The Invisible Things

Being sick sucks.

Being sick when it’s your birthday double sucks.

And being sick when it’s a significant birthday sucks exponentially.

I spent the lead-up to my birthday coughing my lungs up on the sofa, and I’m now going into week 6 of this dastardly lung infection.

Thankfully, I think I’m on the way out of it, but going by my efforts this morning, it may take some time.

Small victories have begun to appear. Last night, for the first time in nearly a month, I was able to sleep lying down, not sitting upright.

This morning, I sorted a big basket of washing into piles for the washing machine – blacks and very darks, colours, and white or near-white. By the end of the sorting I was puffing and panting like I’d just run for a bus. However, the fact that I actually had enough energy to feel like sorting some washing is quite a long way away from the couch-ridden phlegm monster I’ve been since the beginning of May.

I’ve consumed Netflix, Prime and Apple TV like it was nectar. For someone who, in every spare moment, is either writing a story or reading one, I didn’t have the energy to even read. So, TV it was, and even in my immobile, wracked state, I found myself watching from the point of view of structure and expression, plot progression and character-building. So at least there was that.

But it’s a humbling experience, this illness thing. It illuminates the parts of your life that were previously invisible. It throws light on support structures you never really paid attention to. My lovely Steven, cooking, shopping, random cups of tea, bearing these 6 weeks of coughing, day and night, without complaint. Driving me to doctors, pharmacies and radiologists because the coughing fits meant I couldn’t be safe behind the wheel, not leaving my side until he knew I was a little better.

Family, checking in, available, but giving me the space they knew I needed.

The doctors, the drugs, the radiographers and the lab people.

Friends, ready to lift you when it’s time, patient to let you tell a story even though it's interrupted by hacking, even though your voice makes you sound like a really cool drag queen.

And the same goes for my beautiful work team – I’m so fortunate to work with people who are funny, professional, and caring.

Yes, it’s been humbling, but it’s reminded me of things that are important, and how much I don’t do on my own, but through the people that make up the warp and weft of my life tapestry.

When you get to my age, you imagine a lot of things: you think of how your mother was at that age. You wonder if you, too, should cut your hair and get a shampoo and set. Then you think about the pressure these days on us to deny our years and to look as young as possible.

Getting sick has brought its own gift. It’s brought me to a place that asks me to acknowledge where I am. To be where I find myself right now, and find peace in that space. I’ll never be younger than I am, and I’ll never (thankfully) be my mother. I’m just me, wondering how come, if I’ve managed to reach this age, why don’t I feel more like a grown-up?

I will try. I will try to be here now, to feel safe in both all that’s gone past and in all the future that I have to look forward to. I will keep on writing and telling stories, but maybe now I’ll pay a bit more attention to the story that’s been my own life and experience, and to the people who make it all so much richer.

And today’s triumph - I sorted a basket of washing this morning and put a load on! Yes, I had to stop and catch my breath, but I wasn’t on automatic pilot. I was grateful to be able to be there and do that.

I can hear the washing machine going through its cycle in the laundry through the wall. Steven’s brought me a cup of tea, and I’ve caught my breath writing this piece. Even though it’s winter, the sun is shining today. When the spin cycle is finished, I will load the washing into my little laundry trolley (I do love my laundry trolley) and hang it out in the sunshine.

Hell, I may even do another load – look at me go!