Last fall I heard @glennondoyle say something in her Instastory that ran through my brain each time I went to the hospital for IVIG infusion treatments. She shared a saying her family says to themselves and one another: Eat the frog.
“Eat the frog” means get the unpleasant stuff, the stuff that you least want to do, the stuff that is weighing you down, done first. Then you have the rest of the day for the good stuff. As I drifted in and out of the Benadryl haze that is part of the immunoglobulin infusion experience, those words rolled around in my brain.
Some days I was in a private room with a big window and beautiful light. It was quiet there and I slept for hours.
Other times I was in an interior space with patients who were getting infusions with cocktails far more challenging than mine. Patients whose diagnoses made my autoimmune mystery look like a skinned knee or bug bite. There was no privacy and it was impossible not to overhear nurses inquiring gently about their side effects. It was hard not to see the resolute expressions on the faces of these patients’ companions. And it was hard not to think, “Wow these people are ‘eating the frog’ every single day right now.”
My frog was small by comparison and while the damage done by the autoimmune attack in my leg may be permanent, the worst seems to be over for me. I still wonder though about the the man in the chair across from me whose face looked so young, whose wedding ring looked so new, whose wife looked so worried.