Tomorrow is the second anniversary of my first hospitalization and since anniversaries are significant, I haven't been able to think of little else this weekend. I have been grieving my old like, my pre-disability life horribly; I miss bending over to get something out of the cabinets, walking in a straight line, etc. Lately, when I think about those early days, I am gripped with horror.
Before CIDP, I lived my life swinging from pollyanna to panic. I spent half of my life telling myself that I would be lucky and escape the tumult and turmoil others had. When I wasn't telling myself that, I was paranoid, crippled with fear that the opposite would turn be true.
