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I’m going to come clean with you folks. While I have been honest in my posts thus far, I certainly haven’t been pushing myself outside of my comfort level. I typically only share things on the surface, and nothing more. These superficial things still bother me in a general sense, but they only last a day or two and I get over them. It’s those things that have cut deep that I don’t talk about, and I essentially do everything I can to ensure that I don’t talk about them. Well, my intention for this week’s entry is to try and break this habit...a little...baby steps (and thank you Lara for the push that I needed).
This past week was reading week, and I had a million and one things to do, because all of my midterms and major assignments are scheduled after reading week, and March at the Women’s Centre is event madness. My good intentions towards productivity fell through however, when on Sunday I developed some sort of unpleasant stomach sickness which lasted most of the week. Not to get too graphic, but I spent most of my week curled into a ball on the couch with a bucket on the floor beside me. And even after the worst of it subsided, I was still not able to do a whole lot – surprisingly things become a little more challenging when you haven’t been able to hold anything down for a couple of days and the room is spinning all around you.
I am no stranger to stomach illness in general. I have spent the past 10+ years going through bouts of what I experienced during reading week – some lasting much longer than a week, and sometimes more intense than that too. I like to tell people I have the stomach of an 80 year old man, or that I am just high maintenance, but I joke because it’s easier then telling people that I have struggled with my health for a really long time, or even worse, that I don’t dream the same way I used to because I know that I am limited by my health. It’s not really something that people pick up on with me because I seem pretty healthy – I am physically fit, I eat fairly well, and I don’t make a fuss when I’m sick (most of the time I just grab a magazine and wait for the worst to be over). But truth is, I don’t feel well all the time. Every moment of every day I have a stomach ache. I can keep it at a manageable level when I avoid eating/drinking certain things, getting enough sleep, avoiding stress, and taking lots of Tums etc. but it’s always there. And sometimes it’s definitely worse than others. My third year of university was probably the worst it has ever been. I spent 16 hours a day sleeping because I had no energy. I was so nauseous that I couldn’t eat, and when I did I couldn’t hold anything down. On top of that, I was losing my hair. I struggled to walk around the block most days, and I had to give up driving because it became too unsafe. I ended up dropping my on campus classes and moving back to Ottawa after a week of school. From then on, I was at the hospital at least once a week, and I had every possible test imaginable; always yielding different diagnoses – internal bleeding, stomach/pancreatic cancer, and at one point I was even accused of being a heroin addict (to which I responded with laughter, something they very much didn’t appreciate – gotta find humour in something though). In the end they never did figure out what it was or why it had gotten so much worse that year, and I was told there wasn’t anything that could be done. They extended the list of things I couldn’t eat, and I was sent on my way. I continued to make the jokes and shrug things off around friends and family because I could see how hard they were taking things, but truth is there were moments I was just as deflated by the news. What I had didn’t have a name or clear symptoms – which to me meant it didn’t have a way for me to fight it. I knew that this stomach thing, whatever it was/is, would forever be the defining thing for me in my life.
Eventually, I stopped feeling sorry for myself though. I decided that things could always be worse and I was going to stick it to those doctors who said I was stuck. I did everything I could to get things under control, and after many months my system finally started to level out. And for the past 2 years I have been pretty good, but that being said, my health still dictates a lot of basic decisions I make in my life – I avoid group meals or going out to dinner with people, I don’t go out to the bar often, and when I do I never have a drink in my hand, I always make sure that I have Tums on me, and a (vegan) granola bar in the event that I get stuck somewhere I can’t eat, I avoid scheduling things after 8pm because being out after this time guarantees me stomach pain, and I usually have the quickest way to the bathroom (or at the very least a garbage can) figured out no matter where I am. Besides making me the worst date/least fun person ever, these things are a small nuisance compared to being curled up in a ball unable to do a whole lot. After my third year, I know what it means to be “healthy” – I’m not at 100%, nor do I think I ever will be, but I have come a long way from where I was, and I can tell you for certain that I don’t want to go back to that. And this past week was a nice reminder of that. Well not nice, it was a rather unpleasant reminder...but you get what I’m saying.
