— It’s such a treat to have guest writers here at “Hearing Elmo”. I welcome any and all, for we all have a story to tell, a life to share, and a voice. I am glad to offer “Hearing Elmo” as a platform for those voices. I have known Ruth for a little over 14 years. I met her at a national Hearing Loss Association convention, and then continued to touch base with her in various ways. Now we mostly connect through FaceBook and I am always tickled to see her recent photos. Ruth loves nature and has that special talent the really good photographers have–seeing things through their lens that are often overlooked by those of us who don’t stop to LOOK. When my balance issues become my “main issues”, Ruth reached out to encourage me again and again. (I have often wondered if I have been accurately diagnosed as many of my symptoms are atypical of Meniere’s). Ruth is a blessing – and lucky for you and I – a writer. I share a recent piece with you today! —
The abilities of people with chronic health problems are continuously redefined by fluctuations in whatever challenges they have: weakness, stiffness, pain, sensory disturbances, fatigue, endurance, or mental/emotional processing. Loss happens frequently.
Grief is commonly seen as the way to heal loss. In the case of continuous repetitive losses, a person can get caught up in a perpetual circle of grief. Instead of experiencing healing, the overload of negative emotions such as sadness and anger can cause increased physical problems. To maximize health, positive emotions are needed to restore balance.
How does one get from grief to happiness, when experiencing continuous losses? They do so by making a conscious choice to response positively vs negatively to challenges.
For the first fifty plus years of my life, I allowed myself to get caught in the perceptual circle of grief. I reacted to my losses with anger and sadness. I blamed others, from my parents to God, for my life’s challenges. My poor choices nearly destroyed my life.
Most of my challenges came from a genetic disorder called mitochondrial myopathy, a rare form of muscular dystrophy. The core of this disorder is the failure of powerhouses found in each body cell, to produce enough energy to sustain the health of that cell. Where ever these defective cells reside, the reduced energy results in inadequate organ function or even organ failure.
From my toddler years onward, the cells in my inner ears progressively deteriorated and died. By the time I was in my early 20’s, I had a profound loss of hearing. I was a survivor in the sense that I persisted in education until I got to the right career match for a deaf person. However, I failed to maintain a healthy emotional balance and consequently experienced years of profound depression. I was stuck in a perpetual cycle of grief.
As a young adult I began to experience progressive mobility challenges, and the grief cycle intensified. I didn’t take care of myself, physically nor emotionally, and consequently more medical problems surfaced. Finally, in my late 50’s, I slowly learned to focus on the good things that are a part my disability experience: my growing faith in God’s goodness, the love and understanding of my remarkable husband, incredible friendships; the cochlear implant enriching my life with sounds I had never heard; the freedom to participate in life provided by disability accommodations, including the use of my wheelchair. I have learned to see and remember the blessings of good days.
I recently experienced a 6-month miracle in which my mobility limitations almost disappeared. This miracle, which felt like it was here to stay, came to an end. I grieved its loss and the opportunities that ended with it. But now I can look back and smile warmly at the memories, much in the same way a wonderful vacation is remembered. I truly believe that staying positive and the prayers of many people energized my body enough to stop the physical backslide, maintaining about half of the gains I experienced. Though I continue to walk for exercise, it takes twice as long and multiple rests are necessary along the way. My freedom to participate is again dependent on my walker or wheel chair depending on the endurance each situation requires. But, I have learned, in spite of chronic disability and the doors it closes, to rejoice.
Some posts get a lot of response both publically and privately. Back in March of this year, “When they SHOULD, but They Don’t” posted. In 2015, this post has generated the most “mail”. This tells me that the topic is important. This tells me that this problem exists. This tells me that people with chronic illness, invisible illness or disability, and health challenges struggle with:
Asking for help
Accepting help
Realizing that assistance ≠ diminished independence
My husband and I travelled to see his parents two states away this weekend. I love having Terry all to myself in a car where he can’t get away from my enthusiastic chatter and conversation. Thankfully, the man doesn’t seem to mind that a seatbelt is all that separates him from his talkative wife.
I shared with him how much follow-up email I have received about this post. I know many people who are differently-abled personally. I also “know” many only through “Hearing Elmo”. Why is it so hard for the people in our lives to support us in a healthy, loving way without creating codependency, “IOU mentality”, and decreased self-esteem? I shared with my husband an article I recently read at the Invisible Disabilities Association, on what family members of differently-abled people should know. (You can read it HERE).
My husband, a psychologist who has worked with special populations for 25 years, reminded me of something that I really needed to hear. You see… lately we have not been communicating very well. Yeah, yeah, I know! Hearing loss is a communication disorder, but this isn’t new to us! Once in awhile, our communication breaks down. I get frustrated, he gets defensive, and the dogs choose sides. It’s ugly.
Be Specific or Be Quiet
One of the most common things people say to me about this topic is, “If the shoe were on the other foot, and THEY were differently-abled… I would be supportive and accepting!” In other words, “I’m sure I’d respond to all of this much better because I’m a super hero and they are NOT”.
