says. Time to be selfish. You need to start living as though you could die tomorrow. Because, hey, any of us could.