I will fully admit that I have always had a very good memory, especially when it comes to two things: Names and Dates.
My dad is the same way, at least when it comes to remembering names, so I must have gotten it from him. There are so many times where we can pull out the name of someone I played basketball against in high school. As for dates go, maybe I get that from my mom or maybe it's my own thing. For whatever reason, I've just always remembered people's birthdays. Even decades after meeting someone, I can still remember their birthday, without any help from Facebook might I add.
However these last few years, I've barely known the date, unless overhearing someone mention it at work or on the radio sharing it's "National _____ Day".
Although, I was well aware that a few days ago was July 16th. I knew it was coming for awhile, and in a way I think I was dreading it.
July 16th is a date that I've found myself unable to forget, even when I have lost track of the majority of days leading up to it.
July 16, 2014 was the day of onset, or in non-medical terminology it is the day that my husband's health struggles first surfaced and caused great concern. It was the day that our diagnosis chase truly began, and we found ourselves undergoing the hardships that chronic illness brings. Essentially it was the day our lives were forever changed.
And now, July 16, 2022 has come and gone, making me well aware that it's been eight years of symptoms, questions, worries, and stressors. Eight years of not knowing how a day is going to play out let alone a week, month or year.
Over these last eight years, some of the most common questions that have been asked were “When did the symptoms first start? (medical professionals) or How long has it been going on? (anyone else).
At any doctor appointment, our response was always, "July 2014", followed by an explanation of the sudden onset of Pseudobulbar Affect and cognitive dysfunction, and then details of the rollercoaster that we’ve been on since.
For everyone else, who wasn't there in the beginning but have become friends and/or colleagues since, I find myself holding back a lot but eventually sharing, "My husband has a lot of health issues,” to the initial getting-to-know-you inquiries. Many people are so kind and sympathetic, usually not asking for more health-specific details but instead ask for how long.
Just these last few months, I’ve found myself responding, “Eight years,” which has been quite shocking to hear myself say. Then my subconscious immediately thinks:
Really? Eight years? (Does the math: 22-14= 8.) Yep, eight years.
Sometimes I'll throw in a few other phrases too, ones that we all probably think or say aloud when we realize how much time has passed and causes a sense of disbelief, anger, or sadness.
I really cannot believe that it's been eight years, but then again it seems even longer when I think about how much my husband’s health has become a main focus in our daily lives, especially the last few years.
Although these past six years have included our daughter’s arrival and young. childhood, which has taken some of the attention away from his struggles and creates many other specials memories through the love and joy that she’s brought us.
But despite all that’s happened over the years, you always remember the beginning. July 16, 2014 was the beginning of this unforeseen chapter in our lives. Ithe day of onset for a disease that still remains somewhat of a mystery to me, even though I've lived alongside of it for nearly 3,000 days.
So I'll see you next year again, July 16th. I have absolutely no idea what life may have in store for us before then, but I will try my best to focus less on the struggles and more on the good.