Now don’t get me wrong! Maybe you WOULD respond more effectively! I believe that circumstances such as dealing with a health challenge can make us more compassionate, empathetic, and helpful to others in the same boat. I tried to point out to a reader that they “could not know how they would respond and support the other person because it isn’t their reality”. They “could not know how hard it is to love and support someone 24/7 that is differently-abled because they are not living that life”. These folks immediately fire back, “Well I LIVE WITH THIS 24/7 so I think I would know how hard it is”. Apples and oranges, my friends! They are both fruits and grow on trees, but are different in every way. Bottom line, if you are differently-abled or live with chronic illness, your perceptions and reality have changed. You cannot know what it would be like to be completely healthy and instead love/support someone who has special challenges.
I can already HEAR picture some of you freaking out about this. Before you send me hate mail though, please remember that I, too, am a person with special challenges, married to someone whose only significant challenge is to lose 20 pounds now that he’s middle-aged. (Hmmm. I may get called out for that comment should hubby read this week’s post).
I’ve already explained that my “captive audience” reminded me of something about good communication because I have slipped into some old habits and was feeling frustrated with him as a result. We need to be specific. Our loved ones are not mind readers. Here are some REAL specifics I have learned in my own communication – all of which we re-visited on this trip since communication has broken down lately.
Instead of:
You need your laundry done? Do it yourself MORON!
You know I love doing laundry. I need you to carry it down the two flights of stairs to the laundry room. Then, when you get home from work, at some point I will need you to carry it all back upstairs.
Instead of:
What? You can’t carry your own plate to the sink? Well I guess I’m making dinner FOR ONE from now on, You MORON!
I don’t mind cleaning up after meals. My Meniere’s disease does not allow me to carry things to the sink very safely. Could you pile your stuff in the sink please?
(This specific instruction garnered the benefit of his carrying MY dishes to the sink, too!)
Instead of:
I can only walk one dog at night. You think I have excess energy? I guess poor Chloe is going to believe she is unloved and definitely UNWALKED. MORON!
Would you walk Chloe with Milo and I tonight? She needs the exercise. You don’t need to go as far as I do, and it will mean a lot to her.
Instead of:
You’re tired of the empty cupboards and fridge? Go get your own groceries, MORON!
(Can you tell my unfiltered, “go to” cut-down is moron? Poor Terry)
I am running on empty this week. Milo is a huge help, but I’m just “done”. Would you go get groceries with me this week? It would really help.
Instead of:
You never help me! (and just to stay consistent… MORON!)
Would you mind helping me with some housework today? My balance is particularly bad. I could dust if you would vacuum?
Specificity helps communication. Generalizations will lead to communication breakdown. It takes practice. You wouldn’t think it would, but it really does. Learn to be specific. You may even have to learn to be specific in how you want your loved ones to back off! A recent example:
Instead of:
Cripes, Terry! I can do this, you know. I’m not totally incapable!
(He was trying to help me get Milo’s leash on and Milo was super excited).
I know Milo is “blowing a gasket” here. But I have to learn to calm him down and give him the proper commands since I’m usually alone with him. He has to learn to settle on MY terms. Thanks for the help, but I’ve got this!
If you need help, be specific. If you can do something yourself, be specific. If you need a listening ear, be specific. If you need a hug, be specific.
Do you know how many times polygamy has cropped up in my conversations? It’s super easy for me to hazard a guess because I have NEVER had a conversation about polygamy. I don’t watch “Sister Wives”, and know very few Mormons (and those I do – do not practice polygamy). So why… WHY would I bring the word up in a chance encounter? *shaking my head at myself*
I’m a creature of habit. I go to the same stores and the same restaurants. I’m super scheduled and my electronic calendar is near and dear to my heart. I’m color-coded. I’m organized.
Therefore, it’s no surprise that I tend to run into the same people at the places I frequent. I have shopped at the same grocery store for almost four years. You tend to run into some of the same people when you frequent a store. When you go everyplace with a service dog, it makes you rather unforgettable, especially with children. It’s no surprise that I see some of the same children in stores who have been curious about and thrilled with Chloe as I shop.
It shouldn’t have surprised me that a little boy I have seen a half a dozen times or more stopped me to ask about my dog. My new partner is Milo, a black shepherd/lab whose appearance is completely different than that of Chloe. Here is a recent photo of both Chloe (retired) and Milo (current). The picture isn’t that great which reminds me I need to work on getting some more “3 musketeers” shots!
Service Dog Bookends
This little boy that I see occasionally (whose name I DO NOT know – which embarrasses me as he knows my service dog’s name), looked at me with big eyes and said, “Where is Chloe and WHO IS THAT?” (Ya gotta love kids)
I replied, “Oh, this is my new service dog, Milo. Chloe is retired now and is at home sleeping on the couch”.
He looked very solemn and said, “So she still lives with you?”
“Oh yes“, I said. “She will always live with me. It’s just that Milo is my new partner!”
He was quiet for a second or two and said, “So it’s like you are divorced and Milo is your new service dog?”
I was so astonished by the seemingly change in topic I stuttered out, “Well… ummm…. no, not at all. Chloe and I aren’t divorced. I guess it’s more like polygamy and both dogs live with me now!”
The little guy look TOTALLY CONFUSED, and I glanced up to see the HORRIFIED LOOK on his mother’s face. Ever want to just slap your hand over your mouth? I knew as soon as I said it that it was 1) totally inappropriate, 2) would take the mother all day to explain to her son, and 3) completely “off the wall”.
