STRENGTH YOU CANNOT SEE
Artwork by www.oliviabossert.com
Good morning,
After an oasis of hope over the weekend when a new medication briefly hinted at carefree days on the horizon (and I mean this literally, because I've still barely left the house since January), sadly that oasis vaporized and I'm more or less back to square one on the IBD front since Tuesday. But I battle on. I've written to my Spanish doctor and awaiting instructions. You know you're going a bit bonkers when you're excited to hear what fun drug your doctor might prescribe next!
Jokes (sort of) aside, while this time last week I was slipping off the tip of my liana and straight into the doldrums, I've rallied again, mostly due to the support of my Spanish gastroenterologist who doesn't just say, "sorry, I can't suggest anything other than stopping your SSRI," (antidepressant). This didn't exactly come across as common sense seeing as I probably wasn't giving her whoopdeedoo vibes. Also, if she'd bothered to check, the antidepressant I take isn't even in the SSRI category. But whatever. Doctors are just people, and the more doctors I see, the more this fact lights up. And while it's complicated to navigate the egos of several specialist doctors at the same time, they're not the ones suffering, and I'm sick of treading on eggshells around those who don't listen to what I'm telling them, especially when their only suggestion might be disastrous if I were feeling ultra vulnerable.
Anyway, I've now removed my grumpy pants and replaced them with my favourite bright pink bohemian floaties, and I shall leave you with a poem dedicated to all the chronic illness warriors out there. Onwards.
Ooh, and before you read my poem, yesterday I got a stunning review for my poetry book, Illicit Croissants at Dawn , from @Bonnie Solomon! It's on Amazon and it's phenomenal! Such great feedback does wonders for my mindset during these trying times, so if you've read my book and still haven't reviewed it, please PLEASE do (unless of course you think it's abysmal, in which case please refrain). Once I get enough reviews, the algorithm is sure to shoot me into the stratosphere of celebrity poets, which is certain to heal my IBD once and for all! Stranger things have happened. You know, while there's life and all that...
STRENGTH YOU CANNOT SEE
An illness that’s invisible
Is seriously not fun.
It’s people saying, “You look so well,”
While inside you’re undone.
And while it’s nice to know that
You don’t look like absolute crap,
You hate that they might think
That you’re a hypochondriac.
So you explain to them again
Why you can’t do fun stuff,
That simply getting through the day
Is often quite enough.
And when the eye-roll questions come,
You keep your cool and smile.
(But if someone suggests yoga again
You might commit a crime!)
So if you cannot see our pain
Please be assured it's there.
Invisible does not mean gone;
We're brave - but tread with care.
