I’m Not Sick—Just Complicated

Last week, I had one of those headaches that made me wonder if my skull was trying to file for separation. It was worse than both of my spinal tap headaches combined—and if you’ve ever had one of those, you know that’s saying something. I don’t really take headache meds anymore, mostly because they don’t work on me, and partly because I’m already juggling a pharmacy’s worth of prescriptions every morning. Between sarcoidosis and heart failure, I’m up to ten meds a day. Adding one more might just make me spontaneously combust.

So there I was, clutching my head and muttering at the universe, when I did something completely out of character for a migraine: I went to bed. That’s how bad it was. In a moment of pain-induced genius, I decided to try acupuncture. My wife swears by it, so I made an appointment with her acupuncturist that same afternoon.

When I arrived, she started taking my medical history and paused mid-sentence to tell me I didn’t look like someone with all those health problems. “You look healthy,” she said. And honestly? She’s right. If you saw me walking by—so long as it’s flat ground, none of that uphill nonsense—you’d see a guy moving at a decent clip, no oxygen tank, no telltale limp. Not exactly your stereotypical “heart failure patient.”

Then she asked how I manage to work while being “sick.” I told her the headache was bad, but I could still work. She clarified—she meant sick as in sarcoidosis and heart failure. And that stopped me cold. Because I realized something that might sound strange: I’ve never actually thought of myself as sick.

So I did what any curious (and mildly stubborn) person would do—I looked up the definition of “sick.”

sick

[adjective]

not healthy; ill nauseated deeply distressed gruesome

Am I “not healthy”? Well, that depends on who you ask. I have sarcoidosis in my lungs and heart, severe lung scarring, and heart failure. I also have a hole in my heart that was plugged once but now leaks again—like a tire that refuses to stay patched. But pulmonary hypertension? That, according to my doctor, somehow reversed itself. His exact words: “a miracle I can’t explain.” So I’m not about to argue with that.

Am I nauseated? Occasionally. Usually after seeing what my prescriptions cost. Deeply distressed? No, not really. Gruesome? Only before my morning coffee.

So by that dictionary’s logic, I’m not exactly “sick.” I don’t feel sick, I don’t act sick, and I don’t live like I’m waiting for the next shoe to drop. Maybe sickness is, at least partially, a state of mind. Some people will disagree—and that’s fine. Everyone experiences chronic illness differently. But for me, I refuse to let “sick” be the main character in my story.

I think a lot of people assume that chronic illness automatically equals defeat—that once you’ve got a diagnosis, you become your condition. But that’s not how I operate. My life is messy, sure—filled with meds, lab work, and the occasional existential eye roll—but it’s also filled with laughter, love, and good food. And sometimes, that’s enough to keep me grounded and grateful.

I’m not a sick man; I’m a man with some complex maintenance requirements. And until my body decides otherwise, I’m going to keep living, cooking, walking (on level surfaces, thank you), and showing up for each day’s ridiculous little miracles. Because even the worst headache beats the alternative—and I’m still here to complain about it.

So … Do you think chronic illness is a mindset, a diagnosis, or something in between? Drop your thoughts in the comments or subscribe for more stories about surviving, thriving, and occasionally laughing through life with sarcoidosis and heart failure.