It’s only fair that I begin this in the most appropriate and reverent manner possible, so I’ll begin by saying that moms are rock stars. Seriously, if you’ve stuck with and cared for a child through all of their horrible ages and phases, you’re a hero. I don’t know how you did it; I can barely remember to put out fresh water for my dog, Zoey. If you’re struggling with a chronic illness and still managed to take care of a child (or, good grief, multiple children), you’re a super human, and I have total respect for all you do. So please, momma friends, don’t judge me to harshly for referring to myself as a “mom.” I realize I don’t know your struggle.
Now . . . having said all that, I don’t fit into any logical groups for people my age. Working women? Nope. My main job is the care and management of my health- and keeping Joe from looking really mismatched and disheveled. Motherhood groups? Yeah, I have a dog- no tiny humans. However, the more time I spend around mothers the more I realize that my chronic illness acts remarkably like a toddler. (Don’t take this analogy too far, folks. A child is by no means a disability- I’m just having a little fun here.) Here are things I’ve heard mommas say lately that I’ve oddly identified with from my life of “raising my chronic illness”.
I would have loved to come, but [insert cutesy toddler name] needed a nap. She just won’t behave without one.
I feel ya, girl. The last time I didn’t give my chronic illness (and, you know, me too since we’re connected) a nap before we went out among people, I ended up whimpering in a bathroom floor. I also missed the event, because my symptoms were having a diva moment. My illness is a bit of a monster like that. If I don’t let it rest before we venture into public, it will throw a tantrum that rivals any sleepy toddler’s meltdown.
For the last UT home football game (my husband, Joe, is a SUPER FAN and season ticket holder), Joe and I met friends for lunch before the game . . . and by the time lunch was over, I was FINISHED. I was tired, my chest hurt, and I felt like I could cry if anyone looked at me. I ended up giving away my ticket and going back to the hotel to take a nap instead. Have you ever heard of anyone over the age of 5 who misses events they’ve looked forward to because they need a nap? Nope, me neither. Thanks, chronic illness. You couldn’t behave for a couple hours.
I can’t stay out late. The baby will get restless.
Yep. Anything longer than half an hour, and I’m a wiggly mess. I suppose this is a little different than taking a toddler into public. I mean, toddlers struggle because they have a short attention span. I don’t exactly have a remarkable attention span, but the real problem is sitting still. If I’m sitting for more than half an hour, my blood will pool, and I’ll feel faint. My ribs will shift, and I’ll feel like I can’t breathe. I’m a mess. You know those kids at church or the movies that pace back and forth/ up and down the aisles? I’m one step away from being right behind them.
Recently, Joe and I met a friend (a fellow POTSie) in downtown Nashville to listen to music. She and I (and our illnesses) behaved beautifully through dinner. When we tried to listen to music, we were both falling asleep in the booth. My poor husband looked like he had drugged two women and brought them out for the evening. Nope. Just tired. So tired.
Just as we were going out the door, she threw up all over me!
Ughhhh . . . yeah, I get it. Babies can be gross sometimes, so can chronic illnesses. For every time a mother has gotten ready to go somewhere and been unexpectedly covered in a smelly bodily fluid brought forth by her toddler, yeah, it’s happened to me too- except, you know, it was my own body that was expelling its contents. Chronic illnesses are messy and unpredictable- just like babies.
Once, Joe’s dad was giving the commencement address at a graduation ceremony, and Joe was supposed to introduce his dad and give the opening prayer. What did I do? I started projectile vomiting minutes before they were both going on stage. Fortunately, I was able to regroup, drink some water, and make it through. But right up until the minute the program started everyone was more worried about my diva disorder than the event we were there to celebrate. Yeah, vomit ruins everything. It just does.
Can you tell I’ve had fun coming up with similarities between my illness and a cranky toddler?
Of course, there are a number of reasons that I would rather raise the crankiest toddler than deal with illness, but clearly I haven’t been given that choice. I mean, toddlers have their redeeming qualities- they’re cute; they say funny things; they will likely grow into something in which you can take pride. I have serious doubts that my illness will ever do any of those things. For now, though, I’m okay with laughing at the similarities between the two. So, the reason I can’t go to the movies or on a long road trip? I can’t. I’m raising a chronic illness.
Peace, love, and health friends.