No one can do what I do

Today I was on a video chat with my dad and he said something that has really stayed with me.
We were talking about my disease, “the gift that keeps on giving”, and how despite the odds I’m always optimistic.

Yesterday I got out of the hospital again. It was my second hospital stay in two months, not a great average for someone like me.
In September I was in the hospital for six days, with an esophagus complication that was never really resolved. In those six days I developed a cold that I still have, and blood clots in my arm from a perforated vein via IV insertion.
The cold is annoying yes, but the blood clots ended up being a real shit. I had plans to go to a friends wedding in California, just a few weeks later, which ended up not happening.
My dad has planned to pay for my tickets but the clots caused him unease and he reneged on our deal. (I later found out I couldn’t have gone anyways due to not being able to fly with clots in my arm.) Unseen problems that turned into a big mess. Fairly sure I lost a friend or two over it. The ongoing cost of a disease I didn’t ask for.

Early Monday morning I woke up with a sharp pain in my right thigh. It was a confusing place for pain in my body to be, as it wasn’t near a joint. Rheumatoid Arthritis attacks the flesh around your joints, but this felt like someone was slowly sawing off my thigh bone.
When the pain became unbearable I took myself back to the Emergency Department. This time, unbeknownst to me, I had a clot in my leg. A very large one, deep in my thigh, known as Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT). This was a serious matter as if the clot broke it could travel to my lungs or brain and I could die instantly.
After many tests and overnight observation, it was concluded that I must take twelve days of self injections in the belly (ouch!), followed by three months of blood thinners. No flying for me anytime soon..

Now out of the hospital, and limping around on a cane, I’m packing up my room to move this weekend. An unfortunate overlap in my current reality. I took a break and called my Dad on What’s App to check in and update him on my status.
After I told him about my hospital stay, the medication options available, and my recovery time, he looked stricken. I told him not to worry, I’d dealt with bad before, I could do it again.
He said “You’re right. No one else could do what you do.”

Huh..

That statement has really stayed with me.
“No one else could do what you do.”

It reminds me of a conversation I had with my partner the other day about ‘reality’. (We’d been watching American Gods, a show about the unknown of our world, and the idea of creating your own reality, your own fate.) I asked him if that were true, then why would I create a reality in which I was always in pain? Seemed a bit strange for someone to want to go through that on purpose.
It was an odd show to be honest….

That conversation stays with me too. Coupled with the notion of “no one could do that but you”, I’m left wondering.

People have told me before that they didn’t know how I could get through the things I have. Didn’t know how I coped with the pain, the depression, the unknown fate of someone with an incurable disease.
And I think about it too.
I think about it a lot.

When I was a kid I was such a wimp. Paper cuts would end in tears, a scraped knee would be the end of the world. I couldn’t lift weights like others in high school during PE. I wasn’t a very physical person at all.

Now it’s been almost six years that I have lived through pain that most couldn’t conceive. Bearable pain that I live with daily would send most people to the Emergency Department. I live with things that I never imagined I would have to. I’ve been in hospital more times than I can count. I’ve experienced heart attacks, survived lymphoma, survived cervical cancer, and broken several bones from hugs.
I live with Rheumatoid Disease, Osteoporosis, Fibromyalgia, Lung Disease, and Lupus, daily.

“No one else could do what you do.”

Maybe he is right. Maybe they all are.
I may not have been ‘born for this’, but I live with it on a level that many could never conceive.
Because they will never see it on my face. I wear my Disease like a smile on my face. I stay optimistic, I stay positive. Because I have to.

No one else can do what I do.

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