Pure Happiness.

‘’Who would ever think that so much went on in the soul of a young girl’’

                                                                                                                       Anne Frank.

 

There is nothing better than getting good news from my doctor; to leave his office with a cheshire grin spread across my face and tears of joy in my eyes. The little moments of good news are precious because they are so few and far between. To see my doctor look me and smile, with the words ‘’excellent’’  to follow is the best feeling in the world.

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Leading up to my most recent appointment I was a mess. I had been so stressed the week before and was so nervous that I felt like I was going to be sick. Two days before I had a moment of weakness. My mum hugged me and all of a sudden a felt a tidal wave of emotion hit me. I had to look at her with tears streaming down my face, fogging up my mind and forcing my mouth shut. I couldn’t speak because every time I opened my mouth it filled with tears. I wanted to pour my heart out and tell her how hard this has been, and how I’m fed of everything. I’m fed up that the light at the end of the tunnel has gone out and I’m walking in the dark. I’m fed up of the unknown. And in-between the coughs, the sniffs, the next tear falling down my cheek I told her…’’I can’t do this anymore.’’  My mum hugged me, poured me a cup of tea and said ‘’we will get through whatever happens. Whatever the doctor says, we will be doing this together.’’ 

So here we are, judgement day.

I walked into his office, my heart thumping so hard I thought it would push its way out of my chest, my stomach filled with butterflies doing endless summersaults, and my head running through every possibility that could happen. Will it mean more steroids? Will it mean hospital? Will he say I need… surgery? So I sat down in front of him and told him the how the next few months have been, and he replies with… ‘’Brilliant. I’m pleased to hear that.’’ I almost didn’t hear him. My head was so muddled with all the possibilities of bad news that good news didn’t even cross my mind. My heart slowed, my hands stopped sweating and for the first time in a year I stopped worrying. I watched as he waited for my response, a full ear to ear grin across his face (I imagine he was as relieved as I was). I let out a huge sigh and just said ‘’ok’’. What I wanted to do was leap out of my seat, jump across the desk and hug him, but I don’t think we have that kind of relationship…

For the first time in almost a year I had good news.

For the first time in almost year I could relax and be thankful that I wasn’t walking out with another carrier bag of medication, or tears rolling down my face, or being so upset that I was emotionless and stunned into silence. Every time I have left his office I have been disappointed, angry or upset. I have left with tears flooding down my face, creating a little puddle on the floor. At times I have been so disappointed that I have been emotionless; so fed up with the constant and never-ending bad news that it didn’t make me upset or angry anymore because I was almost used to it. There have been moments where I have felt trapped, so worried about what is next that I can’t breathe. At times I’ve felt simply broken. My heart and body shattered by the constant cycle of bad news and continuous let downs. I guess I had prepared myself so much for the worst because it didn’t seem possible to leave happy. But after nearly a year of worry, of stress and of tears I have finally left with some good news.

News that could change in the blink of an eye, but for now I can hold onto to that little beam of light and hope it continues. For the first time in months I feel like I’m not just stuck waiting for the next drug to kick in, or appointment to decide my life. I feel like I can get my life back on track. I can now enjoy my summer and start to look more positively to the future. I can finally go back to being my age; to drinking and giggling with my friends, to going off and doing whatever I want to do without the worry of where a bathroom is, or if I’ll be well enough to go out for more than a couple of hours.

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For the first time in almost a year I can breathe, and maybe I can start to trust my gut again.