Goodbye 2012 (I won’t miss you)

Dear 2012,

Goodbye. I will not miss you. I would not do you over again. Or wish for more time together.

In fact, you and 2011 are two of the worst years of my life thus far. And, it’s a tough competition between the two. I wish I could obliterate you both from my recent memory.

Sure, we started off with a bang when I ran the Goofy Challenge in January. Even though I didn’t finish, it was still one of the greatest experiences of my life, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. We cruised through the rest of the winter just fine and into the spring. One year without Mom was more than hard. It seems like so long ago and yet, at the same time, so recent. More emotions I hadn’t planned on, a year of many firsts turned into seconds.

There was joyous news on May 31 when I declared I was leaving my job to begin my dream job as a 9-1-1 Dispatcher on June 04. On Saturday, June 02 I lead my one and only training run of 2012 (it was the first session of MIT) and on June 03 I was admitted to the hospital via the emergency room with a pulmonary embolism in my left lung.

I almost died in 2012. Pulmonary embolism is currently the third leading cause of death in the United States with 50,000to 100,000 estimated deaths per year (Source) and accurate and prompt diagnosis is critical for survival.  I was lucky.

I cannot accurately describe the pain to you. I wished I died more than once.

I started that dream job instead in July and lost it in September.

Everything happens for a reason, right 2012?

Living with a chronic illness/injury to the body that I am still dealing with on a daily basis is not easy. It’s harder than I ever imagined. People don’t understand, won’t understand and can’t understand. I often feel alone and isolated and have in fact lost many a friend who can’t comprehend what happened to me. The “I’m-sorry-you’ve-reached-the-once-in-a-friendship-crisis-limit-and-you’re-done” friends who really weren’t.

I’m tired of hearing words “overreacting,” “not that serious,” “get over it,” and “still.” No, I’m not overreacting. Yes, it really is that serious. No, I can’t just get over it and yes, I am still dealing with it. I always will be. I’m literally terrified of it happening again. Yes, it really did hurt that bad. Constant anxiety, soreness, shortness of breath, residual pain. It hasn’t been fun. And maybe I’m just tired, period.

Sure, there have been some good times, but they are few and far between. I know who my friends are, 2012. They have been there for me no questions asked since all of this started. Some spent long hours at the hospital with me, even when they themselves hate hospitals. They understand when I don’t want to talk or go anywhere or tell the story one more time. They understand when it’s too much work to send a text message or get in my car, let alone take a walk. Friends who remind me of simple beauty and gratitude. Others who know just how meaningful one small trip can be and still others who know just how inspiring carrying on a tradition is. My family has been there for me, unconditionally. My husband took care of me day in and day out for a month when I couldn’t even walk up the stairs to use the bathroom alone or shower without his help. I am thankful for him, my family and friends.

I found and gave forgiveness this year, 2012 and rectified a friendship I previously feared lost. Time really does help heal wounds and so do the little moments that bring you back to your senses asking, “Why did that ever upset me in light of what has happened now?” I’m glad to still call you my friend, even though there are thousands of miles between us.

And still, I haven’t given up hope for 2013 (although I am fairly certain there is nothing really lucky about a 13 and I’m not sure I even want to know what else could possibly go wrong). I even managed to set some goals. I’m moving on, 2012, without you.

So, goodbye 2012 and better luck next year (although I won’t go as far as to welcome 2013).

Until the next mile marker,

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