On Changing Expectations and Being Sick

I went on an incredible trip for a month. And I’d really like to talk about it and share some of those experiences with you. Unfortunately, that is not what I’m posting about today. I’m posting about what happens when things don’t go the way you would hope.

I’m sick. Like, curled up on the couch, delirious, wanting your mom sick. Which has been me, since basically we got back. Scratch that, I was lucky enough to make it the wedding we came back from Kenya for, but not entirely. We left early, so I could go home, and be sick. Which has been me, for over a week. Not writing, not eating, not being a productive member of anything. Laying on the couch, being delirious, and wanting my mom.

It gets worse. I’m not sick. Not in the omg-you-have-a-disease sense. My labs were all clean from when I managed to get myself to a doctor. It’s not viruses, it’s not parasites, I don’t have infections. My blood is clean. I am, for all intents and purposes, fine.

But I knew that, because this problem I’m having? It isn’t new. It’s been going on for six years. And slowly and steadily getting worse until we’re at today, where I’m so hungry I’m ready to commit murder and have a gnarly headache. I haven’t kept down a full meal in over a week. I’ve dropped ten pounds. I’m dehydrated, but not enough to get intravenous fluids. I’m a mean-and-nasty person because my head hurts all the time. I’m sick. I want my mom to take care of me and make it all better like she did when I was little.

That isn’t going to happen. I’ve fallen off the cliff and been hit by the mysterious-chronic-illness freight train. Now chronic enough to warrant specialists. At probably the worst time it could have happened. My novella? It’s half-edited. I don’t have the presence of mind to finish it right now. I’m going to have to figure that out. The cover? It’s coming. It’s paid for. This is happening. But don’t ask me when.

I had plans, remember? I don’t know if things are going to quite work that way anymore. I already know that somewhere, I’m going to have to at least cut out a short story for this year. I can’t get it all done, not when I’m feeling like this.

I’m frustrated. I’m behind schedule. I’m sick. I’m not okay with any of this. But I’m going to have to learn to be okay with it. Because I can’t control this sick thing.

In short, things might be slowing down until I figure out how to work with this. I have no idea how long it will be until the doctors can start helping me feel better again.

Share your thoughts. Go on, do it.

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