Shortly after my tantrum involving not wanting to take even more weeks of antibiotics that have made me really sick, the doctor looked and me and said, “I think we’re between a rock and a hard place.”
I have an infection and twice a day, I get strong IV antibiotics that make me feel really sick. Since I’ve arrived, since before my embolization, I spend a lot of time reminding everyone that antibiotics make me really sick. I feel like it’s all I talk about.
It looks like I am on these for about a week. It might be miserable, but in the grand scheme of things, I think I can do it. It’s wrong for me to pout and have self-indulgent tantrums when everyone at the hospital has been working so hard for so long to get me to a point of wellness. For me to say a few weeks’ setback isn’t good enough is a little ridiculous, considering everyone here has been keeping me alive for years. The anger and disappointment is human, yes, but it’s ultimately not helpful to anyone. It’s something to experience and then throw away as an ungrateful thought that doesn’t have a purpose.
Yesterday, something came up in my Facebook memories: pictures from my re-housewarming/Summer of Josie party. Friends came in to help me redecorate my apartment and celebrate the summer. By this time, I had started healing, both physically from the tumors and emotionally. I started off last summer sick and shell-shocked, and this party was a turning point.
I wish I could go back and do this whole year again. I wouldn’t change anything. The past few weeks have been really tough, healthwise. But if I had given up last spring, I would have missed some of the best times I have ever had. I was so close to giving up last May.
I’ll do the antibiotics and try to be good, in hopes for more of this precious time.
