Life and letters

Now, instead of feeling a loss at the possible misdiagnosis of fibromyalgia, I'm excited beyond measure over the possible diagnosis of "absence status epilepticus." While I can't say for sure, treatment for this rare seizure disorder appears possible, and if I do test positive, and I do get treated, my life will change immeasurably. Where will I go? What will I do? While the traditional holdups to the perfect life will still exist (finding the perfect job with the right money, finding a man even when you're well), my life could change in a way I cannot possibly imagine.

If I were well I could move to Manhattan and follow my dream as a full-time employee in the publishing industry. Or I could go back to school and get my PhD. But my most precious dream, if I should have it, is to rent or own a studio on Queen Anne Hill, drive a lime green VW bug, work as an online instructor, and write and edit on the side. My life doesn't have to be much different than it is now, but every day would be different by the simple fact that I would be living each 24 hours knowing that I can most likely keep any commitment and make any plans. I can date normally and have children if I do desire without worrying that my illness will keep me from being a good wife or parent.

In all honesty, the thought of being well does have its share of anxiety. I've lived the past five years wrestling with something inside my own body. Everything I did, I did in the face of an unknown and ambiguous illness. Every success was in the face of extreme odds against me, and every failure was only a soft blow to my sense of perseverance in the face of antagonism. But if this antagonism is taken away -- if illness no longer rears its ugly head in my life, every decision I make and action I take will not be in the face of odds but will be expected and inglorious. If I succeed in anything it will be as a normal human being. If I fail I won't have an illness to cushion the blow.

I've always wrestled with a duality in regards to what I want for my future. As a teen and young adult I often oscillated between wanting to be a famous author and wanting to scrub toilets as a housekeeper. I've wanted to be a missionary in Africa and I've wanted to be a stay at home mom. I've wanted a big career in Manhattan and I've wanted a simple life as a library assistant in a sleepy town. Fate has steered me in many directions, some of them big, some of them small. At some points I chose the easy road and at others I chose the hard. My illness pushed me to write creatively because in my fuzzy states I couldn't do much else, and no matter what I do, the act of writing must remain.

With flareups I've been awarded so many hours, days, weeks of contemplation. This time spent ill has kept me from overextending myself and has afforded me a chance to stop running through life looking for the next big change, and at the same time it has made me change my life tremendously from what I would have preferred it to be. If my EEG shows absence status epilepticus and my doctor finds treatment, I may get my life back in a way that I've only imagined. I will stand at a crossroads and have to decide where that fine balance lies between progress and persistence. I'll have to decide when it's appropriate to change direction and when I need to stay grounded in my current course. The thought of becoming well is like being told you will be pardoned from jail after having been given a life sentence. Sure, you made the most of your time in jail, but in all honesty it was different from the life of others. And when you emerge from behind those walls and breathe in that fresh air, change your clothes and walk down the street, anything could happen. And that is both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.