Reinventing A Life
Death. We think of it as a final breath taken. Sometimes that is true. Sometimes it is something else. Chronic illness is death that repeats daily. It is not about our physical bodies dying but the loss of one’s self. It is about limitations, disruption of life, and failures.
Seven years ago my life took a turn. Three lung infections in a row landed me in a medically induced coma for a month and a pulmonary rehabilitation hospital for another month. I went home with the diagnosis of Stage 4 Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD) and twenty-four percent lung function. I would be living life on oxygen and attached to fifty feet of tubing to get around my home.
My old life slowly died and part of me went with it. Just as I mourned the death of my parents, I mourned the loss of myself. Every day is a struggle to breathe. My body’s capabilities vary from morning to afternoon. Friendships died. Passions died. I wanted to. I didn’t.
Battling Two Worlds
Chronic illness can go two ways. A person either gives in to it or they fight against it. I chose to fight. I am not even sure when I crossed the fine line from surrender to the battleground. The problem with any illness that is chronic is that there is no end. How do you claim victory in a battle that will always continue?
The fight begins with a simple step. Acceptance. That sounds more like waving a white flag in surrender. Instead, it is a beginning step toward a peace treaty with my illness. It isn’t an easy step. It is one taken over and over again. There are moments I hide behind it like a coward, only pretending to accept. Moments when I ache for the return of my old life, unencumbered by breathlessness.
The Penny Drops
I used anything as a weapon, from online support groups, self-help books, vision boards, even religion. I reinvented my life to fit my illness. Read that again. I reinvented my life to fit my illness. How wrong I was. Why should I change? What sort of victory is that?
Yes, I will accept I have an illness that is not only chronic but also progressive. I will not change the person I am for it. I have lost enough. My passions didn’t really die. I talked myself out of them because they became difficult to do. Instead of letting them go, I reignited the passion by finding a new way to keep them and not be short of breath.
I did let go of the friendships. Many relationships can’t survive an illness. My lungs can’t keep up and people don’t want to slow down. First I was bitter about the loss, then sad. Now, they are memories that make up my life. I cherish those that stayed and new friendships replace the ones that did not.
Instead of reinventing my life for my illness, I learned to walk hand in hand with it. I am still the same person that woke up from that coma to a different kind of life. I still love cooking, gardening, festivals, nature, and creating art. I still want to travel with my husband. I still want to play with my grandchildren and be silly. I can. It will be different but on my terms.
