Myalgic Encephalomyelitis or M.E, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, doesn’t seem to convey the devastation this illness causes.
I was 13 years old when I was diagnosed with ME in the early 90’s, it was still called the “Yuppie Flu” then and understanding of this Chronic illness hasn’t progressed that much since that time.
I was a normal teenager; School, Netball team, homework, hanging out with friends, watching Top Of The Pops & taping the top 40 on a Sunday. Thinking about a career once school had ended. I had suffered from Glandular fever, was being bullied & had some vaccines all within a short period of time, my body was under stress, but nothing really out of the ordinary for a teenager. All that radically changed one morning when I couldn’t get out of bed. A high temperature, headache and lethargy is not that uncommon, so we weren’t concerned to begin with. Only in the following weeks more symptoms presented themselves. Nausea, loss of appetite, achy muscles, light sensitivity & incredible fatigue with insomnia. Then came the kicker I started to lose my short-term memory. This was really when I started to panic.
I was sent for a battery of tests; Blood tests, MRI’s, Eye dilation, Psychiatrist & on it went. There is no one test for an M.E diagnosis, a process of elimination is all the doctors can do. I was incredibly lucky that early on my doctor was pretty sure I was suffering from M.E. but had to carry out all these tests to eliminate any other illnesses. Once it was confirmed I wasn’t suffering from a life threatening illness & was officially diagnosed, I was placed under a Pediatrician, who was carrying out a study of M.E in childhood – regular appointments were made to monitor my progress.
It was a few months into my illness at this point and my days mostly consisted of laying in bed, with my eyes closed some of the time due to the light sensitivity & in silence as my headaches were pretty debilitating.
If I was lucky & having a “good day” I would be well enough to be either carried down the stairs or crawl to the stairs and bump my way down to the sofa to lay there but not do much else. The isolation was one of things I struggled with, I know that my friends tried to visit me, but after a while their teenage lives went on and mine stayed the same, Bed & Sofa. Gradually their visits were less often and then stopped all together. The strain this illness had on my family was Immense, not only were there two other children to look after, both my parents worked too. The guilt for the extra pressure my illness put on my home life is staggering. I am forever grateful to my family for their love and endless support. I will never be able to adequately pay the debt.
As time went on, of being confined to the bed or sofa & with no improvement in my health showing I gradually became more despondent. I was humiliated & angry that I had no control over my body or my life. I had to rely on whoever was caring for me on a given day to take me to the bathroom, to brush my teeth. To try and force me to eat or drink something. I had to rely on my Mum to put me in the shower or wash & brush my hair. I couldn’t believe that my life had taken such a turn and I could see all my hopes, dreams and career aspirations float away as I was stuck in that bloody bed. I was proscribed Anti-Depressants & sleeping pills, which I didn’t take, but we had a supply of pain killers.
The insomnia was hell, I would lie awake at night, my brain mulling worries over, but would be so fatigued I couldn’t move. The relaxation techniques my Doctor had given me to do did not help & to this day, I can’t sit still long enough to mediate.
A good day was followed by three or four “Rest days” where all I managed was to open my eyes for a few minutes at a time. I had been quite stoic up to this point, believing the confidence of others when they told me that the good days will outnumber the bad soon.
My breaking point came around a year into the illness. I don’t remember many specific days from my illness but this one has stuck around. This was the day I hit rock bottom. I had a bad few days but woke up on a better day & I remember grabbing the painkillers on my bedside table, shuffling into the bathroom, shutting the door and staring at these tablets in my hands.
Crying with grief, anger & confusion. At 14 years old I felt that my life was over. I didn’t want to live if this was my life. I was sat, on the bathroom floor, completely lost & never feeling more alone. Crying into the crook of my elbow so my Mum couldn’t hear me. I still had those tablets, unopened in my hand and I don’t know how to explain it other than complete stubbornness, but I decided to channel that anger. This thing that I have will NOT. BEAT. ME. I am going to take it on & even though it may take years, I will live my life the best way my body would let me. As time went on the good days did start to outnumber the bad. I got to go out in a wheelchair, managed a few days away with my parents and younger sister and even managed to shower myself, although I would have to rest for the remainder of the day.
I started to be able to sit and read, which was an absolute delight. The simple act of finally being able to pick up a book and transport myself to another place helped my mental health so much. Watching TV also was a treat, as the light sensitivity had meant that it was not possible at times.
The symptoms were still there, but some of them to a lesser degree, I always had a headache, Nausea, aches & short term memory loss, but the light sensitivity had reduced to almost nothing. Although to this day I still have to wear sunglasses when it is bright out.
Soon I was well enough to have a tutor come to the house for an hour twice a week. I had been out of school for all this time and had come to terms with the fact that I was not going back. The sessions were tiring and once the hour was up I usually went to bed for the day.
After another few months, I got a place in a local hospital school for two hours a few times a week. I found another girl there who also suffered from ME. We bonded pretty quickly and became fast friends for a while.
I went to the hospital school for around 6 months, gradually increasing my workload and even managed to take work home to complete.
Managing to walk by myself and study set me on course for early entry at the local college to take 3 G.C.S.E’s, which was all I could manage. English, Maths & Art. The next year I manage computer Science & Sociology. By 16 I was well enough to complete all of this and manage to work weekends at a retailer. I was still suffering lingering headaches and when stressed or overworked the exhaustion was a killer. I had been suffering from M.E for a few years, but it was now manageable.
My older sister talked me into going out & trying something called a “Social Life”. I had a few friends at college and at work but I didn’t really trust anyone enough. I went out with her & a few of her friends, who gradually became my friends. Some of the best ones I have to this day.
I recovered even more and by 18/19 discovered a love of dance music & friends who shared that. We went to local nights & dance festivals.
In a field with your friends, dancing while the sun rises in the morning mists. I was experiencing life, finally.
I should of also stayed in college to get all my qualifications & progress on, but I was so excited that I was able to be normal, doing things that others got to do at my age I embraced it. Still the lingering effects of the illness were there, but I refused to let it rule me. I just went to bed a little earlier in the evenings, knowing exactly how much to push myself. Ignored the headaches and got on.
I met someone who made me laugh and shared the exact same love of music. We made a life together and have two amazing children.
Up until recently I dis-owned the illness. If I didn’t talk about it, or how bad it was, I could pretend it happened to someone else. I didn’t accept that it still affects my mentality.
The stigma. The helplessness. The absolute vulnerability. The loss of control over my body, that still terrifies me. I didn’t want to be that person. I ran from being that person. The person who was weak, fragile, scared and so vulnerable. I feel the need to constantly prove to myself “I can do this” but also continually question if I am able. I am absolutely petrified that my children will also suffer with it. I am afraid to push myself in training, scared I will relapse, but am never happy with my performance. However, I have come to realise that suffering from that illness, has made me the person I am today.
I appreciate being able to run, play & dance. I am stronger than I ever give myself credit for, both mentally & physically. There are over 17 million suffers worldwide & there is still no diagnosis, treatment or cure.
I am one of the lucky ones and I give thanks everyday that I am not still in that bed.