I’m not proud of it, but sometimes I miss being in the hospital

I’m a lot of people’s favorite something. That’s not bragging, it’s just a statement of fact. Ask my mother who her favorite child is, or some of the nurses at my usual hospital’s neurology ward who their favorite patient is, or some of my friends who their favorite friend or journalist is.

The point is, I am used to feeling good at certain things I do — good enough that I’m one of the most valued somethings in the lives of people I care about. Ironically, my SMA can even be helpful, because being persistently cheery, kind, intelligent, and stubborn, despite how much I’ve suffered physically, makes me look strong. I take great pride in that.

But unfortunately, that also means I acutely experience the adage that “pride goeth before the fall.” If I’ve made a mistake or feel like I’m failing, tears and the desire to disappear strike like clockwork. I get overwhelmed by the tidal wave of my emotions; it takes twice-daily antidepressants, a psychologist visit, time, and effort to want to move forward, let alone resurface as my happy-go-lucky self.

It’s a frustrating personality trait, to say the least. Particularly in adulthood, the stakes are higher, guidance is looser, and my mum can’t make the excuse that “her kid isn’t naughty, just mischievous” toward anyone I’ve offended like she could with babysitters and teachers when I was younger.

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I’ve fallen so frequently in recent months, tripping over careless words and actions, that I’ve started to wish I actually, physically fell. That way, I’d be bruised all over. I could take a justified break from my life. It’d be like hiding in plain sight.

I’m not proud of the thought. In fact, it’s something my psychologist watches out for in her patients, as we can have difficulty transitioning from the mental state of a patient back to our daily lives. Not only that, but the public healthcare system here in Singapore is already under strain, and SMA has taught me well how much it sucks to be injured or sick enough to warrant a hospital stay. But I understand the temptation.

In the hospital, your only job (if you’re young and healthy enough) is to get better. You have a defined purpose. There aren’t a million possible side quests that could pop up at any given time. People are willing to give you slack to help the healing along. You don’t have to have answers to big life questions or plans to meet milestones.

Rest, eat, recover. That’s it.

Out in the world? Every question you don’t know the answer to adds to your existential dread. People may be kind, but they aren’t always understanding. Responsibilities pile up. Instead of attending to one goal, you’re attending to multiple at a time, in hopes that all your small successes will eventually lead to a better life. It’s complicated.

If you have SMA and don’t truly want a hospital stay, it’s even tougher because everything on your plate must be balanced with good health decisions.

In my case, that includes how long I can cry. I wish I were joking. Alas, crying leads to inflammation in my head’s nerves, which leads to occipital migraines, which leads to pain clinic procedures.

Yeah. Ouch, right? As much as I like my pain specialist, it’s not fun.

All right, time to get up

It’s going to take several therapy sessions to believe it, but I’m telling myself that it’s OK to fall. Mistakes and failures can teach me new lessons if I’m open to the possibility.

And despite missing the neurology ward and all the benefits of being a patient, I definitely prefer the freedom of my life outside of it. I got to go shopping and have dinner with friends on Valentine’s Day, and all of the inner turmoil I’d been feeling faded away the moment I saw their faces. That’s not something I’d get to experience if I were admitted. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

As the French say, c’est la vie. Such is life.

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