Chapter 10 #3
Another deep breath. “When I got my diagnosis,” I began.
“Mom was there for me, physically present at least. I was in college here in Boston, and I scheduled my appointments here since the network of specialists was so good. She drove in and came with me, to each appointment. I noticed I was getting tired a lot. I had to nap nearly every day after class. My body felt achy all the time, like when you get the flu? A few times after class I’d barely make it back to the dorm before I’d black out.
” Cheryl nodded, and I continued. “It definitely didn’t seem normal for a 19-year-old.
And I’d always been active and full of energy.
We did the whole process, X-rays, blood work.
Finally, I got diagnosed with RA. Early stages. ”
Cheryl made another note. “How did your mom react to the diagnosis?”
“Things were basically exactly the same between us. But it was almost like . . . not that she didn’t believe it. More like she was . . .” I trailed off, unable to formulate the thought.
“In denial?” Cheryl supplied.
“Yeah,” I confirmed, nodding. “You could call it that.”
“Sometimes that’s how people, especially in my generation,” Cheryl pointed to her chest, “were trained to process tough news. We soldiered on. We didn’t show weakness.
We were raised by parents and grandparents who had survived The Great Depression, World Wars, times of strife. They taught us to just keep going.”
“That—makes sense, actually,” I concluded. I’d never admitted to my mom that it hurt my feelings when she didn’t talk to me about my diagnosis. I’d internalized the pain, feeling selfish for even expecting that of her. It was my illness, after all.
But it had also made me feel really alone.
“Speaking of your diagnosis—I see here you’re a nurse? That sounds like a difficult profession to do with joint pain and inflammation. How are you managing?”
I felt myself bristle with defensiveness.
“I’ve wanted to be a nurse for most of my life,” I explained.
“It is hard, and my rheumatologist has warned me that in the next few years, I might need to find a less-demanding specialty. Right now with my medication and how early they caught it, I’m able to power through.
But . . . if I give up my dream career, it’s—it’s like one more thing in my life that I’m allowing it to take from me.
” I slumped back onto the couch, deflated from my rant.
“It? You mean your illness?” Cheryl eyed me warily.
“Yeah. I just . . . want to live a normal life.” I groaned in frustration. No use holding back now. Might as well get it all out there. “Is that too much to ask? I’m young and I should be energetic enough to do this job.”
I paused, reflecting on my own words. Was I experiencing some of that famous Meadows family denial as well, not accepting my illness and its limitations? Damn you, counseling, already giving me self-awareness.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Cheryl began. “We need great nurses in the world. But you don’t have to punish your body or prove anything, not to yourself or to anyone else. You’re still worthy to exist and thrive even if you have to shift your job focus, eventually.”
I sat silently, processing her words. Worthy to exist. My brain tossed the words around. Worth picking, Whit had said, exactly as I am. But was I ready to accept that?
“Now you mentioned your moods lately—do you think those are a result of your illness?”
My head snapped up at the shift in subjects. “Could be. I definitely haven’t felt like myself in years,” I added, putting air quotes around ‘like myself.’
“Because you aren’t yourself—at least, not the self you’re holding on to. You’re different now than you were at 15 or 16. And not just as a result of the typical growing-up that occurs during that time. Already in your life, you’ve faced two of the big 3 D’s.”
I gave her a blank look.
“Divorce, death, and disease. These are some of the most life-altering events a person can face. They quite literally alter our chemical makeup. So in a very real way—you’re not the same person you were before you lost your dad and your health. You’re a different person now.”
The words nearly took my breath away, like I’d fallen from a steep height. Wow, though. They made sense.
“I think we’ve made some good progress today, Brooke.” Cheryl smiled at me warmly as she motioned for me to stand and follow her out of the office. “Same time next week?”
“Yeah . . .” I confirmed, head in a daze.
“Luckily your job values your mental health, so you have eight sessions covered by insurance. That should be plenty of time for us to get to know each other and make a good head start on grappling with what you’re dealing with. Then we’ll take it from there.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Moore. Cheryl,” I said, walking back out into the brightly lit lobby. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Well?” Whit inquired when I got home that afternoon. “You don’t have to give me details if you don’t want. But—did it help?”
I’d driven home in a daze, Cheryl’s words bouncing around in my head. It was like watching a chess game of my life, the pieces slowly rearranging as the game took shape.
“Yeah . . . I think it did.”
I gave Whit a tentative smile.
I was thankful when she let me off easily, changing the subject. She clapped her hands together, decision made. “Alright. I think I know what’s on the menu for tonight: homemade pizza, and Chris Evans.”
Did I mention she’s the best?