I hate the word Journey. People used to say it to me all the time in regards to losing weight… well, my ‘weight loss journey’.
I wasn’t fat because I purchased a ticket to fatville with multiple stops at donut ave, Cobber court and M&M central. I was fat cause I made a series of shitty choices and those choices produced a result. Similarly I then made another series of better choices and the result was I lost weight.
So when people talk about my ‘Crohn’s journey’ I’m thrust back to that point of time and it just pisses me off. Having Crohn’s isn’t a choice.
I’m calling it a ride.
I’m literally on a health rollercoaster – one I didn’t ask to be on and can’t get off. The conductor has strapped me in, adjusted the safety harness and locked it up. I have no choice, this is it. I’m on this ride until I’m not.
Here’s the thing, despite the absolute shit storm I’m going through and the horrendous week I have had, the people I feel bad for is not myself, it’s the people who are on the ride with me, my life passengers.
The poor sods that have stepped up and voluntarily chosen to board this train to bum-fuck nowhere because they want to be there. With me.
I may be the one in pain, but the looks in the eyes of my nearest and dearest who have a front row seat to this disaster is what hurts me the most. It’s hurts my soul.
The look that says they want to help, to fix it, to understand, to simply do something.
My sister and brother, who arrive at my house at the drop of a hat, within moments of each other, tuck themselves in bed beside me and spend hours making me laugh. They ask questions, they make me comfortable and then they do everything in their power to make me forget for a few small moments. To forget that I’m in pain, to forget that I’m sad, to forget why I was crying when they arrive.
The best friends, who rally. They call, they text, they Snapchat. They offer to blow off work and come to my aid. They organized husbands to take care of kids and drive 45 minutes to see me, entering with smiths chips cause they know that when I can eat again, that’s what I will want and they want me to have what I want. They sit and spend hours with me doing wedding craft to take my mind off everything.
My mother, who despite wanting to be there for me to fix it and pick up the pieces, stays away because the chest infection she has could cripple my already weakened immune system. The meanings hidden in our chat – her telling me it’s killing her to stay away, without saying the words.
Me recounting my week, fighting to keep my emotions in check saying the words ‘I feel defeated’ only to look over at my beautiful father, the strongest man I know and see the tears in his eyes. To know that although he doesn’t fully understand what Crohn’s is, he knows it’s wearing me down and I know he can’t stand to see it.
The beautiful women I work with at both jobs, who ask how I am and when I can’t answer and simply shake my head, they cry for me. They hug me, and in that hug they try and tell me everything their feeling and everything they want me to feel – I’m not alone and they love me.
The cold hands that snake their way around my body and the familiar voice that whispers I’m home. And when I realize that it’s not a hallucination brought on by the endone and turn to find those beautiful green eyes smiling at me, I break. Completely. He’s here, he’ll make it better and he’ll do whatever he can to make sure I don’t have to fight another day without him.
These people watch as I get pushed to my physical and mental limits. They sit there, helpless to stop the momentum that builds and throws us up and down on this rollercoaster. And still they stay.
They are on the ride. They hear the sounds my body makes, they see the pain on my face, they feel what I feel – in different ways, they live with Crohn’s as much as I do.
And still they stay.
They can get off anytime they want and some people have, some have disappaeared from my life and others have come in. But the every dayers are the stayers! They fight this battle with me.
This week I lost. Crohn’s brought me to my knees. It crushed my spirit in a way I never expected and it hurt. It didn’t just hurt me, it hurt them too. I lost the battle this week and I promised I would keep this blog honest, I know this is a bit of a sad-sally one, but honestly I would have given anything to get off the ride on Friday. Well almost anything. I wont give it all of me. I won’t give it my life. It gets what it got this week, but it won’t get anything more from me.
I’m here, ready to fight another battle, fight another week and I’m not sure what will happen but I know it’s possible, because my life passengers will be right there with me.
This one is for you.