Some people think certain things shouldn’t be shared or said, and this is probably one of them. We all value our privacy… But Lord knows this blog is not about privacy or painting a picture of health. It’s about honesty and real-life, for some of us.
I looked at the pharmacist as she held up the largest syringe I’ve ever seen, while expecting something far different than the directions she gave me. From what I understood from my doctor, these would be injections into the tush… But after repeated questions and my making sure it was completely clear how to administer this new medication, I understood that this wasn’t what I thought it was. This huge syringe came with lubricant wipes. It’s supposed to be inserted rectally.
I did everything I possibly could not to cry in the drive-through as the CVS pharmacist went through just another uninteresting interaction with a customer. That for me, just another customer, was anything but mundane. Seizures already rob you of any normalcy and replace that with insecurity when someone around you – no matter who it is- has to see you in the throes of one. But then the thought of knowing on those incredibly difficult, terrifying nights, my husband will have to flip me over on my stomach and insert this tube into where I wasn’t expecting, became exceptionally mortifying and degrading.
You’d think after being married, having a baby, and knowing that your husband and close family have all seen you disgustingly contorted, there’s no way you could possibly feel lower or more self-conscious.
But this did it.
And as soon as I pulled away from that window, my vision began to swim. And I just wanted to stare into nothingness for a while. But my son started talking, the light turned green and my phone immediately rang, my husband asking about dinner. Life went on and I didn’t get a chance to just breathe.
I wanted to cry. To absorb and to let go. To have a moment to myself.
A lot of us don’t get that. No matter our situations, but I wanted to be selfish in that one moment. I pulled into the driveway and let my son out and then sat in the car and contemplated locking myself in…
…but it was dark, we needed baths and dinner, and life goes on…
Yet I did sit in the car for a moment, focusing on the stitching of my steering wheel, my husband asking me why I wasn’t moving and my son asking me if he could stay out and play in the dark. I said nothing, then mumbled, then they finally went inside.
And I got to cry, actually feel those tears come to fruition. Just sitting there in the driveway, private except for the light of the street lamps.
I knew going in they’d both see my face; the black trails down my cheeks and ask me what was wrong, but I didn’t want to talk about it. I all of a sudden felt so tired and just… sad.
I took a deep breath and got out of the car and walked into the house.
We needed baths and dinner, and I couldn’t meet my husband’s eyes this time.
Life goes on…
Just sometimes not the way we planned. 💜