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Don’t You Get Bored?

This is a question I have been asked so many times I have lost count.
Usually it is by able bodied, well meaning, friends and family members who live their typical lives full of work, chores, house buying, child bearing, and other excitement inducing activities. They don’t have a chance to be bored and can never truly understand what it is like to be stuck in bed day after day, week after week, month after month.
This question stabs me like a knife every time I hear it and awkwardly try to answer it. From the outside looking in I can understand why they would ask. They can’t really imagine what it is like to spend life childless, in bed with, in their minds, nothing to do.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how I should answer this particular question and I think I am ready to share it, in case you’re ever asked this or have asked it yourself.

No, I’m not bored. I don’t have a chance to be bored. I spend my days trying to survive. I have The Hunger Games going on inside my body 24/7, and it’s a close game.
What may seem lazy to you is a marathon for me. I’m not laying around in this bed for fun. Trust me, it’s not. And my bed isn’t even really comfortable anymore because my side is all sunk in because this is where I live.
I can’t focus enough to even watch a new TV show on Netflix. I am watching the same 4 shows over and over again. I can recite full episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. I am pretty sure I’m a resident surgeon by now.
No, I’m not bored. I use all of my energy phoning doctors throughout the week. I get exhausted from playing Tetris on my phone or petting my cat too much.
No, I’m not bored. If I was I would get out of bed and do something. Boredom subsides when you’re physically unable to do anything.
Or maybe I was bored for the first while and it’s just part of who I am now? Either way, my day is pretty much mapped out by TV shows, medicine taking, and bathroom breaks.
I know it sounds like hell for you. Guess what? It is for me, too.
No, I’m not bored. Being sick is a full time job.
If you want to come over and take a look at my fun filled days you’re more than welcome to. When you get the chance to watch me curled up in pain you might be able to answer your own question, then.

No, I’m not bored. I don’t know the alternative anymore.

 

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My name is Courtney and I ruin parties.

Good Afternoon, Friends!

As usual, please check out the Song of the Week page for a rockin’ good tune!

Back to the good stuff, now.

Hi,

My name is Courtney and I ruin parties. I don’t do it intentionally. I don’t mean to draw attention to myself when I need to move because the pain shooting down my legs is unbearable. I don’t drop my cane on purpose so people feel sorry for me. Trust me, the pity is the absolute worst. I don’t leave early to be a buzz kill, and I certainly don’t avoid social gatherings because I’m a loner or a snob. My reality is just different than yours.

I don’t want to miss your wedding or baby shower, I would love to be there to celebrate these moments.
I don’t want to miss concerts or plays, these were my favourite things in the whole world.

The truth is that it kills me that I’m not able to attend places where my walker would be an inconvenience and I hate being the girl who has to call ahead to check for accessibility. The truth is that it’s embarrassing to constantly have to alter the room set-up for optimal comfort, and even then I have to leave earlier than everyone else due to pain, discomfort, or other health related reasons.

Chronic pain and illness makes me stick out like a sore thumb as I limp around and my eyes well up with tears. This does not feel like the girl I was meant to be, but it is the girl I am. I try to make the best out of every situation, but when awkward seating at a restaurant causes me to stand to finish my meal or my legs are squished during an outing with family, I am thrust back into the harsh reality of these illnesses.

I don’t want to rush people into finishing a meal they’re enjoying, or for people to feel bad as they see the discomfort on my face. This is my reality and as much as I try to hide it and make it not so, you are part of this reality also and for that I could not be more sorry.
So if I rsvp no to a future Facebook invite or a proper mailed invitation, I am not trying to be rude, I am trying to spare you and your guests from this reality. The reality of back cushions, leg lifts, mobility aids, and a rattling pill case full purse.
I wish I could be the fun loving chick I once was who could close down a bar like a whiskey shooting bad ass, but this is no longer something I am capable of. Now my resume boasts such goodies as “Netflix Aficionado,” “Pillow Setter Up Extraordinaire,” and “Snack Queen.” If you’re down with that, I’m here for you. In a couch, bed, or otherwise properly comfortable seating situation.

Thank You For Your Understanding,

Courtney

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A Letter to People who Don’t Think my Pain is Real

Good Afternoon!

As (mostly) usual, check out the Song of the Week page for an awesome recommendation from a lovely spoonie friend!

Dear Friend, Acquaintance, Family Member, Random Person Staring at me with my Walker, or any other person who judges me without knowing anything about me and/or my condition/s and therefore should have no opinion on my medical situation,

This letter is for you.

I usually try to steer clear of you, as negativity is not permitted in my bubble of self care, but alas, you continually attempt to pop my beautiful pink bubble.

I used to think it was easy to avoid you and others like you, but as my medical conditions make it more challenging to survive without the need of mobility or accessibility aids in public and my life revolves around the illnesses more than anything else, we seem to be at an impasse.

I have several chronic, autoimmue, life-altering illnesses, whether you believe they’re real or not. And they are, just to be clear, as years of research and medical documentation support their existence (and I’m not on all of these medications for nothing).  These conditions, illnesses, horrible-things-that-have-happened-to-me are in no way fake, misleading, or caused by anything I have done. I do not choose to be ill and miss out on work, bearing children, or vacations with my husband. I do not want to use a cane or walker around the house or in public (even if they are pretty cute), because in reality, it’s all a huge inconvenience. I do not want to spend hours on the phone arguing with insurance companies, employee benefits, or disability services. I don’t want to be in agony over the sound of birds chirping, motorcycles starting, or my husband trying to hug me. This is not a fun life. But it is my life.

This is my life, and it is not yours. And just because it does not make sense to you does not make it any less legitimate. These are illnesses I didn’t even know existed until they happened to me. But now that I know they do, I am a champion for these causes and for the people’s lives they’ve affected. I do not write this letter for your benefit or mine, I write it for theirs. I write this for my friends around the globe who encounter naysayers and hurtful doubters who make their already difficult lives that much harder. Nobody chooses to live in pain, but you are actively choosing to be ignorant to it.

I’ve heard you say things like “just push through it,” or “why are you in bed still?” or “if you just keep moving,” or one of my all time favourites “if you just take this one supplement your life will be completely different” which shows me just how little you know about our illnesses. And if you know that little about them, you are in no position to comment on how we survive them. If you think that one lap around the dog park is not enough to wear us out for days, you have no idea what we’re dealing with.

I’m sorry if this is coming off harsher than I had intended, but enough is enough. If you cannot stick by us, support us, encourage us, and just generally try to understand what we’re going through, then we’re going to have to cut ties here.
Speaking for myself, I cannot push through these exchanges anymore. I am begging for compassion, and if you are unable to provide that, there is nothing left to say.

Thank you, our friends and family who have shown us unending support and love. It means more to us than we can say.

Love,

Courtney

Oh just another Monday. Last week.
Oh just another Monday. Last week.
Couldn't survive without these two.
Couldn’t survive without these two.

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