It’s been a long time. Hard to believe how long. Could it really be three and a half years? 1267 days? That number doesn’t even seem real to me, but that’s how long it’s been since the day I went to the ER and this whole nightmare began. 1267 days since my nervous system got fried, damaging the nerves running through my esophagus, kidneys, and spine. 1267 days of electricity coursing through my body, putting a stopblock into every day. 1267 days since I’ve had a day where it didn’t hurt to eat. To exercise. To lay down. To lift something heavy. To… come on God, you gotta be kidding me, even to pee?! But I’m almost done. I’m getting so close. I can feel it.
Of course, I’ve been saying that for the past year. Anyone who asks gets an earful about how I’m almost there and that I’m on my last nerve. “Just give me another week,” I say. But another week passes and I’m still having to sleep sitting up. Still limiting my diet to the few things that cause the least amount of pain. Still getting zapped for no particular reason at all. If I get a little hungry? Zap. Feeling stressed? Zap. Zap. Just walking along, minding my own business, not a care in the world? Zap. Zap. Zap-zap. Zap. What the hell?
Before all this, I wasn’t a stranger to getting electrocuted. More than once I got jolted during some home renovation projects. That’s what happens when you take the lazy man’s route and forget to check the breakers before switching wires. Zap. I’ve also been in Tough Mudder events where you have to belly-crawl through water while live wires dangle just inches above your head. That’s right, live wires and water. Together. Zap. Zap. Zap. Which begs the question, who exactly is in charge of risk management at Tough Mudder? I was even knocked out for a few seconds when one of the wires touched the back of my neck! My buddies thought this was hilarious. It was.
Those zaps, however, were superficial and voluntary. The kinds that give you little war stories to laugh about with your buddies over a beer, and help drum out the monotony of regular life. But getting electrocuted everyday from the inside? Boy do I miss regular life. What I would give to be able to eat a sandwich or have a glass of milk without wincing. Or even water. Fricking water. Even water hurts to drink. Not gonna lie, I’m beginning to feel a little like Bruce Willis in Die Hard, limping my way through Nakatami plaza, covered in blood, my clothes torn and my shoes missing, yelling “HOLLLLLLLY!”
When I tell my friends and family that I think I’m on my last nerve, I’m not lying. Well, not really. The electric shocks never go away, but they get a little less as the healing works its way down my spine. When another nerve is healed, I don’t necessarily fully believe it’s going to be the last one, but I have to hope, right? And really, what else have you got sometimes? When my problem was finally diagnosed as mast cell disease, after two years of no answers, the doctor who identified it said, “you know, I don’t know if I’ll be able to help you.” And he was right, because every med he gave me made it worse. When I conferred with another doctor to see what he thought, he actually told me, and I quote: “you’re fucked.” With support like that, what else have you got to go on but hope?
This last year we’ve all been hanging our hats on hope. Hoping for the pandemic to end. Hoping for better days ahead. Hoping to just get through another week. Hoping our kids will get through this in one piece. Everyone has been stung by the pandemic in some way or another and there’s been a lot of loss: loss of freedom, loss of community, loss of confidence, loss of life. It’s hurt. We have sacrificed and been stretched and have been through a whole lot of everything bad you can think of. But my hope is that we’ve experienced a lot of growth too.
Before my health problems, I didn’t think I had much more to grow as a person, but these last few years have rocked my world and made me see things I never fully understood before. Appreciate what people have gone through in ways I hadn’t seen before. In short, I’ve grown. It hasn’t been fun and I wish I never had to experience it to learn it, but I think I’m a better person for it.
Growth hurts. Life’s challenges force us out of our comfort zone, causing stress and conflict, but when we adapt and learn from that conflict, we become better equipped to handle future challenges. Like bodybuilders, we have to stretch and tear some muscles to give those muscles more space to grow. As the nerves regenerate in my spine, there is a familiar cycle of cold tingling, followed by a searing hot pain that makes me feel like I’m being soldered back together. It’s uncomfortable and it hurts, but afterwards my body is a little stronger and the remaining pain gets a little easier to manage. Here’s hoping the growth continues.
Extraordinary piece of writing. Sounds like the making of a good book
Thanks! Max suggested the same thing this week.