I made a mess of trying to back peddle (for people with balance disorders can do precious little BACKWARDS), and hurriedly made my way down the next aisle.
I stood in the international food section fussin’ at myself and nearly in tears for using such a poor analogy around a 6-year-old. I determined then and there I needed to PrAcTiCe PrAcTiCe PRACTICE what to say in response to “where’s Chloe and who is THIS?”
Part of Good Advocacy is Practiced Responses
Being a good advocate and representative of “whatever ails ya” means you have good responses when someone asks questions. I have learned the HARD WAY, that these responses need to be rehearsed. When you are taken by surprise by either well-meaning, curious people or rude, snarky trouble-makers, you want to have a measured, helpful reply so that you advocate in a positive and helpful manner. I have found that if I don’t have a “canned response”, I tend to match the tone and demeanor of the person asking. This means that sometimes I am pleasant and in “teacher mode”, with great responses that educate and advocate on behalf of the disability community. However, other times I’m waving my cane in a curmudgeon’s face and informing them in no-uncertain terms how horrible they are.
At Fidos For Freedom, Inc., (where I trained for now – TWO – service dogs), we practice how to respond when encountering access issues. If you have a service dog, it is not a matter of IF you have access issues, rather WHEN you have access issues. It is easy to get flustered. It is easy to get mad. It is easy to say the wrong thing. Practice makes it much easier to respond with something that will actually help you and others like yourself.
Doesn’t it Suck that Many of the Rude Ones are “Kin”?
What is even harder is when the person acting incredulous and skeptical is someone you know well or are even family. I’m lucky that I have a very supportive spouse and adult children. Even so… it is hard to love someone with a chronic condition. Once in awhile, my husband (or kids) do not filter what they are saying, because they, too, are sick and tired of Meniere’s disease. I’m 100% certain my husband has rehearsed responses to commiserate appropriately so that he doesn’t spend the night on the couch.
(Holding an ice pack on my cheek, or head), “I’m so tired of falling and staggering around! What I wouldn’t give for just one day of no vertigo!”
“It must suck, honey!” is the rehearsed response so that “Yeah, I’m getting tired of taking off work to take you to the E.R.” doesn’t slip out.
It can really hurt when someone who knows you better than others “opens their mouth and inserts foot”. I recommend that even support people practice and learn how to deliver sympathy and encouragement.
You Will Still Blow It
Even if you practice measured, helpful responses to personal questions, you are still going to blow it from time to time. A couple of Sundays ago I was ticked off at myself for not responding kindly to someone and was thinking, “Denise! You’ve had this diagnosis for 2 decades! Exactly WHEN is it gonna become HABIT?”
I sit during the worship service. It isn’t because I cannot stand. Folks are surprised when they learn that at work, I stay standing for very long periods of time. I actually MOVE very easily and with very little wobble. It’s standing still that is the problem. My world turns… counter-clockwise when I’m standing still. I love my church. They are very supportive of people who are differently-abled. We have a loop system in the auditorium for people with hearing loss. We have fully accessible bathrooms and classrooms. We have an elevator and a lift for people with mobility issues. In spite of this, I’m forced to sit during the worship service. My church puts the words to the songs on the wall using a projector. We have a beautiful stage and lights as well. The song lyrics are in a multi-media slide show with patterns, colors, movement and lights. Everything is color-coordinated and changes song to song. The freaky OCD person in me is in awe every Sunday. It’s gorgeous! But… I can’t stand. If I do, I’m fighting consciousness. It isn’t a problem, for I don’t mind sitting. I’m comfortable and SAFE. I learned that not everyone understands why I’m sitting, however.
An elderly person came up to me at the beginning of the service and asked me how to access the hearing loop in the auditorium. I removed my cochlear implant and hearing aid and demonstrated how to switch to t-coil. I get this question about once a month and I’m always glad to educate. I love the hearing loop and it has dramatically transformed church for me. I love answering questions to help others access this wonderful technology. So wasn’t I surprised by the encounter, but totally floored by the follow-up question:
“So why are you seated during the music? I’m way older than you and even I can stand!”
I don’t know if it was the environment, the timing, or the unexpectedness of the question, but can I tell you … I really took it wrong? I could FEEL the tension creep up my spine and I was mentally counting to ten and trying to diffuse the explosion about to spew out of my mouth. THIS ONE I hadn’t practiced for. I hadn’t run any scenarios through my head and out through my heart filter to answer a question like this appropriately. So I didn’t.
“Wow. That was really, really mean. We’re done,” I said. The person looked startled, then uncomfortable and walked away. I think the last action was because I’m certain my look was murderous. I mean… I was MAD. (I later apologized).
Folks are gonna take you by surprise once in awhile. You will hear an insensitive comment from someone you weren’t expecting it from and it will just shock you into silence (if you are lucky) or cause you to say something you regret. It is best to be prepared.
Ummm… WHY SHOULD I?
Maybe you are thinking that if people are going to be insensitive and inconsiderate, that “why should I temper what I say in response?”
