Not feeling like myself

Last Thursday I decided to take a long walk home after work, taking in the season’s cool air. I thought I would feel better after a hectic day and a headache earlier in the week. I didn’t. I woke up the next day with chills and my skin felt strangely sensitive. I had shooting pains across my body. I blamed it on yoga. Over the next two days, painful red marks appeared under my right eye and the side of my face. I wondered if something had bitten me in my sleep. Yesterday, the red marks were still painful. I called my doctor and had an appointment in the afternoon. My intuition (and self diagnosis ) was right, I have shingles.

Luckily the rash was in its early stages. She asked if I'd been under a prolonged stressed since shingles and stress are often linked. I laughed. Even though it is more likely to affect older adults, I found out that women are more prone to developing shingles than men, particularly during perimenopause, because of hormonal changes to their immune response. Noone talked to me about perimenopause in my younger years although it happens to half of the population of the earth. Peri is the time leading up to it—for me, perimenopause seems worse than when the period finally ends in menopause. I began to wonder if the phrase “not feeling like myself” may actually be a reliable clinical way to describe what this time of my life has felt like in recent years. I have read that considering doctors in most medical schools receive only one hour of instruction on menopause on average, this information gap, unfortunately, adds up. As much as I feel good about life I am in this phase where my body and mind is constantly changing in new ways. There is a wide range of symptoms and many more unknown. If you don’t know what they are though, you cannot connect them to what’s happening to you. I’ve been open about these changes with family and friends, but I sometimes feel embarrassed —something that seems out of character to me. On the contrary, I have often gotten less embarrassed as I get older, but it is more that I get less embarrassed through experience than age. The risk of getting shingles increases as you get older so that is very true.  

The doctor prescribed antiviral medication and recommended I "try to avoid unnecessary stress." They say stress can be the kiss of death or the spice of life. So, the issue, really, is how to manage it. Going out for a run never made my stress disappear, but it reduced some of the emotional intensity that I had been feeling, clearing my thoughts. Today, my diagnosis became excruciatingly clear, but the rash has been manageable. You might assume that the rash is the bad part since it's the most visible. The burning sensation is terrifying because of the nerves affected by the virus, but the most daunting is that once you get shingles, you're at higher risk for recurrences. Sigh. I know that shingles can come on randomly —that it probably wasn't my lifestyle or some underlying condition, but it has made me think more about this transitory time in my life. And for those experiencing the weight of symptoms, though, there’s hope. Researchers have found that symptoms like brain fog and anxiety are not likely to last, and all menopausal women I know have said how wonderful it is not to have their period anymore. So there’s that.

Sand dunes and sunsets

We met in Africa in the heart of the Sahel while we were on work assignments. Both from North America we shared a love for travel and culture. He was a lieutenant in the Air Force while I was working with an international charitable organization. We bought paintings from the same local artist and watched sunsets on the sand dunes. Something happens when you’re living abroad. That sense of novelty and excitement shared strengthens relationships in a way that would not be possible back home. While some friendships fade almost as quickly as you make them. Others, become lifelong bonds where you will forever feel a connection to them. There is also something about travel that allows you to be vulnerable. Sometimes the most spontaneous interactions become the most profound.

When our assignments ended later that same year he moved back to where he was stationed. After nearly a month apart, we made our way back to each other in the heart of Brussels. I was visiting a friend and he had driven the 238km to spend an afternoon together. We wandered through the charming cobblestone streets and admired the architecture. We held hands and watched the sunset for the last time. I never imagined that I would never get to see him again. When I didn’t hear back from him for days, my mind was erratic. I was staying with my sister when I found out of the accident through an email. He died on his way to work when his car slid into a cluster of trees. I remember a knot had formed in my stomach and for weeks my insides felt all entangled. I was heartbroken. It was painful to breathe. I wasn’t really sure where to go and what to do.

I didn’t have a toothbrush to throw out or clothes to go through. I wouldn’t even be attending his funeral. Instead, I had a long string of text and email messages, some mementos and a few photos. It all felt surreal, but as the days ahead were a messy blur of tears, I reached out to his family. I needed to meet those who loved him. Sometimes I would grieve with darkness, sometimes with light, sometimes with both. The grief would lessen, then it would sneak up on me. In time it would hurt less often, but it would always be there.

Weeks after his passing, stories came to the surface. I knew he had been in the military, but I had not known that he had been on a covert intelligence mission when we met in Africa. Only the military had known of his whereabouts during that time. His family and friends never had the opportunity to learn from him about his life in Niger, much less our story. One of the difficulties when relationships end is leaving behind the dreams that you once shared. The fact that our relationship had only begun didn’t change any of that. It took me a long time to understand that my loss was real and that I was deserving of my feelings.

It’s been more than fifteen years since he passed away. The connection we had will always be with me because it reminds me of where I have journeyed and who I was back then. Over the years I’ve been more intentional with my life. I try to lean in more. I learned that after the worst thing happens, everything else in life becomes a lot clearer. That feeling and sense of self carried on beyond those early weeks of shock into the person I am now. I look back and I have a lot of deep affection for my younger self. Without her, I wouldn’t have been able to get through it, and to find love again.  

Why some of us travel

Every traveler falls into a certain category. There are clearly those who travel to escape the hustles of real life on short trips while there are others who travel and leave behind everything that they know.

In the mid-nineties I took my first trip abroad. I was traveling out of an old red Westfalia camper van. As someone who grew up in the seventies and eighties taking family camping trips, I knew what it was like to spend weeks in the woods and enjoy a simpler life. But I also found out that traveling can often be uncomfortable. While mosquitos are probably the biggest camping annoyances, so are tiny camp chairs. Sleeping on the ground and feeling rocks in your back. A friend who’s recently been camping told me that she was so cold at night she couldn’t sleep. I learned that in order to stay warm, always prepare for the arctic.

Our first family camping trip was memorable. Driving up to the park gate, the excitement to finding our campsite and to hammer in the first tent peg was palpable. “Camping reservation number?” the park ranger asked, glancing into the back seat of our car. “I thought we’d never get here” dad responded, handing the man a campground lot number. We arrived at our site filled with emotions and a sense of relief. There’s a feeling that is indescribable when you reach your destination. Wherever you are, you are probably curious and filled with amazement, whether it’s incredibly beautiful or incredibly different or incredibly overwhelming. Camping is not for everybody, but I love to spend time in nature. I’ve always been fond of the outdoors. I live for the light pouring through the trees, the crunch of leaves underneath my feet, and the vast tapestry of stars in the night sky. But nothing prepared me to live in a campervan on the beach with a friend on a trip to Mexico.

I had seen people traveling in a modern camper van. A Westfalia is a lot more rustic. It was a vintage, tired old red van, with interior amenities, and lots of mileage that had traveled with generations of campers. We had no cell phones. While it might seem hard to imagine spending even a day without one, it allowed us to truly be in the moment, be truly present with people. Even today, I won’t let a cell signal give me a false sense of security. The van though was charming and the little things can make the experience more comfortable like having screens for the hatches or proper counter space for cooking. I also appreciated the minimal designs where the counter could easily be stowed under the bed extension to save space. Van life makes you appreciate the simple things in life.

There were real moments throughout the trip. When vans would come together parked on a beach during a crimson sunset. When travelers would cook a meal together over an open fire. The long drives in the desert and being out in the beauty and vastness of nature. Our own small problems and troubles in life would seem smaller. That is why some of us travel and are willing to leave everything behind. You eventually discover your favourite food, or the most serene spot to sit and read. Maybe you could see yourself live there.