Posted in Journal, Conversation, Op-Ed

No Apologies Necessary, Dammit!

Photo by twinsfisch

So this week I had a dental appointment. But when I woke up in the morning, I couldn’t get out of bed. I had had another night with never ending pain and I felt traumatized by dawn. There was no way I could do anything more that day than lie in bed with my best friend, Audible. When I called to reschedule the appointment, though, I inevitably did something I usually do and hate myself the entire time I’m doing it. I lied. I mumbled something about having caught the latest crud that’s going around. “Oh, I know just how you feel,” the receptionist said. “I had that last week.”

I hate the lie. I feel that it diminishes me. But saying, “I have to cancel
because I can’t get out of bed,” or “I’m in pain today,” doesn’t sound like a valid reason. What would the receptionist have said to that? “Uh, okay…” and she’s thinking, “What the hell? Are you hung over? Your husband knock you around last night? Feeling a little lazy today with the rainy weather?” It just doesn’t work.

At a few different points in my life, I struggled with debilitating anxiety. But I never announced that I was having an anxiety attack. That was too embarrassing, too shameful. I’d always figure out a way to cover it up. And I’m certain that oftentimes, the cover up made me look less respectable than had I simply told the truth. Unfortunately, the truth was taboo. And all these years later, the truth still seems taboo. We must change that!

Having an Invisible Illness is bad enough. Having always to try to explain it is the icing on the cake. (Irony here, in case there’s any confusion!) It is generally not acceptable to decline an invitation, cancel an appointment, not go to work, insert obligation here, because we are depressed, in pain, have overwhelming anxiety, again, insert malady here.

It took a long time but my inner circle of very close family and friends now understand my key words: bad day, bed day, pain day, flare up. But I don’t know how to handle the rest of the world. The new couple we met and adored who want to plan dinner and the theatre when that show comes to town in 6 weeks. Let’s grab the tickets now before they’re sold out! The colorist who I’m dying to have do my hair (cute little pun there, huh?) but is so far booked out and frowns on late cancellations. I understand. She can’t afford to lose payment for that time slot. But getting my hair done is pricey, especially when I’m paying and not getting it done.

Yes, I know that I’ve cancelled on you three times in a row. I know it’s inconsiderate. I know it’s irresponsible. But I didn’t intend to do it. And the only other option is never to schedule or plan again. That’s rather bleak. One thing that keeps most of us going is having something to look forward to.

Yes, these seem like minor beefs. First world problems. But I’m still resentful. I’m resentful because I have this mishmash of medical disorders that can’t easily be understood or explained. I’m resentful for feeling as though I always have to apologize or make excuses for them. And I’m resentful for feeling less whole than the next guy because of it.

I, Jayne, am generally (I’m human, after all) not irresponsible, unsociable, irritable, needy, inconsiderate, over-reactive or thoughtless. My pain is. I am not my pain. Let me say that again. I AM NOT MY PAIN! And I want the world to stop mixing us up!