I thought it was the dish that ran away with the spoons?

Well, in the nursery rhyme it is but for me it's POTS!

Click this for an explanation of POTS

And this for an explanation of SPOONS

Monday, 21 June 2010


If I was given the choice-

Option A: you could have all your POTS symptoms go away, be as fit as ever, never feel tired again, never have tremors again, never lay awake at night with your heart racing again, and you could have a ticket to travel round the world and write a book that would be guaranteed to be a best seller, have your own holistic health healing clinic out in the country, basically have ALL your dreams come true, on only one condition- you had to do it without your boyfriend


Option B: you could just carry on as you are, not knowing whether it will get better, worse or stay the same, not knowing if you'll ever get to travel the world, not knowing if you'll ever be able to concentrate long enough to write a book let alone whether it would be published, and probably never have a healing clinic because you don't have the time or energy to set one up, but you could keep your boyfriend for as long as he wants to stay with you (and you don't even have any guarantee how long that will be)

then I wouldn't even have to think about it, it would be option B every time.

There were some ups and downs in the beginning, and I was afraid he wouldn't want me when he found out I was genuinely ill and that it might never get better, and we might even snap at each other first thing in the morning after a terrible nights sleep because I had tremors all night and was too proud to admit what was going on and how awful I find it, but it's all worthwhile when he reaches out to squeeze my hand, looks into my eyes and sees beyond my illness, beyond my crabbiness and beyond my lack of self belief that I get at times and tells me that he isn't going to let me go because I am one in 6 billion.

To have him, to have that, I'd take the tremors every night of my life, to wake up next to him, crabby and exhausted and drag my potsy self out of bed before him to let him rest a little longer while I prepare us strawberries for breakfast, sitting and chopping while he showers, and have him teasing me for being a 'fidget' and keeping him awake- because he loves me anyway and having that makes having POTS, awful though it can be, just a tiny blip in a life worthwhile. Because I've been loved and I have loved. And that's all I ever wanted. An experience I hadn't ever had late into my years- to have someone choose to love me, flaws and all.

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