Looking Good Is Half the Battle

If you haven't figured out yet, this is my place where I can be brutally honest. You will hear nothing but the God's honest truth here. This is my place where I can be vulnerable, yet safe, where I can say those things that I, for whatever reason cannot utter out loud to another person. If you are one of those people who are uncomfortable when I tell the full story, you probably should not be reading this blog. I'm not going to change it up so that you are in your comfort zone - that's not the purpose of this blog.

This blog is to raise awareness of what it is like for me to live and fight pulmonary hypertension. Not all patients are as sick as I am, not all of my phriends are in the same place, but we do share each other's stories and revel in our victories and cry with the defeat that each passing phriend represents.

Back when I first 'got sick,' back in October 2011, a friend of mine asked me how I was at the start of the meeting. He knew a bit about my trials, but not the truth, and the automatic reply started coming out of my mouth: "Oh. I'm doing great." And I stopped and that little voice inside my head so "Who are you trying to fool? Your mother (and best friend) had just died and your dad died six months after her and now you have been dealt this diagnoses of a fatal disease that had maybe 2 years to live? And you are going to tell Eric you are doing great?" Well at that moment, I adopted the catch phrase that would be my stock answer: "I'm doing the best I can."

No one wants to listen to your litany of ailments on a daily basis – I never would have got any work done.

So many times what I heard, is "You look great!" It's true, I don't look sick, if I'm not wearing my 02, you'd hardly know there was anything wrong with me. I structured my days so people wouldn't notice my weaknesses: I never walked with anyone anywhere – I would meet them at a meeting, anything to avoid the obvious: I didn't have the energy to walk more than two blocks.

Even today, with all I've been through, I don't look sick. I temporarily look like I've gone a round with Mike Tyson, but still, I look great. I'm the first one to admit it. And yet, when at lunch today when my friend asked me really how I was feeling; how I was doing, I struggle with the words. I don't feel as good as I look. I feel like I'm dying, truth be told. Every minute of every day is a struggle. A struggle to appear normal. A struggle to make it look like everything is okay. And some days, that alone wears me out. I feel like if something doesn't happen in 3 - 6 months, I won't be here to reap the rewards. And I really don't know how to say that out loud. It scares me. It makes me feel vulnerable. And I don't think I would ever be able to admit it to another soul.