On Dealing With Chronic Illness

During a recent discussion on how to deal with chronic illness, I decided to put my thoughts together and write them down. This entry was born amidst that discussion, and reflects some of the conclusions I have drawn throughout my journey of pain and sickness. Perhaps this will help some of you as you face painful situations in your life. I pray it is so.

First of all, it isn't easy to live with chronic illness. Some days, even breathing seems to take more effort than there is energy to muster. So it comes as no surprise that I feel a cloud of defeat hovering over me from time to time, and while that is understandable, I have found it to be detrimental to my health if I allow that kind of negativity to take hold and stay in place for any length of time. Am I angry? No. Perhaps I skipped that part of the grieving process, I don't know. I have grieved, to be sure...for the loss of what once was, for what seems will never be again. But to say that I am angry because it happened to me, I have to say no. I mean, after all...why NOT me? I personally believe (and this has proven true in my own life) that whether or not I understand the illness, the pain or weakness I feel at any given moment, I still can choose HOPE and have an optimistic outlook for my future. And after all, truth be known, no one is promised tomorrow.

I have also discovered that pain is a gift. William Faulkner said, "If I were to choose between pain and nothing, I would choose pain." I will admit that I have never been grateful for pain in the least. But I didn't think about those in this world that have conditions that render them unable to feel pain. So they go through life breaking limbs (and losing them), oblivious to the very thing that those of us that have nerves that function properly work so hard to avoid. Pain is a way for our bodies to tell us when something is wrong, a way for us to know that the inflammatory (and thus the healing) process has begun, a warning sign when things are not quite as they should be. I am, therefore, trying very hard to be thankful for each painful movement I make, knowing that when all is said and done, I will be better for having gone through the experience, both physically and emotionally.

In addition, I have learned that how I respond to my illness can carry over in subtle (and even not so subtle) ways to affect every one around me, even when I don't realize it. And I've also seen that how others react to my situation can affect my attitude as well. I think it's okay to be angry or frustrated or even depressed from time to time, as long as we don't harm others or linger too long in any one place. It's too easy for bitterness to take root, and living a life of bitterness is really no life at all. So...what about my attitude? Do I cry about things from time to time? Yes! I have mentioned many times that my husband and I used to be ballroom and country/western dancers, and even owned our own dance studio. So every time my husband sits by my side without a dance partner...I cry. Every time we're in a position for him to get to dance with someone and I watch from my power chair on the side lines (while loving every moment of watching him dance)...I cry. BUT...I still hold on to the notion that I WILL dance again, that I WILL be strong enough to walk on my own without falling down, that I WILL feel good once again. Until then, I will do what I can to live as normal a life as possible, to involve myself in support of others and in spreading awareness, to reach out to others that are hurting, to pray for those in my life whom I love and who are going through difficult times. Because I know what it is like to feel that way, to be afraid that nothing will ever get better. Giving up is not an option for me. I have to believe that God is turning this situation into good, not just for me, but for everyone with whom I come into contact...my family, my friends, even strangers.

And then of course, there is my husband, Gary...I talk to him about EVERYTHING. And when I get really quiet because I am too weak to talk, he knows, and responds by meeting my needs before I have to ask. I always talk about how wonderful he is, and he is...truly. But obviously he isn't perfect (gasp!), so when I read him lengthy medical articles I've found by doing internet research, or Facebook comments from my timeline, or I talk about stuff he really isn't overly interested in, his eyes glaze over and he zones out. Ha! But God love him, I guess I put him on overload, so I have to learn to cut back on some of that. But I have to say that he has taken a great interest in all my conditions and has learned a lot, so he is very supportive and knowledgeable, with a pretty keen understanding of what is going on with me, considering he doesn't have any of the conditions I have. And he is very protective. I love that about him! On the other hand, he understands that I need to be able to live. So we plan cruises and we go for drives, and even head to the mall once in a while so he can walk and I can zip through in my power chair, looking at all the cute styles in the windows.

I guess I have come to the bottom line, so to speak, on this place in which I find myself. This frustrating, confusing, difficult place where I have learned that neither my identity nor my significance lies in my health status, my career, or whether or not I am capable of doing the things "normal" people do. And I believe this to be true for each of you. We are each significant and have purpose because we are individuals, created by God. We are His masterpieces, intricately and beautifully put together, and nothing slips by Him unnoticed.