Since we are on the subject… here are some “canned responses”:
1. You don’t want to sink to their level.
2. You need to be the mature one.
3. Kill ’em with kindness.
4. In the end, you advocate for all of us.
5. Honey attracts more bees than vinegar.
Well.
I happen to love vinegar. I mean… don’t get me started on pickles. There are few things I love more. Let’s be honest though… from someone who is differently-abled to someone who may also live with acquired disability, chronic illness, or invisible issues, “WHY should we be careful in our response?”
(sigh)
Because it’s the RIGHT thing to do. Sucks, don’t it? I can tell you from experience though that it is much better to answer correctly and watch someone else squirm, than to have to apologize for “going off” on someone. Go practice, my friends! You’ll be glad you did!
Self-talk. Chances are you have been using self-talk since you were a child. As a matter of fact, developmental psychologists tells us that self-talk begins in middle childhood, ages 6 to 11-years-old (Arnett, 2013). Perhaps that is why many folks think that simply “talking to yourself” out loud is the same thing as self-talk. Children often “play out loud”, adding sound effects, conversations, and even lengthy monologue within imaginary play. This is not self-talk. Self-talk is really just your inner voice. It often reflects your conscious and unconscious thoughts, beliefs, and assumptions (Psych Central, 2015).
Self-talk CAN be out loud… don’t get me wrong. One of my favorite things to practically shout when I use self-talk, is “Girl? I REJECT THAT!” This is said out loud, with southern accent, hand on hip, and oozing with attitude. (Are you picturing it? If you know me, you likely have even heard me say it).
Self-talk is also studied in Sport Psychology. As a matter of fact, if you do some searching online, many athletes have often used quotes that incorporate the use of self-talk. We ALL use self-talk, however. Whitbourne (2013), explained “Psychologists have identified one important type of these inner monologues as “self-talk,” in which you provide opinions and evaluations on what you’re doing as you’re doing it. You can think of self-talk as the inner voice equivalent of sports announcers commenting on a player’s successes or failures on the playing field” (para. 1).
This is why sometimes internally and oft-times out loud, we say, “Well. That was stupid”. As a matter of fact, much of our self-talk as adults is negative. Some of us may be parroting things we actually hear others say. However, most of the negative self-talk comes from the heart of pessimism and self-deprecation. Why? Why are we so hard on ourselves?
People who live with chronic illness, or invisible (or visible) disabilities often have negative self-talk. Statistics tell us we don’t really engage in negative self-talk more than adults who do not struggle with these issues, but perhaps the source is different. Frustration tends to be a significant source of negative self-talk for the differently-abled.
Perhaps you are trying to discover how to do something independently. Maybe your are coming to terms with having to do something differently. Here are some things I have found helpful when I find frustration is spawning negative self-talk:
1. Identify it. Perhaps this is why the first phrase out of mouth is often “Girl? I REJECT THAT”. I identify that I am engaging in negative self-talk. See it (or hear it). Call it what it is. Now that you recognize it:
2. Change your spin on it. See if you can’t put a positive spin on it. Perhaps your self-talk has recognized something that you need to pay attention to but you need to say it like you are talking to your best friend. Be your own best friend. We wouldn’t say, “Geesh, that was dumb”. Try re-phrasing it. “Well I’m smarter than this. How can I make sure this doesn’t happen again?”
A great example of this happened to me just last week. I took a really hard fall between my front door and the grass to “potty the dogs”. It was late, and pretty dark outside. I was in a hurry. My pillow was calling out to me and I wanted to reply face-to-face. I left the house without my cane. I was only walking 10 yards. What could happen?
I have 6 bruises and a small cut on my arm to show how wonderfully intelligent that choice was. So laying there in the grass with “mother earth” in my mouth, ear, and eyes, my first thought was:
“Dang. You are so graceful”.
Yeah. I speak fluent sarcasm.
My second thought was, “Geesh, that was stupid”. I’m a bit of a motor-mouth so I’m pretty sure the conversation went on a little longer, discussing how many brain cells I have, could I be any lazier for not taking 10 seconds to grab the cane?, and competing very hard to convince all living things listening that I deserve my title of Accident Prone Queen.
Because I’ve had so much practice at this, I immediately identified what was happening. Putting a new spin on it meant I could say, “Well this is why you should take 10 seconds to grab the cane!” Folks, I was WRONG to leave the house without my cane. But finding a middle-ground and re-phrasing the self-talk helped me be just a little more kind to myself. We need to take the time to be kind to ourselves.
3. Flexible expectations. No one knows you like YOU know you. If you have lived with invisible illness or disability for any length of time at all, you know what your own limitations are.
Unlike some of my cochlear implant friends, I still do not hear music very well, nor enjoy what I hear. My iTunes account could be deactivated. Does this mean music isn’t a part of my life? Absolutely not. I sing 80’s tunes at the top of my lungs when home alone.
Because of positional vertigo, I cannot use exercise equipment like the cross trainer (my husband’s favorite), stair-climber, or anything that moves my position vertically. Does this mean I cannot exercise? No. I can use a treadmill and I can walk. The latter I do twice a day.
The doctoral program I am in is designed to push you through in two years. I will be done in 3.5 years. And you know what? That is OK. This is the pace I can do successfully and complete my schooling. I can be flexible in my expectations!
