It was a bad day. It was August and I had one of those summer colds that attacks relentlessly and refuses to let go for at least two weeks. I'd been up all night coughing and snotting and being generally disgusting. And I had a doctor's appointment with my neurologist that morning. Early (ok, everything before noon is early) that morning. About two hours before the appointment, I came to the realization that I just was not going to be getting any sleep, so I got up and took a long, hot shower in the vain hope that it would clear my sinuses (it didn't). Then I got dressed and looked for my doctor's address and bus routes to her office on the trusty internets (never trust the internets, kids).
Needless to say, I took the wrong bus and got lost and walked much more than a person who feels terrible should walk, especially in direct sunlight. I finally found another bus that was going in the general direction I needed to go, so I climbed aboard and hacked and sneezed while everyone on the bus avoided eye contact and wished for hand sanitizer. I reached the address I'd written down, but it was sadly out of date. No one I asked seemed to know where my neurologist was now practicing. So I wandered around looking sad until I saw another doctor (or just a guy hanging out wearing a white coat) and I asked him. He said he wasn't sure, but he thought she'd moved to another building nearby, and he pointed out the building. LUCK! I had had luck!
I went into the building, and lo! my doctor did have an office there. So I attempted to check in with the receptionist. But the receptionist told me I didn't have an appointment that morning. She said, in fact, that my appointment wasn't until that afternoon. I think that's when I started to cry softly. I was just so tired and sick and full of snot. So I asked the receptionist if I could please lie down somewhere until the appointment because I knew that if I went home I would not be able to muster the energy to come back. The receptionist looked worried and disappeared into the back of the office for a while.
When she came back she told me that the doctor had agreed to see me that morning during her free time. More good fortune! I wouldn't have to make this trip twice. So I slogged my way through the interview with my doctor. Yes, I was taking my meds. Yes, I was still having seizures. No, I wasn't having them more frequently than usual. Yes, I was feeling all right; I just was tired and had a cold. It was an ok doctor's appointment, though I think she may have been confused at having a teary, snotty, coughing epileptic interrupt her free time.
By the time I left, I was starting to feel better, but I still felt a little fragile. I went to the corner to wait for the bus, and that's when I tripped. I tripped over nothing. I just fell down. And I tore my knee wide open. And it bled everywhere. And then I started sobbing and could not stop. I just sat down on the sidewalk in front of the bus stop and sobbed like a child.
Two voices in my brain started dueling then: "Hilary, you idiot, you've had a rough enough day already. You do not need to deal with public transportation. Call a friend. Ask for a ride."
"No. I can do this. I just need to take the bus and make it home."
"You have a horrible headache and being out in the bright sun will only make it worse. Riding the bus will take at least half an hour. If you call a friend, you can go home and go to bed in just a few minutes."
"No. I can do this. I just have to get on the bus and go back home."
"You are bleeding. Anyone would understand you asking for a ride."
"Shut up, brain. I'm taking the bus home."
And the bus pulled up. The bus driver looked down at pitiful little me, sobbing and bleeding and arguing with my brain at the bus stop. I climbed into the bus and searched my pocket for my transfer. It was gone. I started to cry harder.
"I lost my transfer."
"It's ok. I'll give you a new one."
The bus driver gave me a new transfer as well as several tissues to clean up the blood that was covering my leg. For some reason, the particular bus I'd boarded was full of Asian tourists who were all looking at me rather curiously while I cried and cleaned up blood. I half hope a few got pictures because I'm sure it gave them an interesting story.
Once again I got off the bus at the wrong stop. I walked down a tree-lined street, looking for another bus stop that would take me home, or at least closer to home. And that's when a bird pooped on me. A bird pooped on me, and I'd already thrown away the tissues I could have used to clean it up. This was literally adding insult to injury. So I argued with my brain again.
I finally found another bus stop and waited there while the bird poop dried onto my skin. The bus pulled up, I asked for tissues, and I attempted once again to clean myself up on the way home. We neared my building, and I got off the bus. I started to walk my regular route to the complex, but the road and sidewalk were closed for some sort of construction project. So I just turned around and found another way.
When I finally got back to the apartment, I was really, truly happy. I scrubbed myself with soap. I put antibiotic ointment and an Angry Birds bandaid over my wounds. I went over my eventful journey in my head. And then I laughed. I laughed because I made it home on my own on a truly awful day when I felt terrible. I literally made it through blood, shit, and tears. I could have asked for help, but I didn't ask for help. And it turned out that I didn't need help.
I've had plenty of really bad days before that day and since that day. I've had days in the hospital with my head wide open. I've had days glued to the phone waiting to hear if someone was alive or dead. I've had days on which I've received terrible, terrible news. I've had days when I've been accused of horrible things. I've had days when I've done horrible things. But this awful day was a turning point. It was the day when I realized I could deal. It was the day when I realized I was not helpless. It was the day when I took control.
I especially loved the last paragraph! You are amazing and you can make it through a lot. I would only add to remember that sometimes one of those friends you didn't call, might have needed the chance to be with you.
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