I read an article in last week’s The Sunday Times Style Magazine by Chloe Fox about the difficulty of post-cancer recovery, in which she discussed the importance of “the acknowledgement that this part of the journey is hard – harder in many ways, than the illness itself.” She quotes Dana Jennings when discussing a similar topic, remarking that “this isn’t about sadness and melancholy. It is more profound than that. Broadly, I have a keen sense of being oppressed, as if I were trapped, wrapped up in some thick fog coming in off the North Atlantic.”

This article so beautifully put my feelings into words that I felt as though I’d been punched in the stomach. I had been struggling with this sensation that I couldn’t verbalize for a long time now – something that, as a writer, I found extremely disheartening and confusing. I feel that thick fog surrounding me. I feel as though my core, my dreams, my passions and creativity are lost in it and it is too dense to see through. I grope blindly in the dark, hoping to blunder my way through it. I fear that I have spent so long learning to check myself to the limitations of my condition that I have forgotten how to dream outside of them.

I know that firstly, I need to be diagnosed, and secondly, treated, before I worry about post-recovery plans. I need to accept there may never be a post-recovery. Recovered or not, I still have this urge to reclaim myself. I want to do whatever I can now, whether it is just small steps or large ones, to work towards my dreams, whatever they may be. My illness does not define me, but in order for me to figure out who I am, I must navigate that fog of fear, uncertainty and doubt.

I have lost many things to this condition, but I refuse to lose myself.

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Thinkstock photo via artlazareva.

Speaking from experience, I was that student in seventh and eighth grade the kids made fun of. I was that employee for who the supervisors really made it difficult to do my work. I still managed to accomplish my tasks  even though they let me go anyway by claiming I wasn’t meeting their expectations, which I feel was an excuse to get around the disability law. I was very upset about being targeted due to my health issues but I was able to find another position within a local hospital’s medical billing department. The employees supported one another in times of need and the supervisors really understood when a biller had to take time off due to a serious illness or surgery. I felt very blessed to have worked with such a great team for four years until I made the tough decision to put my health ahead of my career. I was in a very bad Crohn’s flare and couldn’t drive in severe pain anymore back and forth to my job. I had to take a step back, let my body rest and try another treatment to get myself back into remission.

I’ll never figure out why people like us are looked down upon as a liability on the job, picked on in school or ignored in public – for instance, if a person in a wheelchair drops a bag of groceries and could use some assistance, but nobody stops to help them.

Someday, I hope everyone can “put a little love in their hearts” without discriminating and chastising those who have disabilities or medical issues. Then we can “make the world a better place. You just wait and see.”

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You never complained, you were just there. Right where I needed you, right when I needed you. You never asked for anything in return.

That is the definition of a true friend. Helping and caring for someone and being there without any expectations or desire for a reward or returned favor. That is the definition of you.

You are selfless. You are a wonderful person. You are just what I needed, but never thought I’d find again due to my maladies.

I am very lucky I have a great husband who helps me with everything. But it is also nice to have some good friends. Friends like you. To laugh with, to spend time with, to grow with, to become better people with.

I had almost given up hope that I would find good friends in my new home state. After my many ailments, I thought it would be impossible.

But there you were, walking slowly but surely by my side. Maybe you saw a glimmer in my eye of what I once was – active, funny and spontaneous. Maybe you got brief hints of what my personality truly is, when free from the constraints of pain and sickness.

In a world where many people are focused upon material things and influential people, you choose not to be. You can see past all of that, and get right to the heart of the matter. You were able to see what was in my heart.

I can’t begin to tell you how much you mean to me, and to my family. I can’t begin to thank you enough for how you have helped me, and for how you have accepted me and all of my limitations.

Having you around has brought some newfound joy to my life. Having you around has helped me recover. Having you around has helped me smile again.

A lot of people in their 40s have to deal with at least one chronic illness. They are lucky if they have good friends around to help them adjust and get through it. But, making new friends when you have more than one debilitating condition is very difficult. It can be a very lonely time. Online support groups can be very helpful, but nothing takes the place of a nearby friend. One who is there to listen, commiserate with and to give you a hug when you need it the most.

Thank you for being my friend. I know it can be hard sometimes because of all I am dealing with, but hopefully better health and good times are just around the corner. I look forward to sharing those times with you.

And as I struggle to fall asleep tonight, I will have a smile on my face because I know that kind people like you exist in this world.

You are just what the doctor ordered.

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