When all else fails, tell yourself to shut up. You may not say, “Girl? I REJECT THAT!”, but don’t be afraid to tell yourself to zip it. It may even be helpful to say it out loud. It works for me! In the end, you can actually work self-talk to your advantage. Learn to cheerlead yourself. Most of us look great with poms-poms.
Arnett, J. (2013). Developmental Psychology: A cultural approach (1st ed.). Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson Education, Inc.
Psych Central (2015). Challenging negative self-talk. Retrieved June 15, 2015, from http://psychcentral.com/lib/challenging-negative-self-talk/
Whitbourne, S. K. (2013). Make your self-talk work for you. Psychology Today. Retrieved June 15, 2015, from https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/fulfillment-any-age/201309/make-your-self-talk-work-you
I’m a reader. Perhaps it has something to do with having a mother who was an English teacher. Maybe it is because both my parents are readers. All I know, is that I can’t remember not having books. I lived in a rural, farming community and as it was before the “age of the Internet”, much of what we did in our free time was reading. Thanks to my mom, I have read all the “great classics”. I also grew up reading series such as “Trixie Belden”, “The Bobbsey Twins”, “Nancy Drew”, “Hardy Boys”, “Sugar-Creek Gang”, “Agatha Christie”, and “Little House on the Prairie”. I remember being SO BORED one summer that I started reading my dad’s favorite series, “Louis L’Amour” and discovered they were actually OK too!
I always felt a little melancholy when coming to the end of a good book. If it was a series, I fretfully waited for the sequel to come out. It was especially hard when the author ended a book with a “cliff-hanger”. I think that is when I started biting my nails.
I’ve had an emotional roller-coaster kind of 2015. I have been slowly easing my service dog, Chloe, into part-time work. I have already started training for a successor dog at Fidos For Freedom, Inc. In the past week, Chloe has gone from part-time working dog to “when hound dog feels like it”. I always ask her if she wants to “get dressed” and more often than not she flops her tail at me and gives me a sweet hound-dog look. “See you later, mom! I’ll be here when you get back!”
Her vest is more often hanging on its hook, than it is being worn by faithful service dog. It has been a harder transition on me than it has been on her, and frankly? That’s the way I want it.
People notice that Chloe isn’t with me now. I suppose when you are thought of as a team, when the “cute red head” is missing, people notice. I’ve answered these questions dozens of times:
“You get to keep her, don’t you?”
“What will she do all day?”
“How will a new partner and Chloe get along?”
At first, it made me really sad to see her vest hanging on it’s hook as I walked out the door. I had an overwhelming feeling of finality. I know I’m making the right decision, but for awhile I felt like I was facing the end of a book–“TheEnd“.
However, I realized that just like in OUR lives, finishing one chapter in life doesn’t mean the book is over. We plan to ease Chloe into therapy dog work if it is something both my husband and I can work into our schedules. If she doesn’t transition that direction, she will continue to be a beloved furry member of our family.
When the Life You Had Is Over…
One of the most disconcerting things about acquired disabilities or invisible, chronic illnesses, is that at some point you may not be able to do everything that you once were able to do. I’ve heard some people say, “Don’t ever say you CAN’T. Just find a new way of doing it!” But friends? That isn’t always realistic.
Take roller-skating for example. I love to roller-skate. I was actually pretty good at it, too. I could skate backwards, do a single axle, speed race, limbo on skates, and much more. Post balance/vestibular disorder, I can no longer skate. Sure, I could probably find various devices to prop myself up, or skate with a walker on wheels. But, I won’t be skating like I was. This doesn’t mean that I stop doing ALL extra-curricular activities. There ARE some things I can still do and do so safely. I simply started a new chapter in my book, “This is My Life“.
Some people find that after acquired disability or diagnosis, they can no longer work. Their “new normal” includes chronic pain, debilitating fatigue, or other symptoms that make it impossible for them to work “9 to 5”. However, they may find they there are some things they can do to continue earning a paycheck. There are a variety of things one can do to earn money while working at home.
Some people become volunteers and do a number of things that yield personal satisfaction and allow them to “give back”; however, the activities are not dependent on a set schedule. I know some people who no longer work due to a diagnosis, and likely do TOO MUCH as volunteers. There are so many opportunities! There are so many ways people of various abilities can do to benefit others.
If your life took an unexpected turn after a diagnosis or acquired disability, your book isn’t finished. You are just starting a new chapter.
BUT… YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. Everything in my life has changed! I cannot successfully reach goals I made a long time ago before this diagnosis. My friends have changed. My relationship status has changed. My book really is approaching “The End”.
Perhaps your life really did experience a 180 change in direction. Some of my favorite books are part of a SERIES. The book may have ended, but there is a sequel. Set new goals. Make new friends. Do new things. I have found that some of the most rewarding experiences I have had were the direct result of my embracing my own “new normal”. I stopped trying to be the Denise I was before hearing loss and Meniere’s disease. The people I have met, the job that I have, and the organizations in which I am involved would have never been a part of my life if I hadn’t been forced to start a new chapter, or even a new book in a part of a series.
Hanging your vest up? Have major changes happened in your life? Your story isn’t finished. The chapter may be done. The book may even be finished. Your story is NOT complete.
