the second step, again

Going downhill after four months of giddyingly good health is not what I would call fun. But neither is it shocking, or acutely devastating {just moderately}. I actually thought my reaction would be more one of catastrophic depression, because I was having such a wonderful time feeling well, and was wondering if I had an addiction to it. But here’s the thing: I feel kind of normal again.

I know this life. This has been my norm, my familiar, my staple for the last few years. I can slot back into this old groove, as challenging as it is. And now I realise, I have adjusted to being unwell and it happened without me even realising.

It was strange feeling so well. I had to pinch myself, to know if it was true. I didn’t feel like me at first.  It was all so surreal, so sparkly. I would burst into tears if I thought about it too much because it was so overwhelmingly ridiculous to feel like that.  And with it came lots of adjustments for me, and for Ben. What to do, if I did get well? I felt this huge responsibility; now you have health, you need to do something really worthwhile. But I had no idea what because I have changed so much. Our home life was different, our housework roles were changing, our social life was changing, our dates were changing – and even when change is beautiful and exciting, you don’t necessarily feel secure. It’s like when you’ve just met someone you really like, and you are in this crazy hyped state of excitement whenever you hear from them, touch them {even accidentally}, talk to them...but it’s not like the stable, comforting closeness of being in a committed relationship with them and knowing them deeply and intimately. Not that being sick is like being in a committed relationship {although I must say, chronic illness is VERY committed to it’s victims}, but that change makes you feel a little uncertain, and tips you out of the groove for a while. 

If most of the things that come with being unwell are nasty, at least there are a couple of pros. One is the comedy of my brain. Most days at the moment we get some serious laughs from the things that my foggy brain verbalises, particularly at night in bed when it’s at its finest. It was a bit boring when I could say what I meant first time. 

And then there is lying on the couch with my dog. It was so odd seeing him lie on the couch while I was up and about, and there is something very precious about his cuddles and his loyalty. Other perks include getting to drink more cups of tea, and....I actually can’t think of anymore pros right now, but the point is, when you find yourself on the second step of the staircase, after having been near the top, at the very least you have been there before and it’s not new and it’s not scary.

And you know that it is possible to be well, and you know that you were loved and comforted last time you were unwell and feeling like a complete mess, so you settle down to hope and wait. 

creature comfort

I was perusing the blog of artist Kim Sears, and she wrote something which I liked:

Disclaimer: I am one of those  people. The type that take far too many photos of their animals and expect others to oooh and aaah with adequate enthusiam.

I liked it because I am one of those people too. I can’t seem to help myself, I just find everything my pup does so endearing, entertaining, and smile-provoking that I have to capture it...and then share it, be that excitedly showing Ben my daily shoots when he gets home from work, or uploading  them on Instagram, where I can even put a filter on them (oh happy day!). And I know that other people are going, “Ok Ok. You love your dog, we get it. We have seen your dog and he looks the same this week as he did last week. Do we really need to see another photo?”

Maybe I am besotted with him because I have dreamed of owning a dog ever since I was a little girl, and now I can’t quite believe that it’s happened? Maybe it’s because he actually does all those adorable dog things that my soft toys, and obliging younger sisters, and virtual pet never quite pulled off. Or is it that he is so delightfully unaffected by the stresses of this world that I catch a bit of his unconcerned happiness?

I’m his favourite person in the whole world (yes, he even follows me to the toilet) despite being a bit of a social failure. He doesn’t know that there is anything the matter with me, and if he knew he wouldn’t care, so long as he could snuggle in my arms. He makes me feel as though sleeping during the day is the most normal, delicious thing to do, as he shamelessly does the same for hours on end. I love that I can be enough for him, that I am capable of satisfying all* his needs. (It seriously helps that his dinner comes out of a tin.) I feel with Wolfgang that I am normal, valued, capable, and understood. Seldom do I come across this feeling with people, however kind they are, which is why I often prefer his uncomplicated, affectionate company. He doesn’t tell me to pick myself up, or go and see this particular doctor, or expect me to get better with no backwards patches...he just hops into my lap, and silently, unconsciously, comforts me. That's why I love him the way I do.

Wolfgang's puppyhood

Sick & swollen from a new medication, but not alone.

Ps. He also has the cute factor and being a very aesthetic person, this pleases me no end. People frequently stop me in the street to comment on how adorable he is. Toddlers point, ladies smile, men greet him. It’s like walking around with a celebrity.

*wincey exception: we had his manly parts removed, but it would seem he still would like a girlfriend for humpy-times.