I run around my house, looking for daily essentials before my ride to work. I leap up the stairs, brush my teeth and bound out the door to get on my bike to cycle the 25 minutes it takes to get to work. I work eight hours and ride home. I get in, sometimes I cook, I watch a show, read a book, have a glass of wine maybe, and then I sleep.
At the weekends I go out. I dance, I drink, I cycle, I see friends, I walk, I eat.
As you know, nine months ago, I couldn't roll over in bed. I couldn't eat a grape. I couldn't play Halo. Let alone walk. Guillain-Barré struck me down and I thought that was that.
It's a weird thing to look back on. I wasn't going to write another blog, feeling that my journey with GBS had mostly come to an end. Fifteen thousand blog views, emotional Facebook updates and six months later, I was feeling pretty alright. But it doesn't really work like that. It's something I think about every single day. I could be on the train listening to music, when I suddenly remember being told GBS is potentially fatal. I could be laughing with friends about nothing at all and my feet will start to buzz gently under my socks. I could be shopping in town and I'd flashback to being in hospital saying 'I just want to do something normal like go to the mall'.
My friends look back on their last year; they talk about the travels they've been on, the people they've met, the new jobs they now have. They can move on and occasionally think 'Shit, what happened to Tarsha was mental' when they see someone in a wheelchair. I find it hard to look back. The new jobs I've started, the explanation I give about GBS, the shock on people's faces and then the worst bit...the admiration and the 'You've come so far'. I'm of course not angry with these people, I'd be the same in their shoes. But many people just don't really get it.
The expression that I hate the most, that I utterly despise, is 'Everything happens for a reason'. The most patronising expression for those lucky people who haven't been through shit. I hear 'Oh you must appreciate everything SO much now' and even, unbelievably, 'Wow, like, I know what you've been through must've been pretty awful and everything...but you know, it's kinda cool that you've had that, like, life experience, you know?'
It is not cool. It is not an 'experience'. It is a process of pain, endurance and misery. I don't know what I've got out of it. I read about people who had GBS who have run marathons, climbed mountains or have had kids and talk about how they are stronger because of what happened to them. I am extremely happy for these people; it is not everything happening for a reason, but it is because they are people who have been determined to make something good out of an awful 'experience'.
Me? I'm taking it slow. I'm planning a holiday to Italy with my best friends, a festival and hopefully, eventually, a trip to Canada to be with my incredible boyfriend. Every day it is hard to remember. But things get easier, as they always do with time.
For now, I still try to remind myself of the small things that really do matter, and I find myself smiling a bit more. And really and truly, right now?
I'm just happy I can run up the stairs.
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