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“It feels like my doctors lied to me, working me up about all these possible complications,” I said. “I feel like I’m holding my breath, waiting for a terrible symptom to arise, but nothing happens. It’s hard to operate this way when so much of my life has been invested in taking care of myself. Is this what it’s like to be healthy all the time? You guys just… don’t have to worry about any of this stuff?”
Chloe appeared genuinely interested. “What kind of stuff do you worry about?”
“Everything,” I replied simply. “When I was sick, my lupus ran my life. I had to plan every day around my symptoms and schedule in recovery time. I still take my meds every day and monitor my diet, but I have so much energy now that I can do whatever I want, whenever I want to. There are no restrictions, not like I had before. My lupus could knock me down for an entire day, or sometimes even weeks at a time, and now I don’t have to worry about it at all. I used to have to monitor where I could go, what I could do, when I took my treatments, when I rested, ate, went to the bathroom… hell, sometimes it felt like I had to be careful with how I breathed, because there were a million ways to fuck up and make myself feel worse. Now, I can do it all, and there are no consequences. Sometimes, it’s like I have too much time on my hands. There’s this empty space in my life that I don’t know how to deal with, because I don’t think of myself as ill anymore. And if that part of me is gone, who am I?”
“But you still have lupus,” Chloe said.
“I know I’m not cured, but the chances of symptoms returning are low,” I told her. “I don’t feel healthy enough to be considered an able-bodied person, but I also don’t feel like I’m sick enough to be disabled. This label used to be a huge part of my identity, and I don’t know where I fit in anymore.”
“You’re having an identity crisis,” Chloe realized.
I lifted my gaze to meet hers. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that. It feels like I’ve lost something, which is silly to think, because all I wanted when I was sick was to feel better.”
“That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to grieve,” Chloe pointed out softly.
“I don’t know if grieving is the right word…” I mused. “Maybe? I’m just thinking… am I worth more now that I’m in remission? Am I more helpful to people? Wasn’t I good enough when I was sick? I felt like I knew who I was back then, and now I have to change my perception of myself again. That’s scary, because what if someday I get sick again, and I have to shift my identity all over? None of this is for sure, so now I’m just stuck in the middle, not certain if I’m sick or healthy.”
“Your worth doesn’t come from what other people can get out of you,” Chloe insisted. “Your value is inherent, and it doesn’t change depending on how disabled or able-bodied you are. You don’t need to prove anything or accomplish anything to earn your worth. Also, being disabled does not need to be validated depending on how sick you are or not. That's ableist shit doctors tell patients in order to disregard their symptoms. There's no prize for being more handicapped than someone else."
Mandy returned to the room, and Chloe and I both quieted.
“Did either of you want anything else before I clean it up?” Mandy asked.
“You can leave the iced tea,” I offered.
Mandy grabbed a few more plates, then left again.
Chloe stood and brought the pitcher of iced tea over to us. She spoke as she poured me another glass. “I think all of this questioning is a part of the grieving process. You feel like you’ve lost a piece of yourself, and you’re leaving that old identity behind. A new identity has to take its place, and maybe that new one has one foot on one end of the spectrum and one on the other. You’re in remission now, but your lived experience isn’t going anywhere. You still have insight and understanding that able-bodied people will never have.”
I took a sip of tea. “I guess so. Being pregnant just made me realize what life could’ve been like if people treated me differently, and I didn’t have to be sick by myself. Instead, I went through a lot of it alone. People want to wait on me hand and foot now because I’m making children for others to enjoy, but when I was desperate for someone to take care of me, the world kicked me to the curb. I love my babies, and I would do anything for them—die for them, even—but are they worth more than I am, because they’re brand new and I’m already used up because I was sick?”
I didn’t really expect us to reach a resolution on this issue. Saying it all out loud made me realize things I’d never even admitted to myself. I had a lot to think about.
“Anyway, thanks for talking,” I said as I finished my tea.
“Anytime,” Chloe replied with a smile. “Just know that you can still be an advocate for the disabled community because you understand the disabled experience. You remember what it was like to be treated poorly because you were sick, and you can take your lived experience and use it to make change for the people who still struggle with chronic illnesses. Your experience isn't wasted; it's made you who you are. Now you can use it to push society to do better, because we need people like you. And your babies are worth the world, Nadine, but so are you. All of us are important. I'm sorry you didn't get the help you needed before, but now that you have more energy to fight, you can make sure the coven gives that help to the people who need it now. If there’s anything else I can do to help you talk this out, you let me know, okay?”
“I will,” I promised.
I left the sunroom and passed by the kitchen. Talia and Verla were doing dishes, while Mandy and Onyx were packaging up the leftover food. The guys were down in the basement putting some of the gifts in storage since we wouldn’t need them for several months.
I returned to my bedroom and slipped out of my clothes to put on my nightgown. It was nearly nine o’clock, and I was exhausted. I just wanted to lay in bed until Lucas finished cleaning up and could come cuddle me. Isa and Oliver were sleeping on the bed and woke up when I entered the room.
I slipped the white nightgown over my head, and my breath caught in my throat. I covered my mouth to cough, and the taste of copper swept over my tongue.
Horror filled me, and I looked down at my hands to see they were covered in a sticky red liquid. I glanced in the mirror, as if needing the confirmation that I wasn’t imagining things. My nightgown was speckled with red dots. The room seemed to sway around me, and my whole body trembled as I took a step back.
Isa shot to her feet and meowed loudly.
“LUCAS—” I started to shout, but the bile in my throat cut me off. I doubled over, clutching my stomach. Nausea hit me out of nowhere, and I vomited across the carpet. Terror clenched in my belly when I saw the deep red color.
I’m vomiting blood.
I tried to call out for my husband again, but I never got his name out before another wave hit me. I fell to my knees and caught myself with my hands. Every inch of my body shook. All I could think to do was pray to the Goddess that the babies would be okay. Isa jumped down from the bed and nudged me, like she was trying to keep me upright. Oliver started meowing loudly and scratching at the door.
My heart hammered. I was panicking, and I didn’t know what was happening. I had the horrible thought that someone must’ve cursed me.
I placed my hand over my belly, ready to draw the magic out of me, but nothing happened. I willed my magic to respond, but it was dead inside of me, immobile and silent.
