Post by gizmoracer on Aug 23, 2007 7:03:08 GMT
I can't belive I finally feel ready to post in the recovery section without jinxing myself.
Some people have heard me talk about 'The Tunnel' isn't it amazing how you see things when you've been ill. Well I've written a short story about my time in the tunnel. Apologies because dispite me saying its a shorts story and belive me I really have chopped it down what I actually mean is its not novel size, yet.
There’s a woman. She’s walking a tunnel, a long, twisty, dark, dank tunnel, a seemingly never ending tunnel. She’s not alone, there are thousands if not millions of other women also walking this tunnel, all at different stages. She sees a light in the distance. Believing it to be the end she breaks into a jog. It takes what feels like an age to reach it. Only to find a light on the wall illuminating miles more tunnel ahead. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, she’s seen the light countless times in the past. So why doesn’t she turn back? There is no turning back, the start of the tunnel is sealed, to stop would be to suffocate. So she continues into the unknown, unaware of what may be round the next corner.
She opens her eyes, the room is full. She is surrounded by friends and family but has never felt so alone in all her life. She looks down at the gurgling little bundle in her arms and feels nothing, no overwhelming love, no sadness, just nothing. Like when she cut her finger earlier that day, there was blood but no pain, just emptiness. On the outside she’s all smiles. Nobody knows what she is going through, nobody would understand. She needs help, deep down she knows she needs help but is scared. What’s going to happen to her? What will people think? The uncontrollable emotions build inside, the anger, the hatred, the confusion. She can’t concentrate on anything. No-one said being a mother was going to be like this, but what could she do. She drags herself through the hours, the days, the weeks. Desperately trying to breastfeed a colicky baby and driving her stepson 10 miles to school each day. Her doctor had already suggested she stop breastfeeding, but that would make her more of a failure.
Then finally a glimmer of hope. Tricked into going to the doctors with her own mum, she is given a diagnosis. What this women is suffering is PNI, an illness that affects far more women around the world than people could imagine. She is sent away with a prescription. Is this the miracle cure? Unfortunately not, all the tablets do is make her feel sick. She doesn’t say anything, what’s the point, there is nothing else they can do. Her husband is becoming increasingly worried about her, he comes home from work at 4am to find her bathing the baby like there’s nothing wrong.
Next thing she knows she is pregnant again. A rush of dread fills her body, she wanted two children close together but less than a year apart was madness. She is taken off the tablets and left to get on with it. It takes them both nearly 3 months to come to terms with the idea of a new addition, just in time for her to miscarry. Needless to say this makes matters worse, she can’t bear to be near her son now. He stays 2 nights with family so she can recover, but yet again she has failed him. There may not be a proper bond between them but she loves him with all her heart. Over the next couple of months she becomes obsessed with protecting him. She sits up at night watching over him and can’t bear to see other people playing with him. She only feels safe in the car or at her parents’ house. When she does sleep she is plagued by the worst nightmares you could ever imagine. And still the noise continues, the ringing in her ears that never goes away, the thumping in her head that’s she’s had since the day he was born. The feeling of being in a small, crowded room with no air. She fights, she fights with all her power to move to a safe place, where they can be a ‘normal’ family.
Then comes the day they have been waiting for, a letter with details of their new home. It arrives just in time, for little does her husband know, she is already pregnant once again. As time passes they move into their new home, their son learns to crawl and then walk. Everything around them begins to settle. She can start to breath again. As the pregnancy progresses the nightmares start again, she looses all sense, she believes everyone is against her and becomes so paranoid for their safety that she actually takes her son and runs away. They don’t get far, it’s snowing and her husband comes home from work early to find them gone. He talks her round on the phone and she returns. Her head is spinning, its only 3 months until the baby is due but she is consumed with guilt. What right has she got to bring another child into this terrible world? Once again she begins to cry herself to sleep, apologising to her bump and begging her children not to grow up miserable like her.
The day she secretly dreads arrives, her daughter is born. She feels an instant gush of love for her, a bond she has never felt before. Followed by uncontrollable guilt and sadness that her son is, once again missing out. The next few months prove to be easier than expected. Her midwife has been briefed and keeps a close eye on her. It takes further 9 months for her to accept that she is still no better and that all the past symptoms are returning with a vengeance. This time she is strong enough to admit it and goes alone to the doctor. She returns with the same prescription as before. The tablets make her sick, like before. Nothing is going to help. She settles for the fact that this is who she is now. She is confined to the flat, unable to go out alone. Terrified of the thought of being alone with the children in the outdoors. She suffers panic attacks when they go out as a family. She can’t cope with any form of housework. Yet she has this uncontrollable need to redress her daughter 5 times or more every morning. She enjoys the time her son spends at pre-school but hates him going. She struggles to get up each day and is permanently exhausted. She lays awake at night walking the tunnel she is now so accustomed to. The tunnel she has been trapped in for 3 years now.
