I’m a bit of a hypochondriac, although I wouldn’t admit this to my husband. And over the last couple of years I’ve had a bit of bad luck, being diagnosed with indeterminate colitis a couple of years ago. To be fair, after agonizing with Dr Google over the bleak future ahead of me, things have, so far, not been too bad.
Recently, I was struck with a bout of cystitis, something I suffer with fairly regularly. However, something is different this time. The antibiotics seemed to kick in immediately, as usual. But this time when I finished my course, I was still left with some symptoms and, one week later, they are still there.
So, having consulted Dr Google again, I have convinced myself I will be suffering these symptoms every day for the rest of my life. Everything I read online seems to back this up. The fact that I have IBD is apparently a risk factor. I have bought all the alternative remedies that are recommended by all and sundry and used them, so far to no avail. So now I’m terrified. But it’s for a different reason than it once would have been. Instead of just feeling self-pity, it’s the unbearable thought of being a sick and sub-par mother. I was afraid that colitis would do this to me and spent the first six months anticipating a terrible flare but it didn’t happen. Now, I imagine how I will give my daughter the attention, energy and play she needs if I spend every day with immense pressure in my bladder, feeling as though I have to pee every half hour. How will I take her places and give her experiences if I’m tied to the toilet?? I want to give her the best of me. I want her childhood to be full of happiness and laughter, not misery and depression. And now every unexplainable illness is a bit more terrifying than it was before, when it was just me.