The cat nudges the door open and comes over to me. I lie on the sofa with a weight that pulls me so far down into it that I feel I could be part of it. She meows at me asking for food. She is an old cat; her demands are very few, and she hardly leaves the house. Sleep and food, that’s all she requires. Her request of me to feed her feels so simple, but, in truth, it is one of the most challenging things I’ll do today.
I roll onto my side and lower myself onto the floor. I only need to get out of this room, through the next and into the kitchen. It’s not far, the house isn’t big, but it feels like a mammoth challenge. I pull myself to my feet and focus on the door frame. I’ll get myself there first. Task achieved. Okay, take a rest before I get through the door and through to the kitchen. On wobbly legs, I move myself through and hold on to the counter top. Lowering myself to the floor and catching my breath...
I’ve made it. I take a minute to recover before I open a cupboard and find the food to feed her. She waits patiently. I reach out and stroke her, thanking her for her understanding, her patience and companionship. If it wasn’t for her, would I even feel like I have achieved anything in my day these days?
The doctors say its CFS, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and it will just take time to recover. But how much time? Months? Years? It is unknown.
Every morning when I wake, before I open my eyes, I take a moment to scan my body: is the pain still there? The tiredness? The heaviness? The morning headache that feels like a hangover without the drinking? My heart sinks. There are no improvements. Some days are slightly better than others; I might have a morsel of energy, and others it is just a choice of where I will lie for the day, in bed or the sofa. Majority of days, I choose the sofa. I need some routine, some change of scenery.
It is a strange illness. It is like my whole body is broken and needs to be rebuilt from scratch. It requires everything from me, all my energies. I have decided to accept my situation so far. I will not suddenly wake up feeling well. I need to accept this illness. It is staying. I must sit or lie with it, make peace with it. The unknown is difficult to deal with, is this it now? Has my life just confined to my home and garden? Will I ever get back to work? Will we have a family? Travel? All plans and opportunities just dumped, no longer on the cards for now. How can they be when feeding the cat is the most I can accomplish in a day?
I begin to think about what I can do: read, lie in the garden and soak up some nature. I have two close friends who visit weekly and keep me connected with the world outside. And I can feed the cat!
I lie on the sofa. Looking out of the window, there has been a lot of construction work out there recently. The train is returning to the town for the first time in 60 years. I am excited by this fact; it’s the main reason we chose to live here.
The construction I watch daily is a reminder to me that things do not stay the same forever. Even if you remain constant, things around you ebb and flow and therefore you and your circumstances are changed by them. This idea of the train bringing connection gives me hope! Even if I do not improve, surely with support, patience and time, I can get myself on that train, and then what? A trip to the city, a trip to visit friends, a trip to London, possibly even a trip connecting into Europe! With the idea of the train comes the promise of connection, opportunity, possibility, change.
Time it all takes time. Time to construct a railway, time to recover from illness.
I make small signs of recovery; my strength begins to return and I am able to venture a little further from home. The theme of these tiny adventures is to explore the progress of the railway. The day I take myself for a walk to view the tracks being laid is a milestone for more than one reason. I join a small crowd that has gathered and feel myself beginning to make connections with the world around me again after so long of being confined to my home.
Trains begin to run on the tracks, testing for safety and training the drivers. The excitement of what could be begins to build, all those opportunities and experiences just waiting to be explored.
Then it is time for the first passenger train to travel the new line. Those travelling have been awarded a 'Golden Ticket'; they have been nominated to take part in the great celebration of this day and I am with them! I am well enough to be on the train and take the journey, to experience the climax of all I have watched over the past two years.
The train has returned, and my health has improved. There is still a way to go, but, like the arrival of the train, I am beginning to feel the hope of change and opportunity.