Mum’s illness was progressing, and it affected her everyday life. She was told that the overactive thyroid gland had caused irreversible damage to her diaphragm. This in turn caused breathing difficulties with the asthma, as the diaphragm was not able to contract and relax fully. However, mum pushed on as normal. She didn’t have much choice, as the workload was affecting me badly.
While the schoolwork relieved the depression greatly, the physical aspects of M.E did not improve. I had managed to push through to the first few weeks of term, until eventually the M.E kicked off. I woke up feeling horrendously sick, and my muscles ached as if I had run a marathon. My back was screaming from the pressure applied on it from the mattress. I rolled onto my side, despite the pain, as I knew I had to ease the back ache before it got too much for me to handle. I opened my eyes, and even in the dimness of my room with the curtains drawn, the light burned into my eyes. It felt as though my skull was on fire. I couldn’t believe the state my body was in. I hadn’t realised how much stress my body was under, and now it was out of control. As I lay there, I thought about how well I done to get so far through the term without any time off. However, this didn’t ease the terrible guilty feeling in my chest that I would be missing important lessons. I couldn’t begin to imagine how I would catch up on all the missed work.
I forced myself to sit upright and get out of bed. Slowly I made my way down stairs, and got a coffee. I thought that a caffeine boost might lift me out of this dreadful state, and that I would be able to attend school. Ten minutes later I was back upstairs, having somehow managed to climb back up them. They felt like a mountain. I crept into mum and dad’s room, sank onto the bed, and burst into tears. They were quiet tears, as I didn’t have the energy for anything else. Mum took one look at me, and phoned me in sick. “Yes, I was far too sick to come into school. I should be commended for doing so well, not criticised for needing time off.” I hobbled back to my room, and fell asleep in my own bed.
Several hours later, they felt like mere minutes, mum woke me up with a drink. I tried to sit myself up, but couldn’t. My arms physically wouldn’t take the weight and trembled continuously. My back pain limited my flexibility. All I wanted to do was curl back up and fall asleep again, but I needed to drink something. Mum put her arm around my shoulders, took one hand, and between us we managed to get me upright. I slumped back against a pillow, which had been leant against the bed head. I hated to feel so dependent on others, and I felt guilty again, this time for making mum do so much when I knew she shouldn’t. I drank the tea while it was still warm, and then sank back under the covers for another sleep. I couldn’t sit up much longer as it was exhausting me.
The day passed in a haze of pain and depression. I was lonely and bored. I hadn’t been able to pass the time with reading, and my head hurt too much for music. I hadn’t eaten much either, as lifting the spoon up to my mouth and chewing took far too much energy. This meant I didn’t have any fresh energy for the next day, and had to take that one off school too. This did the depression and rising feeling of anxiety no favours, and the high stress made it harder to recover from the M.E. However, on this second day of relapse I could eat slowly, and read. I listened to my MP3 player. Music was a huge escape to me, as I could relate to it extremely well. It was the most effective way of relaxing.
Now that I was more relaxed I slept well. The next day I got up, all be it shakily, and went to school. I managed to collect all the work I had missed, and that weekend I ploughed through it all.
These relapses now began to repeat themselves every two weeks or so, sometimes requiring two days, sometimes only needing one. Every time I managed to get back, and get up to date with the work I had missed.
At around Christmas time (2012) things seemed to pick up. Despite lots of revision for the upcoming January exams, I got lots of rest, and didn’t have a relapse at all. When I returned to school, I got the exams done, and found that I was beginning to have a lot more energy on a daily basis. I could do more, and not experience any more fatigue or pain than normal. I stayed out to rewards ceremonies, and could attend school the next day with positive ease.
My medication had been altered a few times to relieve pain and nausea, and now it seemed to be working excellently. There were days when I felt worse, and there were days when I felt very well, but most of the days were spent on the edge of discomfort, content enough to plough through the days. However, the depression did not lift as I had been expecting, and hung over my mind like a dark and endless cloud. Seeing the positive side to anything became as hard as studying any A-level. Still, I told myself that CAMHS would surely be contacting me soon about the C.B.T, and then everything would ease up.
Now that I appeared to be healing I had to be careful not to push myself too hard. The temptation was to use my new found energy to the full, and not store it up. It was a hard impulse to resist, especially after not having energy for so long. However, I resisted, on the grounds the quickest way to good health was to rest up. I did allow myself one extra exercise though, and that was drumming for fifteen minutes at the weekend. I loved drumming. Being behind the drum kit gave me a feeling of safety and protection, as well as knowing that it was something I could do to a reasonable standard. There was no one judging me behind the drum kit, except the odd person telling me how unladylike I was. I loved being able to rebel slightly; I have always been one to break the mould. It was glorious. For those few precious minutes, there was no pain (there was when I stopped!), and no one could hurt me. I looked up to drummers like Harry Judd (McFly), Ronnie Vannucci (The Killers), Phil Collins, and of course Tre’ Cool (Green Day).
Two long years had passed now, and I had been ill for all of that time. Still, I could feel myself returning to my almost former self, but I knew that the M.E had changed my perception of the world. I was not so arrogant, and I was more aware of the dangers the world throws at people. I was ready to become a healthy teenager again.