That Time I Disappeared

gone girl

Maybe I can blame it on being short a pint of my rare and in-demand O-negative blood after my February 17th donation, attending a wedding or perhaps the ice and snow still lingering for weeks outside my door played a part in the fatigue I was experiencing. Whatever the precipitating cause, I fell prey to the worst flu season in 15 years.

I’ve never been so sick. I couldn’t get out of bed, stand unassisted, eat, or drink anything. Fatigue turned to lethargy, lethargy to inertia. The woman I knew, the person I was, disappeared. My mind was blank. I could not think, comprehend, walk, or barely talk. I could barely write. My handwriting changed. I was gone. I was a body with no soul.

By gone, I mean that this person I call me was no longer present. I had no thoughts, desires, ideas, or curiosity. I felt mentally numb and empty, existing at the most basic level. I didn’t want to read, watch TV, or listen to music. I couldn’t, nor wanted to cry. I existed. That was all.

I tried to ride it out. I wasn’t sure if I was overreacting. I’ve always been pretty stoic. After a week of bare existence, I had my husband take me to urgent care. The week-long cough was tearing up my insides. I had trouble putting my thoughts into words and answering questions. The PA said I just had to ride it out. He prescribed something for the cough and sent me home.

Still mentally inert, I felt like I was wasting away. Two days later, I went to the ER. I got a full work-up - chest x-ray, ECG, blood panel, IV fluids, tramadol, and more. According to my chart, I had hypovolemia, meaning the liquid portion of my blood was too low. I’d lost 10 pounds.

Ten days in, I was still a shell. I existed as a body. The spirit wasn’t there. All I could muster in my mind was how strange it was to be missing. To exist but not to be me. The only thought I could hold was, “I am gone.” I didn’t even think about coming or being back. I didn’t care.

It was weird as shit. Surreal. Twilight zone, zombie land, liminal.

Slowly, a desire or two returned. I wanted to do something but the energy was still absent. I moved a few things around and then got back in bed to recoup. I watched two TV series to give my mind something to focus on as I slowly regained my strength. The desire to do more, take an interest in my life again began to slowly creep in. I felt so accomplished if I was out of bed for more than 30 minutes.

It’s day 15 and I’m finishing this post I started two days ago. My brain is becoming more coherent. I’ll finish this and then return to my bed. I learned not to overdo it. Slow and steady - not something I am familiar with. While I look forward to returning to my usual busy day to day, I believe that this experience has taught me many things. Our health is so fragile. Our life can change in an instant. Recovery isn’t always an outcome. Loss of self can come and go. If we are lucky, we can find our way back. Our lives are given new meaning, if we stop to recognize and acknowledge what’s changed - physically, mentally and spiritually.

Sometimes, you have to lose yourself to find out who you are. To come back from my experience as the same person I was would be meaningless. I needed to write this to reaffirm my sense of self. I needed to share this to confirm that I am still here even as my recovery lingers on. I apologize for the rambles.

Quotes of the Week

One of the most valuable things we can do to heal one another is listen
to each other’s stories.
Rebecca Falls

You don’t decide to tell a story, the story decides that you will tell it.
Gad Yaaco