Writer’s block? Network with others who have similar diagnosis as you do. See what they do to volunteer, serve, or even jobs and careers they may have. It’s never too late to go back to school! Many older adults sit in my classrooms taking classes to earn a degree and prepare them for something new. Gone are the days where all my students were 18 and 19 years old.
From an editorial review of “The Story of My Life” by Helen Keller: “Many of her later works were largely autobiographical, but there was always an emphasis on the inherent power of the individual to journey through life with hope. The Story of My Life is the first chapter in such a journey.”
If your life has significantly changed, it is simply the end of a chapter. Your story – your journey continues.
The weather is finally feeling “Spring like”. The trees are all budding out and blooms galore, decorate my neighborhood. It ain’t all good. *achoooo* – but allergies seem a small price to pay for such pretty walking weather.
A couple of days ago, I ventured out of my immediate neighborhood and down a nearby walking trail. I’ve posted about beavers and bullfrogs in other posts as the path stretches along the perimeter of a small pond. At “the bend in the path” where the trail takes a sharp right turn, a huge tree was cut down. This was supposedly done to insure the path remained semi-straight. When I first saw it last year after this section of the trail was finished, I grieved a little seeing that this huge tree was chopped down and for the apparent reason it was hauled away. I haven’t been down this path in months and months. When I got closer to the remains of this giant, I looked for the scarred stump. I was surprised at what I saw. Every which way, new growth and small branches, sprouted from the stump.
I almost became a “tree hugger“. Not in the traditional “activist” sense, but I was so excited to see that it had persevered! I even took a few steps off the path to see how to approach for a hug. Seeing no great way to latch on and SQUEEZE, I instead reached out and calmly high five’d a small branch closest to me. I stood and silently celebrated the fact that this tree was still alive, determined to continue in spite of being chopped down!
Have You Felt the Woodsman’s Axe?
I turn 49 this year. Honestly, growing older doesn’t bother me in the least. Yet, because I have acquired disabilities, I have to admit that where I am is NOT where I thought I’d be. Don’t get wrong.
I feel good about me. I still have goals. I strive to make a difference. I love what I do. I have good days and bad days. There have been days I have really felt cutdown.
AXED.
For many with acquired disability, chronic illness or invisible (or visible) conditions, much energy and focus is geared towards being independent. We don’t want to be a “bother” or put people out. I stopped trying to “fit in” a long time ago. I don’t hear normally. I don’t walk or stand normally. As I have become comfortable in my own skin, others have learned to accept me just the way I am as well.
But sometimes? Well, sometimes someone comes by with a wicked, sharp axe and hacks away at me, chipping away at who I am. Do you know what sucks? Sometimes the woodsman is someone I know well. Do you have people in your life who tell you “for your own good” to suck it up? “If you didn’t go around making a big deal about your disabilities, you would fit in better!” “Well aren’t you the DRAMA QUEEN?” “I’d never know something was wrong with you if you didn’t go around with a service dog!” (As if it never occurred to them I’m independent BECAUSE of the service dog).
There will be times we feel “cut down” because it is JUST ONE THING AFTER ANOTHER. I have some friends (those I call family, really) who have significant challenges. A few of them have really had a tough year. One took a significant fall in a store and is STILL recovering as the injury fall out was compounded by her MS. I have another friend with MS who is a stroke survivor. Her husband is now dealing with significant health issues. A young woman I got to know through Fidos For Freedom (who also writes) has a terminal illness and things seemed to go from bad to worse for her this year. These warriors have been chopped away.
Yet people with disabilities and chronic illness are stubborn. We persevere. If anyone “keeps on keeping’ on” it’s us! There is not any person with ANY challenge that cannot explode with new growth in the Spring. Winter is harsh. Axes are sharp. Bad stuff happens. But friends? Life isn’t over. Good can come from this.
Spring is here. Have you had a tough Winter? Did someone take an axe to you? You still matter. You can still make a difference. You are important. It’s Spring. Time to bust out in blooms or branch out in new growth. Don’t make me come fertilize you. 🙂
You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good in order to bring about this present result. Genesis 50:20 (NASB)
Do you know the #1 topic of emails to Hearing Elmo (or face-to-face for those of you who know me personally) is support or the lack thereof? I have not met a single person with acquired disability, chronic illness, or invisible condition that took on their “new normal” by choice. We need support.
People need other people. I don’t care if you are an introvert and “loner”, or a gregarious, extrovert. All of us need human connections to some degree. I hypothesize that those of us who live with acquired disability, chronic illness, or other invisible condition may need solid, supportive relationships even more than those who do not face daily challenges. Coping is TOUGH stuff, and geesh… don’t I hate we don’t burn calories for all the work we put into COPING? In psychology, we have a special term for how important our relationships are to adjustment – psychosocial adaptation. Bishop (2005) explains this better than I could: Psychosocial adaptation “may be conceived as a process of responding to the functional, psychological, and social changes that occur with the onset and experience of living with a disability, chronic illness, or associated treatments” (p. 6). There is a ridiculous amount of research on how important relationships are to an individual’s psychosocial adaptation. Intimate relationships are imperative to the quality of life for individuals who are differently-abled. All very interesting STUFF, in my humble opinion, but not at all the goal of or intended topic of this post.
