My Leg Up on Healthy People, From a Sick Person
I’m currently winning a long struggle with chronic illness — my invisible disease, as I so fondly call it. Actually, this peculiarity of mine is comprised of multiple types: Diabetes, Non-alcoholic Fatty Liver Disease, Spondyloarthritis, and insert mystery autoimmune condition here. I’m enjoying a healthy period, however temporary it might be (staying positive because it might be forever). I’m proud to say I can walk for miles, I can go to the bathroom without any help, I can be left alone without fear of falling. This respite feels like the first drink of cool water after running a hundred marathons.
But, I’m like you. I’m pessimistic about good things. I think, will the bottom fall out tomorrow? Having a bunch of diseases define my body makes me a lot more hesitant about life than my rambunctious youth. If I overdo it, I pay for it later. If I do too little, I foster sedentary habits highly likely to lead to all the bad statistics we hear out there: heart disease, stroke, amputation. I don’t really want to add to my Christine-is-sick list.
Gratitude
For now…I’m here to live life each day the best way I know how. My leg up on healthy people is that I know what it’s like to miss my limbs for a lengthy period of time, so I am in a constant state of gratitude. I really don’t wish upon you the losing of an eye or other critical body part, but honestly when you can’t use it for awhile, you are graced with an epiphany of its importance.
I remember the early days when I couldn’t walk. We didn’t have a wheelchair or anything in the house to get me moving. After all, my immobilized state was sudden and doctors assumed I had just sprained my ankles, even though I didn’t have the use of the entirety of my legs. My husband, at a loss for what to do to get me around the house, grabbed a step stool, placed a towel underneath, and helped me sit on it. He then pulled it all the way to the bathroom when I needed to go. My bathroom is a long hallway’s trek, and he, with his back problems, tugging at the towel, dragged me slowly, and upon reaching the destination, hoisted me onto the toilet with all his might. I laugh-cried because what could I do in a situation that seemed so ridiculous and sad at the same time?
Is it weird that I smile every time I pee now? When I walk the long trek to the bathroom, and sit on that porcelain throne made just for me, I’m so happy. I even delight in wiping myself, all without assistance. This is gratitude on a whole new level, and it’s my leg up on healthy people.
People Matter
I know…you’re thinking, Christine, people have always mattered. Yet, do you realize how much you matter to people? Do you realize how your loved ones perceive you when you’re healthy, and how much they grieve when you change? A debilitating health transition has a strange effect on the psyche of close family and friends. I knew that theoretically, but living it shocked me.
Some say, oooh she rocks a cool cane now. They nonchalantly acknowledge my journey, but are so far removed from the idea of it happening to them. Others… well…they ugly cry in front of you. You sense their fear in losing you. Somehow an inability to do simple things, like walking, means to them that you’re close to death. Honestly, I didn’t believe I was. I really truly felt all of this was temporary. I was frustrated that doctors couldn’t figure it out for a good six months, but I believed that I’d run again, that I’d live like I used to. Yet, people that loved me feared the worse. When they watched me struggle, it’s like a piece of their hopes for our life together are ripped away from their heart.
Fast forward to now, my gut instincts proved to be correct. I can look back at that moment in time and remember the people who ugly cried, scared to pieces of losing me. Thus, another leg up on healthy people is this: I’ve awakened to how much I matter, in a very deep sense, and I cherish my time with the ones I love. I now look at all my actions as having an impact on my tribe— a constant cycle of cause and effect, a circle of love if you will.
Living in the Moment
When I was at my worse, three out of four of my limbs didn’t work. I got struck with that strange autoimmune disease I mentioned, and I was left with long hours in a bed, just thinking, and wondering, and waiting. But these were the most important times of my life.
Outwardly I was stuck in one place. Internally, I was growing leaps and bounds and didn’t even know it. I re-examined my relationship with my dad. I accepted the loss of important family members and difficult circumstances that have impacted who I am. I came to terms with my mom’s cancer. I percolated on my relationships, most importantly the broken ones.
I meditated again, but instead of developing the practice to reduce stress, I used it to seek inner strength and understanding.
During that time of contemplation, I realized my life had been on the fast track for far too long, a track that I created. It got so far off any semblance of balance in life that maybe the Universe staged my unhealthy intervention. This is probably my Southern Californian new age influence speaking, but it was a great way to rationalize my illness. After all, the past decade was comprised of a constant barrage of life changes. I shifted jobs and industries multiple times. I got married. I moved to Europe. I finished the coursework in my PhD program, and passed my comprehensive exams. I was a constant whirlwind.
This proverbial health intervention I am speculating was ironic. Here I was surrounded by the most beautiful landscapes in Europe, juxtaposed with the most demoralizing health experience I have ever gone through. I was devastated by the inability to walk, do things on my own, even make a simple cup of coffee. The inability to express myself and my purpose through the movement of things, and people, and places — to be the whirlwind I was accustomed to being — made me feel I lost my identity.
Despite all of that hardship, I had that one person that made life bearable: my husband. You’d think this illness would have stressed our relationship to the point of breaking us apart. But it didn’t. I found in my husband a hero, that knight people gush about. I saw that I truly could rely on him through sickness and health, and that a future of being stuck in a wheelchair might be doable. A true inner healing triggered through what we’ve been through together (a story for another day)… which brings me back to now. This very significant period of time since my sickness started, where life has slowed, and I am given the privilege to dig into my suffering, root it out, and reach new levels of self-actualization.
It has led to another leg up on healthy people: long stretches of silence, pain, and immobility allowed me to see time differently, and that perspective remains with me today. When I was sick in bed, I didn’t think about my future anymore. I thought about healing from my past, and I lived in my present. Granted, it was a forced experience. I stopped thinking about future because there were times I lost hope in it. I was helpless, I saw the inkling of defeat creeping into my thoughts.
The only way to survive my mental torture was to flip those thoughts around. I came to realize time was the culprit. Instead of hating what could be a future of dependency, I focused on loving my present. Instead of accepting defeat and a future of pain, I celebrated my present successes. If I could walk one more step than I did yesterday, I embraced my joy and let in permeate through every part of my day.
Now, instead of planning my future in this fast-paced world, I live it in the moment. It’s a leg up on healthy people, but I have a sneaking suspicion these “leg ups” have contributed to my better health now.
If you enjoyed this piece. A million thanks and 💗💗💗
