It hadn't always been this way. Annie had romped through a childhood of normalcy. True, she was brighter then most of her classmates. But that didn't stop her from being kick-ball champion or passing notes to cute boys asking (a) if they liked her, (b)wanted to kiss her, (c) all of the above. She'd even experienced (c) at recess a couple of times.
Then Annie got sick. It was a mystery illness that struck without warning. One day she was fine. The next, she had the flu. It was a flu that wouldn't go away. The symptoms were harsh and unrelenting. They varied in manifestation and severity from day to day, hour to hour. But, Annie was never symptom free.
It was always something. Swollen lymph nodes, sore throats, digestive problems, migraines, body pains. More often than not, it was something plus something on top of something. The illness ciruled and cycled and spiraled and recycled symptoms at whim.
Always there was the profound exhaustion caused by internal chaos. A body in motion tends to stay in motion. To look at Annie, hardly in any motion at all, one would never guess the activity that raged inside.
At first, they'd said it was a particularly virulet strain of the flu. Annie didn't know what "virulet" meant, but she'd thought it might have to do with vomiting. She was doing allot of that. Then, a diagnosis turned to mononucleosis. But, after months went by with no sign of improvement, the verdict became: "unknown orgin". Six years later, the jury was still out and Annie was still virulet.
Oh, doctors said, it could be Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or Lyme Disease or hypotjyroid or adrenal stress or even Lupus or MV. But, test result after test result showed nothing beyond a slightly elevated Epstien Barr Count and occasional anemia. Antibotics and antivirals and cooked liver didn't cure her. She was medicated and over medicated and sedated. She donated blood to the laboratories and money to the pharmaceutical companies. It got to the point where she actually looked forward to doctor's appointments. It was the only time she got out of the house. An overnight hospital admission was Annie's equivalent of a slumber party.
Some doctors sais it could be depression or school phobia or seasonal affective disorder. They conveniently ignored the fact that Annie was a happy child who loved school and was languishing through all four seasons.
So, Annie slept and tossed and turned and ached through puberty. For a while, Annie's parents discusses moving to a ranch-style house. Then Annie's mobility was limited but not completely gone. A one-story home would at least allow her to move into the kitchen or family room once in a while. But, that idea gradually faded until it was no longer mentioned. Annie's father had grown up in thier house. Annie's mother liked the neighborhood. The moving momentum died due to lack of motivation by the people in power.
So, Annie's room became her world, her bathroom her second home. Annie's room, like her health hadn't changed much over the years. Periodically something would come off the walls/ Annie made a bit of an effort to replace any empty space with drawings and pictures ripped out of magazines. But scotch tape wore off, things fell down, leaving white plaster squares where the paint used to be.
Each morning Annie awoke to a poster of a ballerina en Pointe. "Every Dream is Within Your Reach," it told her. Most of the time, she still believed that. But, some days the poster seemed so offensive that Annie wanted to rip it down. It was too high on the wall for her to reach. By the time her parents came home from work, she'd slept off her bad moos and felt no need to ask them to remove it.
In the corner of her room was a bean bag chair for guests. Occasionally old school friends stooped by and plunked down in it. Some of the girls were prodded by parents, (and rewarded for a good deed done), but a couple was honestly committed to the friendship. However, as the years went by there was less to talk about, less in common. If teenage life was a Venn diagram, Annie's circle did not overlap those of her peers but floated out in empty space. Annie still enjoyed the company and gossip, but she became worn out even after a short visit. Social visitors became less frequent and frankly, Annie wasn't quite up to them anyway. It took allot of energy to be a giggling teenager, and Annie's energy was a precious commodity.
School has became a distant memory years before. The district sent a home tutor over one hour each weekday. The school board had initially balked at the effort and expense. They weren't convinced that Annie wasn't suffering more from a need of a slap on the backside than a legitimate illness. They relented after one of Annie's doctors convinced them that she wasn't faking it.
So, Annie was taught at home. Five hours a week didn't allow for much of a well-rounded education. But, Annie couldn't study much anyway/. Her cognitive functioning was impaired by the illness. It was like she had a veil of fog over her brain and viewed the whole world through gray fuzz. Only a certain amount of information filtered through it. A lot if information filtered back out. It was leaky-brain syndrome, she decided. Still, Annie managed to educate herself in small doses. Reading, books-on-tape, educational TV, the Internet…Annie accumulated a wealth of knowledge that didn't fit into any required curriculum.
Her areas of expertise included: the organic biochemistry of immunodeficiencies, the assembly of beaded friendship bracelets, the stars of daytime television, and alternative healing treatments. Her interests helped her pass the time but not the state education exams. Annie had become pretty much excused from the hurdles of higher education. On her better days she topped out on the vocabulary sections of the practice SAT's. On worse days she forgot the basic multiplication tables. The educational system threw their hands at such a bipolar display of intelligence.
Annie lived and died by e-mail. She wrote and received dozens of online messages daily. Most were from children-home schoolers and other sick kids. Annie was in the "in" clique in certain chat rooms. Some of the messages were from medical professionals. Annie liked to stay informed of ongoing medical trails and advancements. If there was a cure for what ailed her, she'd be among the first to know.
In the meantime, Annie tried herbs, acupuncture, physical therapy, chiropractic, special diets, and psychic channelers. One phone healer told her that she was repaying many karmic debts and not to worry. Next lifetime would be a piece of cake. Annie's parents deducted the phone call (20 minutes at $4.99 a minute) out of her allowance. In her next lifetime, Annie figured that she'd be rich,
Right now, though, this was the only life she had. Annie was determined to live it the best she could. She had dreams and goals. She wanted to become a pediatric immunologist if she ever made it to college. She also wanted to get married and have children someday. She would be a good parent, she thought, and not leave her child upstairs in a room 24 hours a day no matter what.
Annie thought it wasn't impossible to find a husband, even under the circumstances. She'd heard success stories that set precedence for her optimism. For example, a friend of her grandmother's had been isolated in a tuberculosis ward as a young woman. For three years she was confined to her bed, her only friend a distant penpal.
After the invention of penicillin, the miraculously cured young women went off in search of her penpal. She found him and married him.
Annie envisioned a similar scenario for herself. It would take a succession of miracles, of course. But, in the computer age, it was easy to find male penpals. Annie'd had a few online relationships already, though they'd fizzled. Her mom said she couldn't date until she was 17, anyway, but no one mentioned her net surfing. So in theory, she did attract boys, and the romance part was feasible.
The instant cure part, however, was still in the dream stage. So far, reports of possible treatments for fatigue-type illnesses were greatly exaggerated. Exhaustion was epidemic; immune problems rampant.
Annie remained hopeful that doctors would come through in time for her to move out on her own, fall in love, play her first game of tennis. She was optimistic but realistic. It might never happen, but she wasn't giving up yet. For now, though, there was an Annie-empty hole in the world.
As she lay in bed at night, fever-toasted and soaked in sweat, she spoke with her angels. They reassured her there was a meaning in her life, and that someday she would understand.
Yet, but would she ever be well, Annie wanted to know.
As she lay in bed during the day, chilled and shivering, Oprah and televangelists reassured that she was special, that there was a meaning in her life and that someday, she would understand.
Yes, but……Annie fell asleep, her question unanswered. In her dream she danced, traveled, and found peace. It was her unconscious irony that the fatigue prevented her from living gave her her only real opportunities for experiencing life. When Annie's dream world met her earth world, all would be well. She would be well. Oh the life she would lead from there…..
The first thing she'd do is walk downstairs.