Intimate Relationships
When we hear the word “intimate” we may think of sexual expression. Maybe we think of fancy-smancy underwear. (So aren’t “we” the weird ones?). Intimate relationships are interpersonal relationships that are physically OR emotionally intimate. This means that we can have close friends or family members who have an intimate personal relationship with us in that they know us very well. We have let down our guards at some point and shared things with them that others have no clue about nor care. Yes, intimacy is often physical as well, and those of us who have a physically intimate partner in a spouse or significant other, count it a major blessing to also be a friend to this individual.
Our expectation of our intimate relationships is “through thick and thin” (and I don’t mean WEIGHT). We expect these folks to love us on our good days and our bad days. We know we can belly-ache to them and they won’t think less of us. For those of us who took traditional vows, we put a lot of faith in “till death do us part”. These folks know us – and love us anyway.
When acquired disability or chronic illness enters a life unexpectedly, we rest in the knowledge that our spouse or significant other, and intimate connections with friends and family members will strengthen us and help us adapt. We have this HOPE and expectation, yet so many share with me that they were let down by someone they had counted on to BE THERE for them. Some of you have even had to deal with broken relationships. Others may have partners and friendships that have stuck like super-glue, but you cannot help but feel as if you are a burden and that these folks feel “stuck” with you.
Perhaps someone shared with you that they get tired of how tired you are. Maybe they shared or insinuated that life with you sure is HARD. As if things weren’t hard enough, someone you depend on is tired of your diagnosis too? Thanks so much for that…
I know. Not a single person reading this post hasn’t at some point wished they could have just ONE day of normalcy. “If I could just have 24 hours of normal, it would re-set my gripe-o-meter box”, shared a long-time reader. Yup. I get that! So for someone in our intimate circle to complain that they are tired of all that WE are tired of? It’s enough to make you want to spit. Or hit someone. Or SPIT while HITTING someone…
So what do you do when you realize that those who support you are having trouble supporting you? I have three tidbits to share.
1. If the Shoe Were On the Other Foot
Please don’t lash out and tell your significant bozos (cuz at the point you are mad at them for their lack of support means they have morphed from close relationships to close BOZOS), that if things were “the other way around” you would TOTALLY be there for them – ALWAYS.
This, my friends, is impossible to prove. YOU are the one dealing with a significant, life-changing diagnosis. We don’t know how we would react to “the shoe being on the other foot”. Criticizing and attacking another by insisting we would support and behave differently is not fair, nor is it justified. There are numerous studies that support that stress and anxiety can be vicarious experiences by those who support people who are struggling.
I believe one of the very best things we can do for those who support us is to acknowledge up front that WE KNOW THIS IS HARD ON THEM TOO.
2. Engage in Active Listening
All relationships benefit from active listening. Active listening was made popular by psychologist, Carl Rogers, in the 50’s. Many different counseling approaches now incorporate active listening to engage in good communication. One of the best descriptions of active listening that I’ve read can be found HERE. It is five WONDERFUL pages of all that is Active Listening. So I’m not going to take the time to explain it here and instead am giving you a “homework assignment” <wink>.
3. Yes, They Should. But… They Don’t
I cannot boast of 100% supportive relationships, nor brag that I’ve handled my own acquired disabilities with grace and diplomacy. Even though I’m in a “good place” right now with numerous supportive relationships, I have been disappointed by some of my relationships, and have even lost some folks along the way.
It hurts.
The biggest mistake one can make in shouldering all that encompasses living with significant challenges, is trying to do it alone. You are not alone.
For one thing, you are reading THIS. I care.
The Internet insures that we are NOT alone. The Internet is accessible to even those with significant challenges. If your intimate relationships and friendships have let you down, please know that you need others. Find them.
Places you can find support:
1. The newspaper: Many list various support groups and networks available for numerous types of challenges and health issues.
2. Churches: Many have support groups and networks available to both members and non-members.
3. Libraries: Many have community services bulletin boards (both physical and on-site, as well as electronic) that list numerous support groups.
4. Online forums: One only has to “Google” their diagnosis to find numerous avenues of support online. One great searchable database can be found HERE.
5. National non-profit and for-profit organizations: Most diagnosis also have organizations that provide education, advocacy, and support at the local, state, and national levels. Search the Internet for organizations that provide resources for your specific population. Many have support networks as well.
6. FaceBook and other Social Media Outlets: You’d be surprised what support resources are available on FaceBook. Many are closed groups as well as have confidentiality tenants of membership.
7. Start your own: I’m not a big fan of “wiki” anything (I suppose it is the teacher in me), but I have to admit, WikiHow did this up right. Check it out HERE.
Cut ‘Em Some Slack
Finally, I’d be a poor advocate if I didn’t give you heads up that people are going to disappoint you. Forgive them.
You are going to have a really bad day and need all kinds of support, practically draining those around you DRY. Dehydrated people can lash out. Forgive them.
You will struggle with having to live your life yet another day – so very tired of it all. Someone will point this out. Mock you. Complain about you. Forgive them.
Someone will try really hard to support you and come up short. Their personality or own needs simply do not allow them to be exactly what you need them to be. Forgive them – and support THEM.
