Yesterday, I had a bit more energy. I cleaned. Had to. This place was begging me to. It was sick of itself.
After cleaning, I was exhausted and spent the night on the couch with Brad.
Today - exhaustion all around. I managed to throw laundry in. FYI: Brad helps with everything. (He is such an equal.)
I wish I felt better. Instead, I'm trying to keep a brave face. I'm trying to not let my recent problems of late send me on a path of continuous fear. I hate being afraid. This feeling is so unknown.
Pre-transplant I felt so strong and tough. I knew I'd get my new chunkers and live a great life. I'd kick the old ones in the junk and be the victor. CF wasn't foreign; I lived with it my whole life (and still do). It didn't scare me. I liked to think that I scared IT.
I knew what to expect. I had craptastical lungs. I couldn't breathe. I had no energy. I was dying.
But there was an end. There was light. There was a new life. Free from daily struggles to breathe. Free from a wheelchair. Free from no energy.
Then I had the surgery. It hurt like hell to recover - and took longer than I had anticipated - but I was finally healthy. No longer "the sick girl".
I spent my first year post in such good health. Could do anything. Felt amazing.
Now? I don't even know what to say.
No, I'm not in rejection.
But I've held onto this grossness for too long. And things are scary now. Thoughts swirl around my head. Wonder about the future. Will I be one of the lucky ones and live with minimal problems?
Or, will I be plagued from now on with one thing after another? Will things just gradually go downhill?
What is happening to me? Why am I thinking this way? This is not me. I'm the positive one. The one who isn't afraid. Who laughs at disease and sickness.
Where'd that girl go?
Please, help me find her.