So, you are probably wondering what the point is to this lengthy (and somewhat narcissistic) story, and how this relates to Beyond Borders. Well, here goes. I am absolutely terrified of going to Nairobi. And not because I think that I can’t handle the culture shock, or that I will be lonely and homesick, or even that I will be robbed – these are all things I know I can deal with, and have the support of many to help me through. I am terrified because I know that this trip is going to be incredibly challenging for my physical health. I won’t be able to control what I eat to the same degree, I will be tired and worn down and stressed, I will be exposed to nasty microbes which my weak stomach is more susceptible to, and I won’t be able to stay physically active to the same degree either. When I can’t be in control of these things, bad things happen – potentially third year bad...maybe worse. I keep telling myself that it will be ok, a little stomach sickness is easy peasy, and there is a part of me that still legitimately believes this, but I also know that there is a huge difference between a week of feeling gross in my cushy western home, and feeling like death in a foreign country where I know no one and they don’t know anything about my medical history. I got my physical this week and my doctor cleared me for the trip, but I know that the people who have been with me through the worst, who have helped me up stairs when I was too weak, held my hair back as I was sick, and watched helplessly time and again as I whimpered doubled over in pain, are not at all supportive of this trip. I signed up for this program knowing my health would be an issue, and knowing that this was a risk I was willing to take, but at the same time it still really scares me. Because if I can’t complete this placement, something I have wanted for a really long time, then whatever this health issue is, it has won. I know that not trying isn’t the answer, because there is a good chance that I CAN make it through the summer without things being a total disaster, but there is still a possibility I can’t. And it’s that “what if” that still has me extremely worried. Unfortunately for me, the only way to tackle that “what if” is to make it to the other side. It’s moments like this that I wish I had a crystal ball....
So there you have it, the band aid has been ripped off, and a little piece of myself put out there for the blogging world to read. I don’t particularly enjoy sharing this part of my life with others, but I’m hoping that owning it will make me a little more at peace with it. In any case, thanks for coming along for the ride. I promise to talk more about St. John’s Kitchen next week.
Cheers,
Cat
This past week was reading week, and I had a million and one things to do, because all of my midterms and major assignments are scheduled after reading week, and March at the Women’s Centre is event madness. My good intentions towards productivity fell through however, when on Sunday I developed some sort of unpleasant stomach sickness which lasted most of the week. Not to get too graphic, but I spent most of my week curled into a ball on the couch with a bucket on the floor beside me. And even after the worst of it subsided, I was still not able to do a whole lot – surprisingly things become a little more challenging when you haven’t been able to hold anything down for a couple of days and the room is spinning all around you.
I am no stranger to stomach illness in general. I have spent the past 10+ years going through bouts of what I experienced during reading week – some lasting much longer than a week, and sometimes more intense than that too. I like to tell people I have the stomach of an 80 year old man, or that I am just high maintenance, but I joke because it’s easier then telling people that I have struggled with my health for a really long time, or even worse, that I don’t dream the same way I used to because I know that I am limited by my health. It’s not really something that people pick up on with me because I seem pretty healthy – I am physically fit, I eat fairly well, and I don’t make a fuss when I’m sick (most of the time I just grab a magazine and wait for the worst to be over). But truth is, I don’t feel well all the time. Every moment of every day I have a stomach ache. I can keep it at a manageable level when I avoid eating/drinking certain things, getting enough sleep, avoiding stress, and taking lots of Tums etc. but it’s always there. And sometimes it’s definitely worse than others. My third year of university was probably the worst it has ever been. I spent 16 hours a day sleeping because I had no energy. I was so nauseous that I couldn’t eat, and when I did I couldn’t hold anything down. On top of that, I was losing my hair. I struggled to walk around the block most days, and I had to give up driving because it became too unsafe. I ended up dropping my on campus classes and moving back to Ottawa after a week of school. From then on, I was at the hospital at least once a week, and I had every possible test imaginable; always yielding different diagnoses – internal bleeding, stomach/pancreatic cancer, and at one point I was even accused of being a heroin addict (to which I responded with laughter, something they very much didn’t appreciate – gotta find humour in something though). In the end they never did figure out what it was or why it had gotten so much worse that year, and I was told there wasn’t anything that could be done. They extended the list of things I couldn’t eat, and I was sent on my way. I continued to make the jokes and shrug things off around friends and family because I could see how hard they were taking things, but truth is there were moments I was just as deflated by the news. What I had didn’t have a name or clear symptoms – which to me meant it didn’t have a way for me to fight it. I knew that this stomach thing, whatever it was/is, would forever be the defining thing for me in my life.
