Experienced on – April 2024
Published on – 10th March 2025
One year with Severe to Moderate ME/CFS, and I was still learning what my body could cope with.
Understanding your baseline is key to living with a chronic illness—knowing what your capabilities are on an average day.
My baseline was slowly improving; I could walk around the house, but going outside was still incredibly difficult. At this point, it had become very easy to stay exiled. I had everything I needed, and I could order from apps if I ever found myself wanting.
Though I knew that I needed to push myself just a little bit more.
On purpose I would make sure I didn’t have any lunch in the house, forcing me to make the short journey to the shops (7 minutes there and back). I knew if I took it slow then I shouldn’t cause myself any PEM (Post Exertional Malaise) or any lasting effect.
On one occasion, after leaving the confines of my house, I saw a dog in the forecourt. It was a scruffy little Terrier, his greying coat in need of a trim. He ran up to greet me, and I searched for an owner that wasn’t there. I presumed they were around a corner and ventured to get my lunch.
After being in isolation for so long, my confidence had taken a huge hit. Out and about, I was jumpy and indecisive.
With my sandwich and drink in hand, I went to the till to pay.
An error alert beeped, requesting I insert my card.
So I did, but my hand hovered before entering the pin. The numbers had escaped me—either brain fog or forgetfulness, I couldn’t tell.
I tapped in four random numbers, hoping muscle memory would kick in, but the error alert beeped again.
Paralyzed, unsure what to do, a neighbour spotted the fiasco and jumped in to help. I promised I would pay them back, blaming it on a new bank card.
Walking home, still trying to decipher what my pin could be, I spotted the Terrier again—this time in the middle of the road. I looked around, but still no owner.
I placed my sandwich and drink on a nearby perch before running into the road to fetch the dog. He was a docile and a lovely little thing, following me without hesitation.
I looked under his neck and saw that there was no collar. Houses surrounded me, but there was no clue as to which one was his home.
Crossing the road back to my lunch, I noticed the sandwich was gone. A passerby had taken it, though they kindly left my drink.
Bending down to make sure the dog didn’t run off, I called several numbers to come and help, but they were all on their lunch break. I decided to bring the Terrier, now named ‘Scottie,’ back to my flat with me.
My partner was at work, so I told her what was going on. I could feel her excitement bubbling from the texts back. She had wanted a dog for years and in the back of her mind she hoped Scottie could be her chance.
My main resistance to getting a dog was the feeling that I couldn’t give it the care, attention or walks that it deserved. But as I looked at Scottie lying at my feet, I felt myself coming around to the idea.
My partner came home, dog treats in hand, hoping she hadn’t missed Scottie—but she had. A local warden had picked him up just an hour before.
Then I received a call; they had detected a chip in Scottie and reunited him with his owners—a family who lived, remarkably, three miles away.
A few weeks later, we drove to the pharmacist to pick up some medicine, and outside I saw Scottie with his owner.
I don’t know if he recognised me, but he plodded over, just as friendly and lovable as the first time we met. I patted his coat, smiled mawkishly at the owner, and then got back in the car.
My partner was shocked, even angry, that I didn’t introduce myself and tell him I was the one who had helped Scottie get home. I told her that it sounded a bit self-congratulatory and changed the topic.
But the truth was, I met Scottie at a time when I felt completely useless. My contribution to society and even to my household felt negligible. I constantly felt like I was letting the people around me down. I was unable to be there for the important moments, unable to even be a presence in their lives.
When I saw Scottie again, wagging his tail with a trimmed coat, I knew he was okay. And I knew, in some small way, I had contributed to that.
That was everything I needed at that moment.
LIFE IN A CRASH 