'I went from my healthiest to housebound by sickness. Here's 5 things it's taught me.'

The first six months of 2022 were the stuff of dreams. I debuted as a writer, singer, performer and producer in a sell-out, one-woman show, Bad Love. I turned my experience of an abusive marriage into a powerful production. I moved paying audiences to laughter and tears (all at the appropriate moments). At 44, I’d finally hit my stride. Cue jazz hands and Sia’s Unstoppable.

Then I ran headfirst into a Besser block wall of illness. In August, I was hospitalised for pneumonia. After five days of intravenous antibiotics I figured I’d dust myself off and continue my glittering ride through the year. After all, Sia says I’m a Porsche with no breaks. Nope. The pneumonia didn’t go away and by early September I was in hospital again with a much scarier condition, deep vein thrombosis (DVT).

My post-July calendar filled up with four visits to emergency, three stays in hospital, gallstones, glandular fever and a newly developed auto-immune condition, Sjogren’s, best described as “the opposite of moist, all over”. I don’t socialise, I go to medical appointments. I’ve been unable to work for months, I’m mostly horizontal in the “non-fun” way. I don’t exercise, I join the geriatrics for a supervised turn around the local shopping centre.

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Having gone from feeling my most vital to being my most vulnerable, I’ve learned a few tricks:

1. I invite people into my reality.

It’s standard for your social media content to capture a little of life’s goings-on. Sometimes, illness is what’s going on. If it’s chronic, acute, serious or any cheerful mix of those three, it might well be the only thing going on. To stay connected with friends and family I unashamedly invite them into my unsexy, “sick” reality via social media. A seductive shot in a fetching hospital gown as a new Facebook profile? Don’t mind if I do. A close-up of my opioid filled drip to inspire Insta envy? Sure. 

2. I suspend expectations and comparison.

I don’t expect too much, think too deeply or compare myself to anyone. Living with illness means I exist at a significant distance from my usual self. I have abandoned feeling any shame for that. Instead, I observe the distance without judgement but with the hope I will make it back there soon. I wave at “normal me” from my swamp of abnormality and embrace the peace that comes with accepting recovery is my top priority. 

3. I ask for and take up offers of help.

Just today, Alex from my 2020 improv class, was over to help me clean. She changed my sheets and took out my garbage. Normally, this kind of intimate help would have me H-O-R-R-I-F-I-E-D but, as per point two, these aren’t normal times. I am not physically capable of keeping my place clean and tidy. I need help. So come on in Alex, see the borderline squalor I’m living in. We laughed about it and my gratitude for her returning some sanity to my home outweighed my discomfort at her seeing my flat at its (very) less than best.

Alex isn’t the only one. My 70-something parents have been the best next-of-kinners a woman could ask for and a long list of nephews, nieces, brothers, friends and neighbours have helped me with all that I can’t manage. I cried when I got home from hospital in September to find Wendy and Allan from flat two had unpacked the dishwasher, taken out the trash and removed all the cardboard boxes piled at my door. Neighbours, everybody needs good neighbours.

4. I repeat “for everything there is a season” until I believe it.

The Byrds knew it and before them, wise, old King Soloman had it pegged; seasons come and go. Cherish the good and remember the bad is only temporary. If you’re disinclined to dip into Ecclesiastes, watch for Paul Giamatti in My Best Friend’s Wedding telling Julia Robers, “this too shall pass”. It helps that I've had such intensely good and intensely poor seasons juxtaposed. I need only remember back a couple of months to remind myself of what’s possible in the next season. I take pains to remember and also to say out loud, “this is my now, but it’s not my forever”.

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5. I’ve found a balance of gratitude and authenticity. 

To keep dejection in check I am as vocal about the silver linings as I am open and honest about my cloud of ailments. If I didn’t go out of my way to grab and hold on to any bit of gratitude right now, things could look decidedly bleak (Siberian steppes in February bleak). So, I’ve adopted a “be real AND ALSO grateful” approach. I search out the wins. Be it the negative lymphoma result, the supportive employer, the on-the-ball GP or how a total lack of sun has me ageing Benjamin Button style, I’m attuned to all the ways things are going my way, and this is a powerful counterbalance to my growing list of health challenges.

Someday soon I intend to be back to my unstoppable best, walking on sunshine with a flourish of jazz hands. I’m thankful to have these few useful lessons which will serve me as well in health as they have in sickness.

Feature Image: Supplied