Until that terrible day in Jan ’06 when it finally comes to a head. Unable to cope with who she is anymore and amidst an argument, she storms out, barefoot and still in her pyjamas, she gets into the car. She knows exactly where she is going, her mind has never been so clear. A way out of that wretched tunnel. Does her husband truly know what he is up against? Who knows? He follows her out into the street, their daughter in his arms and stands in front of the car. Her anger is quickly replaced with fear as she looks into her daughter’s eyes and thinks of her son indoors wondering where his mummy is and if she is ever coming back. She is guided back indoors where she sits in floods of tears for the rest of the day.
It’s morning, her head is banging, she looks like a panda, but the noise has stopped. She knows what she must do. Later that day the doctor calls her into her office, where she collapses in floods of tears, unable to talk. She looks up to see a friendly face, the first understanding face she has seen in years. Once again she leaves with a prescription, but this time it’s a different one, and with the knowledge that there is more that can be done.
It’s been nearly 2 weeks, she was up early today, she has tidied and cleaned the whole flat. She has even taken the kids out to the park. For the first time in years she feels she has some control over her body and emotions. The rest of the year is spent sitting on a yoyo. One day she is fine, she can cope with anything. The next day she is back in the morbid pits of that dark tunnel she still hasn’t found the end to. She still can’t wake herself up from this never ending dream.
Then it happens, the slap in the face she has needed all along. Her husband falls ill, not just ill but seriously ill. He has meningitis. Its 3 weeks to Christmas, how on earth is she going to cope without him? What if he dies? How can she explain that to 3 children? She pulls all her strength together and as much as she hates this time of year, makes it a magical Christmas for the family. As he begins to recover, she begins to regress. Thankfully the doctor notices and she is sent for counselling.
It’s been 8 months since then. She is off her tablets, and has been discharged from counselling. She has found the end of the tunnel, she can breath fresh air at last. It’s not over, there are pot holes along the path, they lead back into the tunnel, but you can climb out of them. One day she will reach the end of the path and settle into the life she always dreamt of, the life of a ‘normal’ mother.
So there you have it my story, all comments are welcomed, I was looking at trying to have it published in a womans mag, although since then I have this urge to write a book about the tunnel of PNI and ask people to contribute to it, although I wouldn't know the first thing about having it published so any suggestions yes please.
Some people have heard me talk about 'The Tunnel' isn't it amazing how you see things when you've been ill. Well I've written a short story about my time in the tunnel. Apologies because dispite me saying its a shorts story and belive me I really have chopped it down what I actually mean is its not novel size, yet.
The Tunnel
There’s a woman. She’s walking a tunnel, a long, twisty, dark, dank tunnel, a seemingly never ending tunnel. She’s not alone, there are thousands if not millions of other women also walking this tunnel, all at different stages. She sees a light in the distance. Believing it to be the end she breaks into a jog. It takes what feels like an age to reach it. Only to find a light on the wall illuminating miles more tunnel ahead. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, she’s seen the light countless times in the past. So why doesn’t she turn back? There is no turning back, the start of the tunnel is sealed, to stop would be to suffocate. So she continues into the unknown, unaware of what may be round the next corner.
She opens her eyes, the room is full. She is surrounded by friends and family but has never felt so alone in all her life. She looks down at the gurgling little bundle in her arms and feels nothing, no overwhelming love, no sadness, just nothing. Like when she cut her finger earlier that day, there was blood but no pain, just emptiness. On the outside she’s all smiles. Nobody knows what she is going through, nobody would understand. She needs help, deep down she knows she needs help but is scared. What’s going to happen to her? What will people think? The uncontrollable emotions build inside, the anger, the hatred, the confusion. She can’t concentrate on anything. No-one said being a mother was going to be like this, but what could she do. She drags herself through the hours, the days, the weeks. Desperately trying to breastfeed a colicky baby and driving her stepson 10 miles to school each day. Her doctor had already suggested she stop breastfeeding, but that would make her more of a failure.
Then finally a glimmer of hope. Tricked into going to the doctors with her own mum, she is given a diagnosis. What this women is suffering is PNI, an illness that affects far more women around the world than people could imagine. She is sent away with a prescription. Is this the miracle cure? Unfortunately not, all the tablets do is make her feel sick. She doesn’t say anything, what’s the point, there is nothing else they can do. Her husband is becoming increasingly worried about her, he comes home from work at 4am to find her bathing the baby like there’s nothing wrong.
