"How would you describe yourself?" the doctor asked.
"What do you mean? How do I look? What makes me happy? What am I good at? Are you asking about my personality and character traits? There are a million ways to answer that question."
"Just tell me how you would describe yourself," he said again.
"Okay, then, I would say I'm intelligent, logical, and rational. I can be efficient under pressure. I'm competitive and goal-driven. I can be a procrastinator, but I can also get things done if I need to. And I'd say I'm a solid performer at work."
"Well..." the doctor hesitated, "you may need to find new ways to identify yourself."
That was how the conversation went between my doctor and me 10 months ago. And today I understand what he meant.
All the things I thought made me who I am are slipping out of my grasp because of this ugly disease.
I used to be a formidable force to be reckoned with if I really needed to get something done. I was dogged and determined and knew how to put on the pressure until I got action. Today I needed some of that fight and I was too tired to dig it out, and wound up in tears instead (amazingly, tears got about the same result, though!).
I used to be logical and could order a task list or a list of errands in the most efficient way in a matter of seconds. Now, I stand paralyzed in the hall trying to figure out whether to go to the bedroom and put on my shoes or to carry the empty cups to the kitchen first.
I don't know who I am anymore and that's terrifying. I still have grand ideas about parties and dinners and gardens and shopping, just like I always have. But my body won't perform what I dream anymore.
The things I used to be good at--being composed in the face of difficulty, the way I dealt with stress, my method of arriving at a conclusion, my ability to find the right word, the right to be comfortable in my own skin, my self-assurance and confidence, my physical balance and mental clarity--gone. All gone.
In their place is the ever-present fear that I will trip and fall, the literal paralysis when I can't decide what to do next, the concern of whether I can get out of a chair or put on my coat by myself, and the tears that threaten multiple times a day.
Who are we really? Are we simply the sum of what we can (or cannot) do, and how quickly (or slowly) we can do it? I surely hope not.
Here's what I know about myself today: I am (mostly) compassionate and kind. I am a Christian who hopes to be closer to God every day. I am a helper and wife to a wonderful godly man. I am a storyteller and a writer. I am a good daughter and a loving aunt who's always there for my nieces and nephews. I am a good cook. I hope I am dependable in ministry and that I am a loyal friend. I still have big ideas I need to learn to manage.
Most of all, I am a daughter of the King.
That has to be enough. God, let my value come from you. This is a hard and terrifying lesson.
3 comments:
Well, darling daughter, I have bad news for you. Your mother is in the very same boat. It comes with age. I write notes for reminders. Now I can't find the notes. My determination is diminishing day by day as I reason with myself - what made me think this was so urgent? It will wait.> I live in an RV and travel and can't keep my RV clean! I mean, seriously... how hard can it be? I should be able to clean the whole house in an hour... daily.> Pressure causes increasing problems. Everything is either earth shaking or unworthy of a second thought. All middle ground is gone. Nerves are ragged day in, day out.> Disappointments are shattering. Everything is worthy of way too much worry. And worst of all, tomorrow will be as bad or worse than today. And what makes me maddest of all is being mad at myself. If I ate better, I would feel better (so they say). Why can't I do that? Out of pure frustration of my
diet, I made a one-layer choc. cake last night and crammed my face with it. Then I felt better. Right? I was sick for two hours.> Will someone please point me to the EXIT door? I just want it to end, but alas... my family is a long-lived bunch. The only thing that remains steady is God's love. Perhaps worst of all, I don't even feel Him using me at this age.> So, I know I didn't cheer you up, but at least you know you aren't alone. Half the world is in the same boat because of illness or age. Let's all have a picnic! :-)
It is enough! ♥
You write so beautifully and address realities head on. My sister has advanced Parkinson's and her children still don't understand why/how their mother has changed. Imight send them a link to your blog. My husband was diagnosed two years ago and I can see his fatigue, despair,worry, and anger at times. I often forget WHY he feels the way he does but you really make it clearer.
Thank you. I have no answers but your blog is helpful to those who have this disease and those of us who live with them.
Post a Comment