In 2004, I gave birth to twins. I was on the Pill when I got pregnant. With two babies. At the same time.
In 2006, I had a defective, infection-riddled kidney that almost killed me removed. Don’t worry, I still have one left. It’s not apparently trying to kill me, either.
Also in 2006, my husband was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma. While incurable, we were told his chances of a normal, albeit slightly abbreviated, life were very good.
In 2008, my husband died.
In 2011, I finally started writing about what happened.
I adopted the phrase “disaster fatigue” in 2006 to describe that overwhelming numbness and oppressive sense that you’re just careening from crisis to crisis. At that point, we’d had two years of not sleeping, changing diapers, desperately trying to hold down two jobs, batshit insane babysitters, major organ removal surgery, and finally, an incurable cancer diagnosis. (You can read about our cancer adventures at Sober and Malignant.)
I’m still tired.