Seven years ago today I decided to kill myself. Not literally. I had no idea it would all turn out this way. But it is what it is. (That was awfully melodramatic, wasn’t it???)
My bypass did not make me healthier. It did not improve my quality of life. It did not make me happy. It did not solve my problems. It actually did the opposite of all those things – it made everything much worse and much harder. All the health problems I have accumulated over the past seven years are pretty much the same, with a few new exciting ones thrown in, just to keep it interesting. I now am pretty much permanently anemic and I have a heart arrhythmia. And let us not forget the ever escalating medical bills. Woo Hoo.
Sorry to be such a downer, but this day always makes me reflect upon the bad decision I made, all the crap I have been through and how it will never end. It also makes me think about the future. With all the problems I have now, what will my life be like in ten years? That thought scares the crap out of me. I keep hoping something will get better, somehow I will find a way to improve. And I guess that is the point, to always have hope.
But despite all that, I am still alive. Which most of the doctors I have worked with in the past seven years, would have bet against. So I have that going for me. Survival out of spite. I am grateful that I am still here. And I am even more grateful that I have not driven my poor husband insane with worry and stress. Not yet anyway. I have no doubt in my mind that I would not have made it this far without him. He watches over me like a hawk, frets about every problem I have, drags me half dead to the emergency room when needed, and never forgets to tell me how much he loves me in the process.
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