Today marks the second day where I’ve been feeling like I’ve been run over by a truck. My throat is sore, I haven’t been sleeping, my mind’s been racing, I’ve been fighting with my RRHB (just wait until we’re in person and I can tell you what his definition of our relationship is. Oh. Yes.), and feeling desperately tired.
It’s strange, after they found my blood, I felt a lot, A LOT, better. But the past couple days have been so stressful with our big work conference and having to be certain places by certain times (with no breathing space), that I’m falling back into bad diseasy-grossness (how’s that for made up words).
And then, I was sitting having lunch during said conference when a woman I work with was telling me about her brother who also suffered from Wegener’s Granulomatosis. Notice I say “suffered”? Well, he got so sick and no one noticed that the disease killed him. He was only 36.
So as bad as I feel, as gross and tired and frustrated and angry and sad and mad and fat and pimply and crazy and upset and exhausted and achy and depressed and psychotic and overwhelmed and sick of being sick I am, I am lucky enough to be alive. That’s so easy to forget when I’m tunneling down the Sorry-For-Myself Street after a long day working in publishing and having all kinds of great people around me that I love and that love me.
I am lucky to be alive.
I am lucky to be alive.
And now that I’ve fulfilled my J.D.-inspired “sensitive” post. I’m going to go back to the couch and watch any and all episodes of Law & Order (any variation; I’m not picky) I’ve got on the Faux-Vo.
I for one am very glad you’re alive. Keep in mind too that there’s all the crap in the air from the tree leaves and flowers coming out. I myself, feel like death this week. I’m sure with your sinuses, it can’t be doing you much good either.