Mystery Illness: In search of an oil can

Read my friend Shelly Page’s account of living and working with chronic illness in a demanding, competitive profession. Shelley writes with power and conviction in a voice you won’t forget. Follow her story.

the sick days

On Easter Sunday, when I was 19, I awoke from panicky dreams of missed j-school deadlines and failed foul shots to find that I was encased in a body bag of pain.

Before I consciously understood that I couldn’t move, my first thoughts were of a feature story due the next day, an air ball I doinked in the last basketball game of an inauspicious season for Carleton University, and a gnawing hunger for carbs.

I imagined crumpets, discounted and day-old, from the thrift bakery around the corner. My roommates and I survived on its discards.

It was like having a beer store on the block if we were a house of 18-year-old guys with new fake

Before the pain. Fighting for a basketball at Carleton University. Before the pain. Fighting for a basketball at Carleton University.

ID. Instead, we were four girl jocks with no cooking skills and 4000-calorie-a-day requirements. I’d polished off the last crumpet the night before…

View original post 632 more words

Advertisements

Render your thoughts into (virtual) reality.

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s