Consequences of a Medical Condition

I have a medical condition.

It hits me every now and then, nothing severe, just a flare of extreme abdominal pain mixed with lowered physical strength and huge loss of appetite. I have to sleep for three days to get well and during these three days I cant eat anything but soup and other forms of similar food. It’s called Familial Mediterranean Fever (FMF). It’s caused by a genetic mutation on the MEFV gene. There is no cure for it, just partial prevention along with a relatively strict diet and relaxed lifestyle to prevent any attacks. Basically, the autoimmune system mistakenly attacks its own host, my poor body.

I don’t want to talk about my illness. I rather want to talk about the consequences of my FMF. And not the medical consequences that is. I want to talk about its emotional consequences. You see, I become extremely emotional when I am under attack, my FMF attack that is, meaning severe abdominal pain and lowered body strength. My masculine guards are lowered and I become a total “sissy”. And of course these attacks usually happen when I am already under massive amounts of stress in life. When this happens, I have to stay isolated for 3 days. In these three days, I think. I think deep. I review my life and the life of others. I re-evaluate everything that I have done in recent years. I have understood several facts about myself that I would have not ever discovered or paid attention to if I were in good physical health. One interesting fact is that I get teary eyes when I listen to powerful music and beautiful vocals, Paul Potts, Connie Talbot¸ Bianca Ryan kind of strong voice I am talking about. And this feeling is much stronger when I am locked behind closed doors of some random hotel in some random city in the U.S., which happens quite frequently these days because of my job. It starts by Goosebumps and ends with tears. I have realized my appreciation for basic forms of art, singing and advanced ones, playing a sophisticated musical instrument has significantly increased as I have aged. I have also found out that although I as an adult look and act much tougher from the outside, am internally becoming more emotionally vulnerable as days go by, more in touch with my feminine side as some will put it.

Another important and unfortunate conclusion of my deep thinking while sick is that I no longer stand up for the weak as I used to. Before, meaning several years back I was the voice for the weak, one who stood up for their rights, and one who frequently challenged authority. This was more obvious at work, where an outdated group of old school monarchist Iranians are mixed with young liberal journalists who demand change. This not so good of a cocktail usually makes a poisonous blend, a mix that makes many sick upon drinking. Many times during my first three years I risked my position and challenged the management in public. I raised my voice in meetings and bluntly demanded change and criticized the GS-14 and GS-15 ranked executive producers and managing editors. No longer I do that. This is due to several factors I suppose. One is increased responsibility in life. This increased responsibility has made me very aware of the consequences of my actions and of course very cautious. It is rather selfish. I am putting my comfort and relative luxurious lifestyle above the basic rights of others and more importantly those of the weak. I am no longer inclined to risk my material belongings by standing up for others. I can get fired you know. A thought that never crossed my mind when three years back in front of all the staff I told my manager to shut the hell up, zip it, and not yell at those under his authority since he did not have the right. I also have given up I think. I say to myself that I have done my job. I have done what I was supposed to do. I did what I was thought by my parents. I stood up to demand my rights and the right of others. Now that I am pretty comfortable with where I am, I do not want to get out of it. When I look around, sadly, I see the same pattern. Those who were outspoken “outlaws” at work, those “whistle blowers” are no longer as loud. They have isolated themselves to their little cocoon and keep a very low profile at work. Three years back, they were not married, did not have children, and most importantly, did not have a hefty mortgage. Now they do. Soon I am about to add the very latter item to my list by signing many papers to get the keys to my house, or home I should call it. And later on I will add the other items to the list as well. Does the ownership of materialistic items have a reverse relationship with the amount of risk you would take in life? I guess the answer is quite obvious. Yes! So sad. I think it is this increased responsibility that has detached me from the very basic enjoyments of life. Maybe it’s this detachment that makes my eyes teary over and over every single time I listen to Paul Potts hit Nessun Dorma. So from now on, I have two choices to get rid of this detachment. One is to start singing. And two is to stand up for the right of others, help them out, defend my own rights, risk my position at times, demand change, and criticize the authority no matter high their stupid GS rank is.

And guess what? I can’t sing!