This is not the positive, happy Dizzy Cook posts you are used to. Sometimes it’s just hard to find a positive view to certain situations. Sometimes these situations are just gritty and grimy and there’s no way around it. I debated whether to share this, but I know that my openness and honesty have helped others get through similar situations with their health. I suppose this is the silver lining to those hard situations.
Two years ago was the most difficult health issue that I had ever faced. There’s no fear that can compare to the thought that you have a brain tumor at the age of 30. That you might never be able to drive, walk, work, or have fun ever again. When you find out that your MRI is clear and you don’t have MS or a brain tumor, it somehow does not come with an overwhelming sense of relief. Instead you face more questions and wonder if any doctor will ever figure it out, or if you’ll just keep spending tons of money for people to hand you antidepressants and tell you that you’re stressed.
But I was one of the lucky ones. I eventually found the right ENT and neurologist. The ones that saw through all the confusing episodes of me being stressed out at work, recovering from a long trip to Asia, and buying a new home. They asked the questions no one else did, like if my parents ever experienced Migraine attacks before (they had, but they never once mentioned it to me). They worked with me to create a plan I was comfortable with, understanding that I wanted to have children in the future.
The road to recovery was not an easy one. There were moments I doubted everything – my medications, my supplements, this crazy diet. But I stuck with it out of hope. That’s all I had was hope that one day I would feel normal again. You always take “normal” for granted until one day you’re not normal.
Two years later I finally have 100% days, and my bad days aren’t anything near to what they were. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel that I couldn’t see for so long. I lost my job to this illness. I lost my ability to just go out to a restaurant and not have to worry about the lights or the noise. But I gained this site, which feels like what I should have been doing all along. I gained new friends who message me to share their updates on how they’re feeling – their highs and their lows. Some of you have become so close to me that it feels like we’ve been friends forever, even if we’ve never actually met.
But today I am angry and frustrated. After a year of what felt like a living hell, I didn’t think there was anything worse that I could possibly go through with my health. I was wrong. You see, after almost a year of trying, I finally got a positive pregnancy test. Four of them actually, because I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. It’s difficult to describe the feeling I had. I wanted to throw up and dance around all at the same time. I was terrified and elated. As my body began to change in weird ways, my excitement grew.
It’s difficult to imagine that it can all go away. I never quite understood how heartbreaking and defeating this feeling would be. Even though you are told this situation is very common, I felt like I deserved a break. Just one break. Hadn’t I already been through enough with my health?
When I was trying to get pregnant and it was taking longer, I felt like I was surrounded by thousands of friends on Facebook that could have kids. This is exactly how I felt with Vestibular Migraine, watching everyone else enjoy their Saturday nights out having fun while I laid in bed wondering when or if this would all go away. How could they be so lucky? The ones that never went though an illness like I had, that kept their careers, and are so fortunate to not have to struggle with fertility. They’ll be spending Christmas eve with their new babies and I’ll be in the doctors office, yet again.
I know social media can be a double edged sword and not everything is as perfect as it seems. I am not the only one that this has happened to and I won’t be the last. But that somehow doesn’t make it any easier. Maybe one day I’ll understand why this didn’t work out. Or why I ended up with a chronic illness. Or maybe there’s no reason behind any of this at all. One can only learn so many lessons before you’re just tired.
Somehow, and I have no idea how, I am still hopeful. So I sit and wait for that second light at the end of the tunnel.