A Slice of History

I was diagnosed with ME/CFS as a child. I was in the last year of middle school (aged 10/11) and both the school and my parents said it was essential to find out why I was ill so much before I moved up to senior school. I was taken to the doctor, who asked questions and ran tests and sent me to the hospital, who asked questions and ran tests, and assigned me a consultant who- you get the idea.

With everything else ruled out, and since I’d had the symptoms for over a year (never mind the mandatory three months) she diagnosed me. She suggested that the trigger in my case – or at least a significant contributing factor – could be environmental: sick building syndrome. Between my first and second years (aged 8/9) the school moved to a brand new building. Right after that lots of people – students and staff – suffered with severe headaches and were going to the doctor with all sorts of medical complaints.

After being told I had this condition, my consultant said it was really unusual to get it so young (lucky me) and it was most likely I would have it for x years (I can’t remember the exact number) and then it would go into remission, hopefully for good but possibly flaring up if I had a period of excessive emotional or physical stress. If it persisted past that number, I would probably suffer from it to some degree for the rest of my life.

As for treatment. . . There is no cure, no single treatment. It was suggested I could keep a diary to help me cope (no thanks) see a therapist/have counselling (but you don’t really need to since you have a good relationship with your mother) and apart from that. . . try and learn to live with it.

I learned. It persisted.

But I’m sill here.

I know some people see my life as wasted and me as a layabout, because I don’t have a job, because I’m ill so much of the time, because my life isn’t conventional. (A ‘normal’ life, what’s that?) But most days I feel I’ve done the best I could, and I do do what I can when I can.

And I am still here.

 

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