The closer I get to Nuke Day, the crazier I get. I am on a crazy train of conflicting emotions and strengths. I hope they find something fixable. I told Jason last night, "I don't care if I have to have a transplant, I just want to be normal again."
For a while, I'm okay with the wait, knowing there isn't anything I can do until we know what is going on and I'm grooving on the (at)peace train.
Then I'll wallow around in self-pity and fear for a while, worried that they won't find something that can be fixed, or even worse, something that isn't bad enough to fix so I have to wait.
I'm not being a good limited activities person. I stomp and pout when Jason drops me off in front of a building then goes to park the car. I resent having to have the bag boy carry my groceries to the car. I hate having to get a buggy to push around even when I know I'm only getting a few things, because walking and carrying things isn't going so well.
I hate, hate, hate and despise with a passion having to ask for help. It makes me feel ashamed of myself. But I know I'm being silly and stupid. I know this is probably temporary, but the what-if's are lurking in the shadows, waiting for a weak moment to attack.
And then later, I'm back to being fine.
Loki sez: Gnawing boxes into tiny flecks of cardboard is what I do when I feel upset.