The feedback I received from the first installment of this series, which came out last week, was not at all what I expected. So many people told me how inspirational it was when, in reality, writing it at all was merely a cop-out because I was too sick to think of anything else. I figured an inward look on that experience might help people to understand what was going on, but never did I see my role as something particularly inspirational.

But, I guess that’s sort of the point of writing these. Being ill is hard, and when my life gets complicated I have to live differently--but that’s just my life. Everyone has battles; yours might be with your partner or your boss, mine is simply with my body. I’m no more spectacular than the single mom trying to bring up her kid alone, or the bullied teenager who still goes back to school every day. We’re all strong in different ways, and that’s what makes us beautiful. I’m simply telling you my version of different.

So, back to the story. (Be sure to catch up with part 1 first if you haven’t already).

07:30

Today was meant to be my day of rest, but I woke up extremely early because my body has an ever-spiteful sense of humor. My partner had just finished two extremely long shifts and was crashed out next to me, in an entirely different world. I did a quick body scan: muscles tensing, restless legs, acid stomach bringing on the first tingling of morning nausea, stomach cramping, and--on top of it all--a gut-wrenching, bone-crushing fatigue. Fatigue that was so intense that it felt like gravity was crushing me into the bed.

Next came something that all chronic pain/fatigue sufferers will be able to empathize with: the sleepy/not sleepy debacle. This is where your existence turns into one giant paradox that usually involves being so tired that your eyelids are struggling to stay open, while simultaneously failing to stay still or calm long enough to get anywhere near drifting off again; it’s often accompanied by a variety of pain of one kind or another.

13:30

I was able to remain in this state of contradiction for most of the morning, allowing my existence to seamlessly float between too much pain for sleep and too much tired for functioning. Occasionally I turned to the help of a book or my laptop to help me get through the particularly uncomfortable periods, but they quickly ended and forced me to slump back into lying with my eyes shut. It was only when my gastritis really started kicking butt that I accepted it was time to get up and face the day. And by get up, I mean roll over and prod my partner until he was awake enough to make me food--he puts up with a lot; I will be forever grateful.

Unfortunately, he was still unshakably unconscious, and the only commitment to the food mission I could get was a vague grunted acknowledgment followed by a slight movement and then silence. So now I was stuck two flights of stairs away from any potential sustenance. I wasn’t sure if my legs could take my body weight, everywhere ached and it now felt like a band of elves were shaving the inside of my stomach with rusty razors. It was a pivotal moment in my day; the-make-or-break that concludes whether I'll try and attempt life or give up and hide under the covers until nighttime.

Thankfully, my guardian angel--a friend who was coming to stay--dropped me a text saying she’d arrived in town and did I need anything from the shops. Success! One package sandwich delivered to me in bed and after a while I felt slightly more capable of coping with all the day had in store--which was more than I would have liked.

16:45

At this point, our house was in hotel mode. Since we have a spare room and an extremely relaxed landlord, this is a pretty regular occurrence. This evening I was going to go with friend A to visit friend B in the hospital. This was most definitely overdoing it considering my current health, but since my friend currently couldn’t stand and her vitals were all over the place, meaning she was significantly beating me on the sickness scale, I really wanted to go and show her some support. However, the hospital was in the next town across and, with friend C also wanting to travel on the bus with us as she was going to a nearby gig, logistics were becoming complicated.

Visiting hours were half an hour after the concert started, so it made sense to aim to arrive for the earliest time and for us to hang around. However, in my current health state, this was just not an option. I’m pretty good at staying strong when I have a clear goal, but waiting around forces me to confront all of the discomforts and sends me into mental crisis--not good. Unfortunately, this meant I demanded we didn’t leave the house until the latest possible moment and, forgetting it was rush hour, ensured that every single one of us was late--go me!

19:00

After failing massively at the journey, we attempted to find a Chinese take-out near the hospital, which friend B had requested. Since things were going downhill with my stomach at this point, I knew getting more food in me was pretty essential as well. However, when we discovered it was a half-hour walk away and visiting time was very nearly over, we concluded just to leave it

My friend, as one of the few people who actually gets my condition, looked at me with the most genuine of concern and asked if it was going to be ok. It was going to have to be; I didn’t come this far to help my sick friend only to miss her visiting hours altogether.

We rushed to the hospital and found her, looking extremely exhausted, weak and agonized; although she immediately brightened at the sight of the company. The whole time we were there I was dying, fighting the urge to sleep/cry/curl up into a ball as I attempted to reassure her with chipper and supportive chat. With all my being, I tried to cover up my pain and discomfort; the last thing she’s going to want to hear right now is how sick I'm feeling. I might be ill, but am I hooked up to a load of machines, in excruciating agony, with no-one knowing what the problem is? No. Regardless of the actual feeling, knowing why pain is happening makes it infinitely easier to deal with. Nevertheless, I can feel my bladder starting to throb, and with the trauma of yesterday's spasm fresh in my memory, it takes most of my focus to push the sensation to the back of my mind.

My guardian angel friend seems to have acknowledged the struggle though, since she eventually decides that it’s time to go, assuring me that we’ll find some food before I go even paler. She’s a legend; all sick people need a friend like her.

21:30

It’s late; there’s nothing open and we have to get back. The clock is ticking and the further I push myself, the worse the bladder spasm or acid reflux is going to end up being. We navigate bus number one with no problem, but the second isn’t due to arrive for another 20 minutes. It’s panic time; I know that sitting and waiting will be my undoing. Plus, there are no toilets nearby in case anything does happen.

I decide the best decision is to hunt for food. Even if I don’t find any and the walking makes my legs hurt more, the mission will be enough of a distraction to keep my brain busy and away from the ever increasing discomfort. After a few days of apparently shunning me, the universe seems to decide it’s on my side again and blesses me with a big Caribbean takeaway van just a few minutes from the station. I fill up on curried goat, feel the acidic bubbling begin to calm down, jump on the bus and am infinitely grateful to be able to collapse straight into bed when I get home. My body is very, very angry with me; tomorrow will bring the real challenge.

Sharing this has been extremely therapeutic, so I want to say thank you to all those who took the time to read and reply. Chronic illness is still so incredibly misunderstood, and the more people who share their voice the better. If anyone else wants to tell a snippet of their story, be sure to leave a comment below! I’d love to hear what the average day is like for you guys. The world needs to know our story!