Today is June 18. This marks the three-month anniversary of my stem cell transplant.
This might NOT seem like a huge milestone to others, and really in the grand scope of things it is just another blip in the process of treating this disease and halting its progression, as well as getting my physical ability back. For me, it is a large accomplishment. It is halfway through the suggested quarantine period. I am taking this time seriously because I want all of the benefits and I know that getting sick can set me back in my recovery.
Some will see me and think that I have this disease completely under control (until I walk a short distance: Miracles of invisible illness). They don’t see the daily struggles of me trying to take care of myself in order to gain some semblance of independence.
I have reached this milestone complete with countless falls; several that have led to a concussion, a sprained elbow, water in my brain, and bruises that make me black and blue all over my body and not just on the weak side. They don’t see the blood from some of my falls and the cuts and scrapes that result from the impact of my skin with a hard surface. There is no mention of tears outside the small house that I inhabit with my mother.
I’ve had to relinquish a lot of control when it comes to my health. Some damages are not going to be healed in a matter of three months. I started physical therapy at home and it didn’t reveal any surprises. I have spasticity in my left ankle and shoulder. But I’m hopeful that the flexibility and range of movement will return. I’m working really hard on that.
This past Sunday was the first Father’s Day spent without my Dad being here. That father figure very much made me the person that I am. On his deathbed he proclaimed to the world that our family was made up of hardheads and that we needed just to get past that. He did this to each person who was present in the room, individually of course.
It has been difficult to retain a positive outlook on everything that has happened from losing him to having to move back home, coming back with a small sliver of a chance that this disease can be halted. And that’s just it, maybe being hardheaded is serving me well because I’m a fighter and take chances that other people might be a little confused by.
I’m just trying to get my head out of my way right now.
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