I have never before had any issue with growing older. I still pretty much feel like a kid every time Christmas or my birthday roll around. Extreme excitement, the knowledge I could boss everyone around if I wanted to, my choice of dinner and birthday cake. Yum, what's not to like?
It's just this year I'm turning 27. That's three years away from thirty. And I'm still not well. I feel as though this chronic illness thing should be coming to an end by now. Say there had been some kind of contract, I'm pretty sure it should have read something like this:
The agreement between Party A (Carla) and Party B (Chronic illness) is as follows;
Party B is to have all rights to Party A's body during her early and mid twenties. Party B can during this time decide to flare at any given moment with very little warning. Party B is entitled to take away Party A's choices in regards to childbearing, working, and raising her own children. Party A can fight against Party B, but it will prove to be of little use until;
i. Party A approaches the age of 30 when Party B
no longer has any right to reside in Party A's body.
ii. Party B is killed off by some kind of super drug sooner.
See, while this is hardly ideal, it gives me an end point. In some way I imagined this is the way it would go. It's only fair right? I mean I think I've given quite enough of myself to 'Party B'.
So while I'm so grateful to be here, celebrating turning another year older when all odds at one time pointed against that, I'm also not quite ready to get closer to that age I thought I would be all better. It's disheartening. It's another year of being sick.
I might just be miserable about this for a night. Then I'm going to enjoy my weekend and have a perfect birthday. A weekend where I don't think of any of this health stuff.
Maybe instead of postponing my birthday, we could just postpone being chronically ill? Just for the weekend?