A year ago today, I went to the ER thinking I was just going for my standard nebulizer treatment because I was having an asthma attack. Several hours later, I was admitted into the hospital because I had pneumonia in my right lung.
What I remember most about the ordeal (and those of you who know the full story know just how shitty it was), was how scared and lonely I felt. SO. DAMN. LONELY. I kept hoping someone would come by and visit, or that my asshole boyfriend would at least call or break character and maybe surprise me with flowers in my room … ANYTHING to make me feel like I mattered. I was scared to death because I had no voice (literally) to advocate for myself with; my condition was so bad that I had to have oxygen and breathing treatments every two hours instead of the recommended four; and that ended up affecting my heart, which, for those of you who don’t know, is something that has been touch and go for me since before birth. I was born with a heart murmur and was on medications most of my childhood, and while I have skated by sans meds during my teens and adult life, I do feel my heart symptoms every damn day. I just don’t talk about it.
So, I was scared I was going to die, scared because my cat, Stuart, was alone and I hadn’t left him enough food and water to survive a few days without me, scared that if I did die and people went to get Stu, they’d see that I hadn’t washed my dishes or folded my laundry (you get scared about dumb shit when you’re dying, lol), scared that I would lose the job I had just started (I did) … But most of all, I was scared to go through all of this alone. So painfully, pathetically ALONE.
Those of you who know me best know that I ADORE my alone time; but, like anyone with feelings, I hate being lonely. They’re two totally different things. But this time, my aloneness heightened my loneliness, and for the first time, I wanted someone, ANYONE to just be with me. To call me. To show that I matter more than just online. Don’t get me wrong… my online community was extremely supportive and caring, and as I scroll through all the pictures and words of encouragement, I smile with love and gratitude at the outpouring of concern.
But online was where it stayed. And the longer I sat in that bed — wheezing, watching lame TV, charging my crappy phone with a nurse’s charger that wasn’t long enough to allow for real use, so that I had to twist myself into an odd pretzel shape to make sure the damn thing was charging, while not yanking out my IV – the more I realized that I wasn’t important enough to a lot of people I thought cared about me. And that hurt SO. DAMN. BAD.
I began to wonder if I just was the type of person that people only like on the surface, but never want to be real friends with; then I quickly remembered that the people who WOULD have come to visit me, to bring me flowers, to tell the nurses that I needed Salmeterol vs. Albuterol so that I could breathe but not fuck up my heart – all of those people lived nowhere near me. That helped, but didn’t … to know that there are people who do love me, but don’t live close enough to me to help me when I needed it most.
I did have one friend who finally did stop by to pick up my keys, go to my place, and feed my sweet little StuKitty, and for that, I am eternally grateful. And Jodi, my dear friend of so many years, was kind enough to come get me late one night, so that I could go home and recover in peace, because the set up I had at the hospital was only going to bring on a major shingles attack. For her kindness, and all the ones she’s shown me throughout our many years of friendship, I shall also be eternally grateful.
And mom … She couldn’t afford to leave her job to come be with me, but she was my biggest source of comfort and support. Always has been, and I love her for that.
In the end, I was the one who advocated for myself through written notes to the hospital staff or shrieked whispers (took forever to get my voice back). I was the one who made them switch my meds, I was the one who convinced them that discharging me WAS the right thing to do, because of my autoimmune condition and the 72 hours I’d been without sleep (and we all know that rest is the most important thing when recovering from pneumonia & heart issues). I did it all by myself, as usual, as I’ve been trained to do. I’m lucky that my mom raised me to be the type to fend for herself, to be strong enough to survive on my own, however difficult the struggles of life may be.
But what I realized is that that very strength, that independence, that ability to take care of everything myself, makes others think I don’t need anyone. And that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Strong people, strong WOMEN, are still human. We still have feelings, we still need supportive friends. We still need love. There’s this common misconception that if you can handle it all by yourself – ESPECIALLY if you’re a woman who loves her independence – that you should be left alone, because, “Well, she can handle it.” Yeah, I KNOW I can, and I know that’s what you admire about me most. But that doesn’t mean I can’t use a hug every now and then, or a phone call so I can HEAR someone’s actual voice and not just read a text or Facebook post. Last year’s pneumonia and heart ordeal made me the most scared I have ever felt in my entire life. Because I was alone, and I felt like no one either cared enough, or believed that I was vulnerable enough to need someone.
I guess what I’m trying to say is… please don’t forget about us strong, independent types. It’s easy to brush off our latest crises by saying, “It’s okay, I know you can handle it, you always land on your feet.” Like I’ve already said, that is true, but we still need you and your support. We still need more than just a passing “Rah Rah Rah!” cheer, while we flounder around, trying to solve the issue. Please be there for us, like we are for you.
This is something I’ve wanted to say for a year. But it took me a full twelve months to finally put into words what I’d been feeling, without breaking down into a sobbing mess. I’m tearing up as I write this anyway, as I remember the pain, the bruises from botched IVs, the inability to breathe, the horrible hospital ordeal, the awful breakup (though that was the best thing that came out of all that, lol), the fear, that awful, all-consuming fear… I’m still not over it, I guess.
But I’m alive — thankfully, happily alive. And I’ve replaced toxic, unnecessary, fake ‘friendships,’ with new, budding friendships with intelligent, creative, passionate people I can really relate to. I’ve been waiting for that most of my adult life! So, it’s definitely getting better.
Just don’t forget us strong folk. We may seem like we’re built of impenetrable steel, but we’re not. Try us. We’ll still let you in.
—kimberly a. morales
Flommist Kimberly A. Morales is a food and wellness blogger, and patron saint of cats. Copyright © 2017 Kimberly A. Morales. Foto by mehallo.
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