Chapter Five: The Road To Recovery

It's funny to think that six days ago, I was lying in a hospital bed wondering when they were going to let me leave. I feel like I've been out for more than six days, despite having to go back three times for blood tests, in a way it feels like a lifetime ago. When I got out last Wednesday, it was a real shock to the system. The simplest of tasks became impossible to do. In my head, I thought that recovery would follow a similar pattern to what I had experienced previously, which wasn't too bad, but this was certainly not the case. I was completely exhausted, small things like getting in and out of a car were very trying and don't get me started on the stairs; all I shall say is that it's a jolly good job that there are two banisters. 

My body was weak and feeble but my mind is as active and agile as ever. I would wake up in the morning making plans for things to do and sort out and vow to myself that I would do them all after breakfast. The scene after breakfast: me lying across the bed, face down and fast asleep - didn't even make it under the duvet . This pattern would continue to repeat itself and I have to say, it's rather frustrating. However, I do generally feel much better, albeit for a little while, after a sleep, especially since it is so peaceful here. I am staying in a beautiful house in the countryside, it's like living in a fairytale, and for the first time in a long time I am starting to properly relax. However another source of frustration was rising - being called back into clinic for blood tests. I cannot stress how much I hate going back into hospital; it reminds me of exactly what I want to forget. But I know its for my own good and it has to be done. It's the same feeling I get when I take my pills, but I have to remind myself that in three months it will be better. 

By Friday, physically, I am feeling much better - I can now manage the stairs without using either of the banisters. I find this very encouraging; so encouraging in fact that I overestimate, once again, my capacity. By Sunday I am a blithering blubbering mess. I find that there is a direct correlation between my physical state and my emotional state. I woke up on Sunday morning overcome by thoughts of despair, thoughts of the future and thoughts of hopelessness. At that point in time I can truly say that I completely and wholeheartedly despised my life and my body. I asked God in anger why He had given my such a pathetic excuse for a body - it keeps breaking! I looked in the mirror and I didn't see me anymore. For some reason, I looked more bald than usual and in the last eight months I had put on ten kilograms, which meant my clothes didn't fit anymore. I knew in my head, that this was all very superficial and things will change in time, but I found no comfort in that knowledge. Unfortunately, when I get into a state like that I tend to make very bad and irrational decisions. My response, when faced with a problem is how to fix it. So naturally, with regards to the weight, I decided that I would start to exercise and go the next day to some shops to get clothes that would fit, thereby making me feel at least semi human again. In hindsight, if someone who was in my position where to say that to me, I would definitely beat some sense into them, provided that their platelet count could cope with such an assault.

Thankfully, I am staying with some very kindhearted and sensible people. It was gently pointed out to me that it has only been four days since I came out of hospital and medically speaking, I still have a long way to go. It may seem obvious, but it was then that it hit me that my recovery would not depict a directly proportional graph, but one of peaks and troughs with a gentle upward trend - I would have some good days and some bad days. Since then, I have felt much better, and a kind friend of mine has got me some clothes - yeh, even if you discount the fact that I'm not suppose to be around lots of people, I still wouldn't be able to manage a shopping trip, I get that now. I had a wonderful bank holiday Monday and todays' hospital visit was not traumatic. In fact, I got some good news. The blood test results shows signs of the transplant working. It has been a good day.

As I reflect on all of this, I know that I am almost certainly going to have these same anxieties again. But I am learning to be kinder to myself and allow myself to rest and grieve when I need to. I was lamenting to God the other day about my future, saying to Him that I know where I'm suppose to get to in the end but I don't know how to get there. Like a shot the answer came to me, with a hint of sarcasm I must note. I think God said to me "generally speaking, in order to get somewhere, you tend to put one foot in front of the other". "Hmph" I said in reply, but point taken.