Fessing up

It's such a hard decision, isn't it?  What do I tell my family?  When do I tell my family?  And whom?  

Well, as it turns out, I spent some time with my family a few weeks ago, and I had decided I was not going to tell them a damn thing until I had something concrete to tell them.  The way I figured it, there was no reason to tell them about the positive ANA until there was something more to go with it.

A lot of that decision has to do with family history.  My great uncle, my maternal grandfather's little brother, died of lupus about three or for years before I was born.  Great-Uncle "Lewis," as I'll call him, was always sort of the family dark secret because nobody wanted to talk about him.  I guess it was a sore subject, but I just remember snippets of conversation as I was a child about, "Well, then there was what happened to Uncle Lou.  But we don't talk about that."

Well, I decided a long, long time ago that my grandfather (who is now 87 and still a mean old bastard) wasn't going to know a damn thing about whether or not I had lupus-- not because I don't want him to feel bad (after all, if it's genetic, he's the carrier) but because the last thing I want is for that nasty, manipulative old jerk to have a reason to feel  sorry for himself and try to milk some sympathy.  He's a pro at it.  (And if it seems like I'm being hard on him...  don't  give him any sympathy.  He's one of the most violent, abusive people I've ever met.  Just 'cause he's old doesn't mean he got any sweeter.)

Okay, so my Grandpa "Prue" was sitting at his kitchen table while my mother, aunt and I helped pack him up to move him into a seniors apartment complex while my mother and aunt start gossiping.  Eventually the conversation turns to me, and I cringe.

"So, how's your health lately, honey?"  My mom asks innocently as she tapes up a box. "Still having sinus problems?"  I just grunt non-committally.  I don't want to have this discussion.  My aunt, who is a surgical nurse, picks up the conversation.
"Yeah, Ann-Marie.  Have they run any more blood tests on you?  You know, to check for immune stuff."  I just grunt again.  I look over at my grandfather, who perked up on the word "immune,"  and I cringe. 
"You know, have that run that blood test again, that ANA?"  She asks.  "Or, what about checking your complement levels?  I saw something on that when I was watching the TV a few weeks ago..."
"I was wondering if your swollen ankles was related," my mother pitches in.  "You know, to all the other stuff that's going on."   
"Oh, you mean like that heart condition?  Sure sounds like auto-immune stuff, doesn't it, Kay?" 

 My mother and aunt mosey down to the basement as they keep talking, and I look at my grandfather, who looks absolutely stricken.  Did he make the connection between me and Lou?  I wonder. He sighs deeply with watery eyes and says, "Oh, hell."  Enough was enough. 

What could I do?  I tramped after them down the stairs, locked them in a bedroom, and said, "Look, if I tell you what's going on will you both just shut the hell up about my health around Grandpa?"  and I came clean.  I told them about the positive ANA and the weird lupus antibody test, and that it's pretty obvious that I have lupus and can't get a positive diagnosis, and that was that. 

It was strangely easier than I thought-- I just needed clear, immediate motivation.   And a dysfunctional family.