Feeling Different

I didn't even know I was receiving comments on some of these blog entries until last week, when my wife pointed out that a number next to the word "Comments" at the top of the page meant that someone had responded to what I'd written.

Hey, I never claimed to be real bright.

So immediately I raced back through all my postings, from the very first, to catch up on the reader comments and reactions. Many were quite gratifying, and my sincere thanks to everyone who took the time to write back. But one recent note really stood out from the rest. I don't know if you have the ability to read the blog comments along with me (darn, I wish I was smarter), but in case you cannot I won't identify the writer by name. Suffice it to say the reply comes from a woman I do not know.

"Jimmy, if you are like me," she wrote, "the only time you feel like you are really different from everyone else is when the doctor looks at you and says, 'I don't think you realize how well you are doing for as sick as you are.'"

She goes on to describe her debilitating, life-altering affliction: ulcerative colitis with systemic disease that has affected her entire gastrointestinal system as well as her eyes, skin, liver and joints."I have been what I call 'real sick' intermittently over the past 20 years, but I do not think of myself as real sick," she wrote.

"Have you felt like people treat you differently after they find out? I have. Anyway, changes are hard, especially when they seem so invasive."

The funny thing about my condition is, I don't feel any different. At all. I think about it when I swallow my handful of pills a couple of times a day, but physically I feel exactly like I did before I knew anything was wrong with my kidneys in the first place.

But I understand what she's talking about with the reactions of other people. When they ask, "How are you doing?" you can sense the deeper meaning. Some people say it the way they would to a senior citizen in the hospital. And if you look into their eyes, often you can see the hint of sympathy, or concern, or pity, or – I'm not sure what the emotion is, and it may be different for different people, but you can tell there's something going on behind their faces.

That's why I try not to talk much about my kidneys or health (he says, writing about them in a blog). I try to politely answer questions when I'm asked, but I'd really rather talk about almost anything else. I get tired of thinking about it, and my condition is going to do what it's going to do. Talking about it isn't going to improve it, far as I know.

Sometimes, however, that approach will come back to bite me. I'll casually mention something about dialysis in a conversation, for example, and the person I'm talking to will say, "Dialysis? What? What are you talking about?" Then I realize I may have done too good a job of keeping the details to myself.

Thanks for that provocative comment, you-know-who-you-are. Keep 'em coming, y'all.