Four Good

I know what’s wrong with me. I’m not that stupid — just stupid enough to have ignored all of my body’s warnings.

41

Serious consequences

I’m not able to see my doctor until Tuesday, but she orders a prescription for me on Monday that I can take in advance of the appointment.

Sheila is my angel, taking care of Roscoe and Bea, picking up my medicine, and making food for me.

By Monday evening, I’m functional, if you apply a very, very low standard to the word.

Bea is my angel, too, lying with me whenever I’m in bed, staying nearby when I’m sitting on the couch, and politely ignoring me when my frustration vents itself in tears.

I spend a lot of pointless time being angry at my body and wondering what I did to deserve a condition for which there is no cure.

If it weren’t for lupus, I might be spending the day making plans for when I’d see Jay, Brendan, Corbin, and Jonathan again. I might be online ordering outdoor gear or hiking equipment, and booking a flight to join them on one of their adventures. I might be able to go out and enjoy a sunny day without feeling like a fucking truck ran me over.

My body and my mood both feel like they’re in a death spiral, and when it gets to be too much, I go to bed.

When I have trouble falling asleep, memories of the men’s disappointed faces torment me. I never meant to hurt them, and I hope that I didn’t, or at least, not too badly.

Should I have somehow picked up on the fact that they were getting serious? Maybe I was too distracted by my temperamental body to notice.

Sheila offers to take me to my doctor appointment, and I gratefully accept, afraid of a wave of fatigue hitting me, even though some of my energy has returned. The rheumatologist orders multiple tests, and sends me home with a new prescription and a warning that these debilitating symptoms — which are already bad enough — could lead to more serious consequences, like irreversible damage to my internal organs. Quite a price to pay for a week of carelessness.

I must be looking pretty shellshocked on the ride home, because Sheila is full of assurances. “It’ll be okay, Christine. The new medicine will have you feeling better soon,” she says.

I stare out at the passing scenery without really seeing it. “The doctor says I may need to stay on it indefinitely. It depends on how the tests come back.”

“If you do, you do,” Sheila says, matter-of-factly. “Maybe it’ll have you feeling better than ever, and you won’t need to worry so much about flare-ups.”

“I’ll always need to be careful. The doctor made that very clear.” I knew lupus could be dangerous, but since my symptoms have always been mild, I didn’t take it as seriously as I should have.

“There are plenty of people with lupus who are living full lives. You’ll be okay once you get past this episode.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I say, wondering who’s to say what a full life is. I always thought my life was happy and fulfilling, but somehow it doesn’t feel that way anymore.

Back at home, Sheila offers to make lunch for me, but I tell her I can manage. She says she’ll pick up Roscoe later when she takes Trixie for a walk, and then she says goodbye.

I’m about to open a can of soup when I get a text from Caz. She was in touch yesterday, too, and I filled her in on my medical condition.

Caz: How are you today?

Me: Getting better. I saw the doctor today. Got meds.

Caz: That’s good. Are you feeling up for company?

Me: Sure. I’m actually dressed today and my hair is combed.

Caz: Becca would like to see you too. Have you had lunch yet?

Me: I was just about to make it.

Caz: We’ll bring something over. See you soon.

My friends arrive less than an hour later, looking vibrant and full of life.

“We brought soup, salad, and those chocolate muffins you like from Maddy Lewis’ bakery,” Caz says, setting two bags and a bakery box on my counter.