Eventually, I stopped feeling sorry for myself though. I decided that things could always be worse and I was going to stick it to those doctors who said I was stuck. I did everything I could to get things under control, and after many months my system finally started to level out. And for the past 2 years I have been pretty good, but that being said, my health still dictates a lot of basic decisions I make in my life – I avoid group meals or going out to dinner with people, I don’t go out to the bar often, and when I do I never have a drink in my hand, I always make sure that I have Tums on me, and a (vegan) granola bar in the event that I get stuck somewhere I can’t eat, I avoid scheduling things after 8pm because being out after this time guarantees me stomach pain, and I usually have the quickest way to the bathroom (or at the very least a garbage can) figured out no matter where I am. Besides making me the worst date/least fun person ever, these things are a small nuisance compared to being curled up in a ball unable to do a whole lot. After my third year, I know what it means to be “healthy” – I’m not at 100%, nor do I think I ever will be, but I have come a long way from where I was, and I can tell you for certain that I don’t want to go back to that. And this past week was a nice reminder of that. Well not nice, it was a rather unpleasant reminder...but you get what I’m saying.
So, you are probably wondering what the point is to this lengthy (and somewhat narcissistic) story, and how this relates to Beyond Borders. Well, here goes. I am absolutely terrified of going to Nairobi. And not because I think that I can’t handle the culture shock, or that I will be lonely and homesick, or even that I will be robbed – these are all things I know I can deal with, and have the support of many to help me through. I am terrified because I know that this trip is going to be incredibly challenging for my physical health. I won’t be able to control what I eat to the same degree, I will be tired and worn down and stressed, I will be exposed to nasty microbes which my weak stomach is more susceptible to, and I won’t be able to stay physically active to the same degree either. When I can’t be in control of these things, bad things happen – potentially third year bad...maybe worse. I keep telling myself that it will be ok, a little stomach sickness is easy peasy, and there is a part of me that still legitimately believes this, but I also know that there is a huge difference between a week of feeling gross in my cushy western home, and feeling like death in a foreign country where I know no one and they don’t know anything about my medical history. I got my physical this week and my doctor cleared me for the trip, but I know that the people who have been with me through the worst, who have helped me up stairs when I was too weak, held my hair back as I was sick, and watched helplessly time and again as I whimpered doubled over in pain, are not at all supportive of this trip. I signed up for this program knowing my health would be an issue, and knowing that this was a risk I was willing to take, but at the same time it still really scares me. Because if I can’t complete this placement, something I have wanted for a really long time, then whatever this health issue is, it has won. I know that not trying isn’t the answer, because there is a good chance that I CAN make it through the summer without things being a total disaster, but there is still a possibility I can’t. And it’s that “what if” that still has me extremely worried. Unfortunately for me, the only way to tackle that “what if” is to make it to the other side. It’s moments like this that I wish I had a crystal ball....
So there you have it, the band aid has been ripped off, and a little piece of myself put out there for the blogging world to read. I don’t particularly enjoy sharing this part of my life with others, but I’m hoping that owning it will make me a little more at peace with it. In any case, thanks for coming along for the ride. I promise to talk more about St. John’s Kitchen next week.
Cheers,
Cat
This is really brave Cat! I know how hard it can be to open yourself up like this, so congrats to you for being able to do it! I also struggle with some health problems that I'm worried might give me major problems while I'm away - but for me, i'm just tired of being scared. I'm just going to deal with things as they come to me, and hope for the best, because really, what could be better than going to Africa for 3 months? NOTHING, so I'm definitely not going to let anything get in the way - especially the worry I hold for my health. I'm a big believer in destiny and trust me Cat, you wouldn't be part of this if you and your fussy stomach couldn't handle it! Just remember to take a GIANT tub of tums with you :)
I can't sympathize effectively because I have no allergies or health problems (knock on wood) and I take this for granted, especially after reading your post. So I am going to give words of encouragement and praise instead :) You can do it! If you can run those ridiculously long marathons (which for me would be dealth) then you can take on Nairobi and those nasty microbes! And at least your going with Nev, who is in science and can hopefully handle the hair holding job (I have a friend who actually runs out of the room at any mention of nausea). I think this trip will be a success for you and stand true to your 'fighter' atttitude. Nice work on a very open and honest post - I still haven't gotten to that point yet.
Don't worry, you won't have to deal with anything on your own.
Nev :)
GOOD for you!!!! good for you!!! I'm beaming because your post is so far outside of your comfort zone, and it's wonderful. good for you!!!!! I hope that it wasn't too horrible for you and that you can be comfortable with being uncomfortable.
I've had this blog post on my mind all week, but I haven't been able to come up with a response I think is fully fitting... so I'll just say the first couple of thoughts that came to mind when I read it.
First, I love that you took the leap and shared this with us. Thank you for that, and I hope that this leap will make it a little easier to share your feelings about the frustrations and joys that will undoubtedly occur in Nairobi.
Second, and I mentioned this at St. John's, I thought the idea of you being a heroin addict was laughable, too. :) I know I haven't known you that long, but I think that might be one of the last tags I'd ever pin on you.