This post is part of a month-long series. You can read the rest here.
Q: How do you know when to take a cookie to the doctor?
A: When it’s feeling crumby.
(Thanks to my 6 year old for putting me on to that one.)
A few weeks ago, I joined a Facebook group for people with chronic illnesses. It’s pretty neat, because the women in the group really do a great job encouraging each other. I think they need each other, because each of us need to know that someone really, truly gets it.
I haven’t “introduced” myself to the group yet, though. There I sit in a folding chair under the ceiling-suspended basketball goal, trying to decide if I’m going to get up for a fourth glass of punch. It’s not that I don’t like the people. I’m just not sure if I belong.
I’m glad I committed to write this series, because it’s making me deal with what’s happening. I finally understood tonight that I’m really uncomfortable with being labeled with a chronic illness, but I don’t even know why yet.
Writing this post is kind of like not wanting to walk out onto the dance floor and instead choosing to bust a move on the stage. That sounds like me.