Fear

For me, and I'm sure for many people with chronic illnesses, fear exists in almost everything that we do, everything we come across. One of the things I've found most difficult to deal with is fear of coping. Not about pain, not about how I feel or what I look like but whether I'll be able to do what I want to do at the end of the day.

I meet lots of old friends, who ask me in passing whether I'll go to university. Most, if not all, are shocked when I say that I've been at uni full time this year, because apparently it seems as if I'm far too ill or far too busy with hospitals to attend.

When I look back, I do wonder how I did it. How I managed to pass with merit, attend all my anatomy sessions, lectures, clinical skill sessions and placements, whilst having at least one hospital "commitment" a week. I'm afraid that I won't be able to pull it off again this year, and that I'll totally buckle under the pressure and everything will fall apart before my eyes.

I also have fear that this is a never-ending journey, a journey I'm taking to an unknown destination and I won't know where I'll end up, or if I'll ever be somewhere I can consider "the end". It's a fear of not knowing, and being afraid of walking through somewhere unfamiliar, towards a place that I won't know about until I get there.

Similarly, it scares me to know that my health and wellbeing is in other people's hands as much as mine. Many people may think otherwise and say that things are in my command and are my responsibility. However, it's hard, when some professionals are overbearing and opinionated, more than I'll ever be able to handle. It's difficult to trust someone to do things right when you're asleep, or when you're medicated so much that you are hardly conscious.

The feeling just before being put to sleep is the hardest to fight and deal with every time. Going through it once makes me never want to face it again, and the more times I have to face it, the more afraid I am. The panic of knowing that there's no turning back, and knowing that there's no more time for questions or reassurances feels horrible. It's commitment like no other; committing to letting someone perform surgery and submitting yourself to whatever might happen while you're asleep. I don't like not knowing who will see me, who will move me and have their hands on me.

Since going into anaphylactic shock twice from platelet transfusions, the prospect of any more transfusions fills me with dread, and indeed with fear. Watching those cells enter my body will never be the same again, and I will never be able to have a transfusion without being paranoid, and without someone with me to make sure everything's alright. For me, bad experiences shape my attitudes as much as positive experiences, if not more.

It is more beneficial than anything else to be reassured by people who can gain your trust. Not necessarily family and friends, but also professionals with that air of calm, who do best at allaying your fears and worry. I've found it to be a fact that fear plays a big part in making illness such a negative experience, and for me, nothing makes it better than sharing it, and letting other people in.

A Fine Line: Prejudice in Chronic Illness

For many people living with chronic illness, medications and medical treatments only account for half the battle we fight, if that. The rest of the struggles we face are from people's misconceptions and misunderstandings, sometimes even from the people who are supposed to care for us.

Fatigue and tiredness play a bigger part in chronic illness than the lay public may first think, and affect us a lot more than anybody could anticipate. In my case, I live a full life, no different from the life I would be living without Ehlers-Danlos, AVM or any of my other conditions. I went to school, had lots of friends and passed my first year of medical school with a merit. Most of the time, my friends are great about my conditions and don't treat me any differently for that. 

The problem I have, however, is with doctors who don't know and don't seem to want to know about anything less common than your common cold. Unbeknown to them, I am fully aware that they judge me for what I say and how I feel, and apparently it's not okay to be anything other than the average patient. It seems grossly unreasonable to think that I am being judged for feeling the way I do, physically, due to my conditions. I'm not sure how many of these said doctors have ever thought about it that way.

I know that sometimes, there are people who perhaps don't make the best of their time and spend it making a fuss or dwelling on the unhappy things. However, it's frustrating and is a shame that doctors take that image in, and apply it to nearly every patient that walks through their clinic door.

These doctors have no idea what damage they can do to people, and are blind to the effects they have on people's confidence (or lack thereof) and wellbeing. They make it difficult for patients to trust doctors as a whole, especially new doctors, and make patients feel judged or paranoid when that's not the way it should be. I'm not denying the existence of mental illness and the likes of hypochondria, but I just wish doctors would consider things more carefully before saying the first thing that comes to their minds.

I was diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome by the most well-known EDS doctor in the country, and have a letter detailing the tests and results that led to the diagnosis. Yet, a lot of my doctors treat it as a provisional diagnosis of a disease that barely exists, by addressing it as the "possibility that [you] may have some sort of collagen disorder". Things like this still happen to me, although slowly, I'm disengaging from those who refuse to believe in me and in EDS. I don't need that kind of attitude, and neither do my other doctors who fully believe in EDS and actually want to help. 

Illness and me

Sometimes, it's easy for us to look at our lives and pick out and be sad about the bad things in our lives. It's human and it's normal, and occasionally it's helpful to let things out and we're allowed to be sad when things aren't going so well.

For me, I know about the suboptimal things that have been, and are going on. But I know that whether I'm sick or not, I'm still me, and nothing short of a personality transplant can, and will change that. Even though it's a big part of me and has implications on a lot of things I do, there's so much more to me than Ehlers-Danlos, AVM, osteomyelitis and everything else put together.

I'm happy. Happy with everything that my life is at this moment, and I hope none of that is set to change. There are people who will ask me all the time how I am, and how my "hospital life" is getting on, and sometimes I wish they wouldn't. A lot of the time, they mean well, and want to know how I'm doing. I just hope that people don't think that I'm defined by illness, because I'm not.

I don't think I'd be the person I was without everything that's happened over the past few years. On the outside, it seems like a rotten deal, but the experience has helped me to learn how to deal with things, and I'm no longer feeling lost. It might sound strange, but I feel like everyone else, and like how I used to. Physically, of course I know that I feel different, but my mind has adapted to that to help me move on and get back to achieving what I was achieving before this came along.

I hope that people aren't sad for me when things happen because I don't like seeing people upset when I'm feeling okay and when I know that everything will be fine. Instead of people looking in from the outside and being sad, I want to take people with me on my journey and show them everything that I've learnt. So, if you'll let me, I want you to come and join me, and learn too that living in my shoes isn't as distant and alien as it seems, even if I may unintentionally imply that through my words sometimes.