“The biggest disease today is not leprosy or tuberculosis, but rather the feeling of being unwanted, uncared for, and deserted by everybody.” Mother Teresa.
If you have read many quotes from Mother Teresa, she wasn’t talking here about the deserted people in poverty living in Calcutta but about “the people who are pushed away, forgotten or no one wants to help, that is the greatest poverty.”
Chronic Illness has brought me many unexpected loses in my life that I have had no control over. Losing my childhood friend of 30 years, I never saw coming. Yes, we still talk, but it is not the same. It will never be the same. I lost the one friend who has known me through every milestone of my life. We shared high school together and growing up together. Our marriages and our babies, watching them grow into adults. She was my confidant, my best friend and could make me laugh when life grew hard.
I saw her slipping away for some time because of my chronic illness. I examined my heart and tried to see if I complained too much for her to handle. If I did, it was when I realized my brain surgery had left me with a chronic, painful and untreatable disease, more dreaded than Trigeminal Neuralgia for those who have it. How could I not talk to my best friend about the reality of my new life? Of course I cried to her. I would only assume she would be the one steady presence in my life that would be unchanging. I could hear the boredom and disbelief of my symptoms in her voice. Our form of communication is talking on the phone because we live in two different states. Matter of fact, all my family and friends live in other States so I am very good at picking up people’s tone’s and voice mannerisms. Too many times, I heard, “You aren’t any better, yet?” When I said I will probably need narcotics the rest of my life, her “huh’s” on the other end were not pleasant-sounding. I felt looked down upon by her. I distinctly remember talking to her about my symptoms and she said to me in a strident voice, “I’m sorry, Karen. I’m sorry this happened to you.” But the I’m sorry took me aback with the lack of empathy that was behind it and all I heard was the sound of frustration and the sense of being sick of hearing about it. The one comment that still echoes in my head is her telling me, “It could be worse.”
That’s when I knew I lost her. She had broken my heart. She never spoke up about her feelings of not wanting to deal with my health problems. How could she? What an ass she would look like? What could she say to me? “Look Karen, I know we have been friends for over 30 years and I really loved the fun Karen you were but this sick Karen sucks and I don’t want to hear about that part of you anymore?” She couldn’t say that or anything close to that, so it bottled up inside her. It still comes out in here non-supportive ways. My best friend is a nurse, she has never researched my disease or offered to help me look up new medical information on treatments for my disease. At our yearly Trigeminal Neuralgia Awareness Day, I asked to wear Teal in honor of me and post it on Facebook for awareness to lead to a cure. A couple of my friends did. She did not. Granted she works in surgery and told me she wore Teal panties that day. She had a date that night and I guess the color Teal was not a part of date night. I know I sound angry and I am. The thing is, I did go out of my way for her when her life was hard. Without getting into detail, she struggled going back to Nursing school as a single mom and I was very conscious of her situation. It was not only the big things I did but little things too. That is what a friend does. They stand beside no matter what. When they see you are in pain and are in need, they come running, not run away.
I make a conscious effort not to talk about my illness anymore I know she doesn’t know the name of my new disease. It is just two initials, AD. Saying the name, Anesthesia Dolorosa is a hard one to pronounce. Every once in a blue moon when I see an article that I think could help wrap her head around my illness, I might send it to her. I never get a response. In my final attempt to save our friendship, I wrote her my letter that I posted on my blog, trying to give her a personal insight into my soul. The response I received was silence. She never replied or has acknowledged to this day my letter to her. I just give up then. She still calls me, though, I don’t know why. It is pretty much surface talk. She’ll ask me how I am doing and I’ll just respond, “About the same” or ” I’m Fine.” Believe it or not, this has been going on for over quite some time now, watching her detach from me a little at a time. This was a blatant slap in my face and I can’t take being hurt like this from a friend. This is where isolation moves in and takes over. I only have a couple of people in my life that I can talk to on a real, personal level about my disease,my husband, Dave and my sister, Kathy. My mother understands also but to protect her, I’m not completely honest about the pain. This is why I think I have hung on to my friendship longer than I should. The old me, with lots of friends, wouldn’t have tolerated all of this hurtful treatment this long. This new me, with a new pain filled life values love, life and relationships so much more now. I am also more forgiving and do not take people or the small things for granted. She could never begin to understand the friendship she threw away and as long as she has her good health, she won’t. As for me, I could never begin to understand how you walk out on your best friend of thirty years in the first years of her chronic illness.
I do know this, I must forgive her for my sake and my health’s sake; it is poison to the heart. When I hang on to anger, bitterness and unforgiveness the only person it hurts is me. The main reason I choose to forgive is God, knowing what’s best for me, He commands this of me. Forgiving sets me free. This I do understand!
I just started writing my blogs on TN and AD. You can read these at karensollman.wordpress.com
I will always try to re-post here.
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