They tell you about the symptoms of your diagnosis.
The headaches, the abdominal pain, the blood loss, the
fatigue, etc.
They tell you about the side effects of your prescribed
medications.
The dizziness, the more headaches, the nausea, etc.
They don’t tell you about all the moments in between.
They don’t tell you about the times when you’ll be doubled
over on a public restroom toilet whimpering and silently cursing. Or the times
when you’ll be afraid to drive because you’re not sure where you’ll be able to
pull over. They don’t tell you about the times when you’ll be leaning over the
side of your bed at midnight staring into the small trashcan trying not to throw
up because you know it’ll just make everything hurt worse. Or when you’ll be
silently crying in the Walmart parking lot because of the first embarrassing
incident. Or when you’ll get those strange stares from your classmates because
it’s the second time in one class period that you’ve asked to visit the nurse. Or
how every other Friday you’ll have to wake up extra early just to calm yourself
down in order to give yourself the shot in your stomach. They don’t tell you
about the times when you’ll have to stay home from school just because you
won’t be able to walk up and down the stairs more than once. They don’t tell
you about the times when you’ll have to call your dad to pick you up from a
basketball game after the first quarter because the lights and yelling make you
feel like you’re going to pass out. They don’t tell you about being scared for
your period to start again because you’ve already lost so much blood. They don’t
tell you about the times when you’ll be excited to gain even one pound instead
of losing five at a time. They don’t tell you about not being able to stay out
late at night or eat at unknown restaurants or feeling so weak that you can
barely put the dishes away.
They tell you about the basics.
They don’t tell you about real life.