I have generally struggled with wearing my heart on my sleeve and baring all to others, and I know that I might never completely reveal my pain. It has taken me five years to consider documenting this reflection … but it has taken half a decade to return to my reality.
A sudden illness
On a lovely Sunday morning in February 2011, I went to the mall with my siblings and my 5-month-old daughter in tow. My plan was to cook a special lunch for Mom because she was not well. I had such a fantastic meal in mind, dessert and all. I got all the necessary ingredients at the store, and was looking forward to some therapeutic time in the kitchen. As we exited towards the parking area, I suddenly felt incredibly exhausted. Fatigue I had never experienced before. It was so sudden and unexpected, I couldn’t even sum up the energy to push the pram, so I asked my sister to do the honours. That is my last memory of that day.
I am told that a minute after handing the pram over to my sister, I started to convulse, eyes rolling into the back of my head, foaming at the mouth. I believe that the first person to save my life was my brother, who caught me before my head hit the ground and turned me on my side while I was having the seizure. Had he not been able to do so, my life would have ended right there … in front of a pay station at a shopping mall.
An MRI scan later, and my family was informed that I had multiple abscesses in my brain! They had never heard of such before … “Wait a minute, she has just had a baby.” “But she was absolutely fine just yesterday.” “What do you mean?”
The months in hospital
Thus began the journey into a time of turmoil. I was confined to a room in the oncology ward 24/7, attached to a drip that had a constant flow of antibiotics and cortisone amongst a myriad of other medications. To this day, I have vivid memories of the burning sensation as the medication coursed through my veins, all day, every day.
Fast forward many months of staring at the same four walls and a multitude of roommates swivelling in and out, doctors had no choice but to do what we’d all been hoping to avoid – cut my head open.
I was scared. I was uncertain. I was blessed with the best team of doctors. I had the best family support ever. My second batch of lifesavers. The problem was diagnosed, the problem was “solved”. I was declared healthy once again. And all I could think about was returning to work. My surgeon told me it wasn’t wise, my physician and neurologist both told me to take it slow. They warned me it would be a long road to recovery. Did I listen? Of course not.
The haze and the agony of recovery
Two weeks after surgery, I ran back to the office as if my life depended on it. It’s taken me five whole years to admit that I was crazy to do that. Everything that followed was a complete haze of events, some of which I could have avoided. But I am incredibly stubborn, 80% of the time unnecessarily so. Needless to say, nothing I tried was working out for me. I knew that it was up to me to soldier on and get myself out of the abyss.
I battled inescapable weight gain, forgetfulness, temper tantrums, personality change, low self-esteem, lethargy, anger, frustration. Did I mention frustration?
I had to relearn how to read, to recognise simple things such as colours and shapes. I did a whole lot of pretending during that time. Those who know me will tell you that I shoot from the hip. That with me, what you see is what you get. Pretence is not something I do well. But because I didn’t want pity, or for people to not take me seriously, I put up a façade of “I got this”.
I must state at this point that I was in control, but I was in denial … I hope that makes sense. People who knew me before my illness gawked and had no qualms about telling me how much weight I had gained, or about how much they didn’t recognise me.
Eventually, all the mean comments landed me in a place where I didn’t care to explain the reason for my appearance anymore. I just let it roll off my back because “I got this!”, right? That mentality helped me block the negativity. All I appreciated was my amazing and commendable support structure of family and friends. Every single person who was there for me at that time is still around to this day. All others are acquaintances.
And I slowly came back to “me”
I was discharged from hospital, I was on medication for almost three years, and it took a whole two years for the medication to completely leave my system. Five years to reclaim my complete health. It wasn’t until I started to focus on the positive aspects of my life, such as family and true friends, that I began to get back to me.
I regained all that natural energy that my family possesses. I started to enjoy the gym again, and even started running again. I am stubborn and headstrong, but this entire experience taught me so much. I learnt many valuable lessons that seem obvious to most, but are elusive to a woman who was raised by a mother who had experienced so much negativity that she could have easily been discouraged to do many a thing.
I have always believed that life is full of possibilities. But this incident cemented that thought even further. And I learnt so much …
- First love thyself (cliché, I know).
- Nobody can take away your integrity unless you allow it.
- Nobody is an island. We all need help at some point. You cannot do it all on your own. Even the strongest and most confident of people need someone.
- Nobody is self-made.
- Life is too short; don’t sweat the small stuff (yet another cliché, but unless you have experienced turmoil, you will have no idea).
- Love yourself enough to know that nobody, including family, can discourage you.
- Consistency is key (this, I’ve always known but it’s a good refresher now and then).
- Not everybody will like you, and it’s ok.
- Many will revel at your misfortune, but remember it’s not their life to own.
- You are only as fabulous as you tell yourself and believe you are.
- There is an opportunity in every challenge.
- There is no obstacle bigger than what you could ever be.
My awakening
As I continued to remain positive, I was able to move beyond other dramas that were ensuing in my life. I lost some friends along the way as a result of the personality change, but the real people have always stuck around. I am so humbled by their support, love, and dedication, that at times I feel paralysed when I think about how to return the favour.
Thanks to the pride and strength that my mother instilled in me, I managed to focus on keeping it together and am transcending this chapter of my life. This illness was a minor setback. I always told myself that it would never define me, it would surely pass. And it did. What I also knew for sure is that I had it better than so many other people.
I pulled through, and I’m alive. That fact alone is what gave me courage. That time signalled the beginning of a new life. This is my second life and I am looking forward to every second of it.
