bittersweet celebrations- part I

I've never been one to hide from my emotions, but there really are times I want to just crawl out of my skin and run away from my life. To run free through a time when things seemed much simpler, much more clear. I'm guessing it would be very meadow like, and there would be a flowing white dress and wildflowers involved... and no gray hair.

These next few months, and especially this next week, will be filled with a lot of bittersweet memories for me. Anniversaries to pass. Things I need to write through. Blessings I need to remind myself of.

Valentine's Day marked one of those bittersweet anniversaries for me. Last February 14 was the day I got "sick". I remember being at dinner with Brad and beginning to run a fever--the first fever I'd had since childhood. That fever would continue, as high as 105 degrees at some points, for the next 35 days. One day, when just Zane and Ethan were home with me (Brad was out on a drive) my fever spiked to the point I began to hallucinate. I thought there was a flood coming and I needed to "save the papers" (as I kept repeating over and over). Zane was scared and called our neighbors to help. I had fallen asleep with multiple layers of clothing on, numerous blankets, and a heating pad. Who knows what would have happened had my sweet boy not acted so quickly.

Then came the aches. Just the backs of my legs at first, but quickly settling into every muscle and joint in my body. I couldn't close my hands. I couldn't open my mouth. I couldn't even roll over in bed. All the skin peeled off my hands and feet. The roof of my mouth lost all the ridges on it. I was chronically dehydrated. I kept going to the Emergency Room and begging them to help me, and they kept telling me it was just the flu and to let it run its course. They would give me fluids, dope me up on all kinds of narcotics, and send me home. I would sleep for a few hours, but once the drugs wore off-- I would be shaking with shock at the intensity of the pain as it returned.

During some of my more drugged up times, I tried to blog about how I was feeling---but I was so frightened that I might never get better, I never really went into much detail about what I was dealing with.

Finally a good doctor was able to make the diagnosis---Rheumatic Fever. I was put on the correct anti-inflammatory medicine and got steadily better.

It seemed such an unlikely diagnosis because people my age do not usually a.) get Rheumatic Fever and b.) if they do---do not live through it. Bobby Darrin died of Rheumatic Fever. So did Mozart. That did not make me feel better.

Anyhow, this week I celebrate the fact that I DID live through it. That I now have a standard of pain to judge anything else that may afflict me against. A backache, a cut, a bruise, a headache----nothing anymore. I feel like a survivor.

The bittersweet part comes with the permanent heart damage I suffered as a result of the sickness. I now have Mitral Valve Stenosis---a bad heart murmur. I was told that there would be limitations to what I could do, but not many. Just to live my life and stop when it felt like I was getting tired. I have certainly come up against those limitations---times it felt like my heart was working so hard inside me that it was going to explode. I've had a lot of palpitations and cramping. It was not easy, because of my condition, to find insurance after mine was canceled in the divorce. And--though I've known this for some time--this is the first time that I've blogged about it: my doctor told me not to have any more children. Not that as a single, 33 year old woman I'm thinking a lot about babies right now---but it was still a hard diagnosis to receive. I don't like to be limited.

This is the place where I would normally leave you on an optimistic note--and mean it too--but there's more to get out. Tomorrow.

~Anything you lived through that you didn't think you would?~