Next thing she knows she is pregnant again. A rush of dread fills her body, she wanted two children close together but less than a year apart was madness. She is taken off the tablets and left to get on with it. It takes them both nearly 3 months to come to terms with the idea of a new addition, just in time for her to miscarry. Needless to say this makes matters worse, she can’t bear to be near her son now. He stays 2 nights with family so she can recover, but yet again she has failed him. There may not be a proper bond between them but she loves him with all her heart. Over the next couple of months she becomes obsessed with protecting him. She sits up at night watching over him and can’t bear to see other people playing with him. She only feels safe in the car or at her parents’ house. When she does sleep she is plagued by the worst nightmares you could ever imagine. And still the noise continues, the ringing in her ears that never goes away, the thumping in her head that’s she’s had since the day he was born. The feeling of being in a small, crowded room with no air. She fights, she fights with all her power to move to a safe place, where they can be a ‘normal’ family.
Then comes the day they have been waiting for, a letter with details of their new home. It arrives just in time, for little does her husband know, she is already pregnant once again. As time passes they move into their new home, their son learns to crawl and then walk. Everything around them begins to settle. She can start to breath again. As the pregnancy progresses the nightmares start again, she looses all sense, she believes everyone is against her and becomes so paranoid for their safety that she actually takes her son and runs away. They don’t get far, it’s snowing and her husband comes home from work early to find them gone. He talks her round on the phone and she returns. Her head is spinning, its only 3 months until the baby is due but she is consumed with guilt. What right has she got to bring another child into this terrible world? Once again she begins to cry herself to sleep, apologising to her bump and begging her children not to grow up miserable like her.
The day she secretly dreads arrives, her daughter is born. She feels an instant gush of love for her, a bond she has never felt before. Followed by uncontrollable guilt and sadness that her son is, once again missing out. The next few months prove to be easier than expected. Her midwife has been briefed and keeps a close eye on her. It takes further 9 months for her to accept that she is still no better and that all the past symptoms are returning with a vengeance. This time she is strong enough to admit it and goes alone to the doctor. She returns with the same prescription as before. The tablets make her sick, like before. Nothing is going to help. She settles for the fact that this is who she is now. She is confined to the flat, unable to go out alone. Terrified of the thought of being alone with the children in the outdoors. She suffers panic attacks when they go out as a family. She can’t cope with any form of housework. Yet she has this uncontrollable need to redress her daughter 5 times or more every morning. She enjoys the time her son spends at pre-school but hates him going. She struggles to get up each day and is permanently exhausted. She lays awake at night walking the tunnel she is now so accustomed to. The tunnel she has been trapped in for 3 years now.
Until that terrible day in Jan ’06 when it finally comes to a head. Unable to cope with who she is anymore and amidst an argument, she storms out, barefoot and still in her pyjamas, she gets into the car. She knows exactly where she is going, her mind has never been so clear. A way out of that wretched tunnel. Does her husband truly know what he is up against? Who knows? He follows her out into the street, their daughter in his arms and stands in front of the car. Her anger is quickly replaced with fear as she looks into her daughter’s eyes and thinks of her son indoors wondering where his mummy is and if she is ever coming back. She is guided back indoors where she sits in floods of tears for the rest of the day.
It’s morning, her head is banging, she looks like a panda, but the noise has stopped. She knows what she must do. Later that day the doctor calls her into her office, where she collapses in floods of tears, unable to talk. She looks up to see a friendly face, the first understanding face she has seen in years. Once again she leaves with a prescription, but this time it’s a different one, and with the knowledge that there is more that can be done.
It’s been nearly 2 weeks, she was up early today, she has tidied and cleaned the whole flat. She has even taken the kids out to the park. For the first time in years she feels she has some control over her body and emotions. The rest of the year is spent sitting on a yoyo. One day she is fine, she can cope with anything. The next day she is back in the morbid pits of that dark tunnel she still hasn’t found the end to. She still can’t wake herself up from this never ending dream.
Then it happens, the slap in the face she has needed all along. Her husband falls ill, not just ill but seriously ill. He has meningitis. Its 3 weeks to Christmas, how on earth is she going to cope without him? What if he dies? How can she explain that to 3 children? She pulls all her strength together and as much as she hates this time of year, makes it a magical Christmas for the family. As he begins to recover, she begins to regress. Thankfully the doctor notices and she is sent for counselling.
It’s been 8 months since then. She is off her tablets, and has been discharged from counselling. She has found the end of the tunnel, she can breath fresh air at last. It’s not over, there are pot holes along the path, they lead back into the tunnel, but you can climb out of them. One day she will reach the end of the path and settle into the life she always dreamt of, the life of a ‘normal’ mother.
So there you have it my story, all comments are welcomed, I was looking at trying to have it published in a womans mag, although since then I have this urge to write a book about the tunnel of PNI and ask people to contribute to it, although I wouldn't know the first thing about having it published so any suggestions yes please.