You are going to have the kind of day where you are just done with EVERYONE. You burn your bridges, isolate yourself, and find yourself very, very alone. Forgive yourself.And rebuild.
Bishop, M. (2005). Quality of Life and Psychosocial Adaptation to Chronic Illness and Acquired Disability: A Conceptual and Theoretical Synthesis. Journal Of Rehabilitation, 71(2), 5-13.
Rogers, C. R., & Farson, R. E. (1957). Active listening. Lexington, Massachusetts: D.C. Heath and Company.
I love dogs. However, I do love cats, too! I don’t currently own a cat which is just weird for me. Cats have a bad reputation though, don’t they? Think of the phrases we use about cats:
1. Tom-cattin’ around.
Males (or even females) slinking around at night looking to get some-some. (Jus’ tellin’ it like it is, folks). Apparently the name of said feline is also Tom.
2. Caterwauling
This is usually a female cat screeching and yowling around while in heat. It is used to describe humans at great risk to the idiot males who determine it would be funny to do so.
3. Like herding cats
This is impossible. They don’t run in herds so aren’t we the stupid ones?
4. Let the Cat out of the Bag
This means to tell a secret. Frankly if my cat was ever in a bag it would not be a secret. The whole house would know. If you don’t understand, you’ve never owned a cat. They are either playing in it by choice, or stuck in it due to HUMAN error.
5. Cattin’ around
Similar to “tom-cattin’ around”. To wander aimlessly looking for entertainment – usually resulting in feline delinquent behavior.
6. Fat cat
Evidently this means loaded, or very rich. I do NOT use this phrase this way. At the time I was talking to an overweight cat.
7. Curiosity killed the cat
Cuz evidently even though it 1) looked dangerous, 2) smelled dangerous, 3) sounded dangerous, they couldn’t help but investigate anyway. Which leads to #8
8. Cats have nine lives
They get killed a lot. Or, at least do really stupid things that almost result in their demise.
9. Cat got your tongue
Ewww. Just ewww. Yet, it means speechless. This happens to me a lot. *rolls eyes*
10. Cat walk
To walk with splendid balance and grace with a sexy little swing of the hips. Evidently models walk on this. Perhaps cat calls came from this practice.
Cats can be pretty special critters though, and even better fur-babies. They sure get a bad rap, however. People seem to either love ’em or hate ’em. I find few who are indifferent. I’ve met some pretty special cats that behaved very un-cat like at times. And frankly? I’ve had some cats climb up in my lap and allow me to pet them while they purred my cares away more than once. They can be extremely intuitive.
People with Disabilities Get a Bad Rap
I don’t like identifying as a person with a disability. It is the language used by the laws that protect my rights as a person with unique challenges, however, so I accept the “label”. Folks with disabilities get a bad rap though.
Here are just a few of the things I have heard:
1. We complain. A lot.
Evidently about anything and everything; but mostly about our disability. I mean… it’s as if we live with it 24/7 or something. Pretty lame, aren’t we?
2. We are lazy.
In the decades I have mentored and worked as an advocate for persons with disabilities, I believe one of the toughest diagnosis is that of CFS (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome). There are some other diagnoses that are closely related in which the primary symptom is extreme and debilitating fatigue and/or pain. It hurts to do anything. So sometimes, complaints just slip out of the mouths of these brave people. Maybe curse words too, but STUFF SLIPS OUT. It is very, very difficult to live with one of these diagnoses and I admire these folks. I do.
3. We are extremely dependent.
Most of the people I know who are differently abled – work very hard at learning to do things DIFFERENTLY so that they can remain as independent as possible. If you knew how hard it is to ask for help you’d never roll your eyes at a request from someone living with chronic illness or disability.
4. We will never contribute to society.
Geesh. This is so, SO wrong. Most of those I know living with a chronic illness or disability are super busy working in their community. They “give back” at times to the point of going to far and doing to much. Everyone has a desire to be needed – to matter. This includes people with disabilities.
5. We are drama queens/kings.
I’m a bit of a drama llama. I prefer this term because I am crown-less yet recognize I, at times, spit for attention. But seriously… most of us HATE attention. We are trying to just “be normal”. We haven’t created our own song and dance in expectation of applause.
6. We are hypochondriacs.
The thing about long-term disability or chronic conditions, is that you become an expert on your diagnosis. As a matter of fact, at times, you know more than your doctor does. You have researched and investigated everything about your diagnosis and in so doing have learned about similar diagnosis or co-morbid diagnosis. We seek to understand it because we are trying to survive.
7. It’s all about us.
There are selfish people with disabilities and selfish people without disability. Many of us (just like you) work hard at making a difference for others. We actually hate the attention and don’t want it to be about us. We love being able to do even small things to help someone else.
8. We will die young.
Many people with disabilities live an average life span. But folks? They do so never ditching the diagnosis. This makes them WARRIORS. This makes them courageous. This means we could take some lessons from these people.
There are also those whose diagnosis mean their life span will be cut short. These people are still warriors. They simply have less time to prove it to you. So make it a little easier for them and stop judging and embrace their uniqueness. None of us are promised tomorrow. Even those without serious and permanent diagnosis could be gone tomorrow. Shouldn’t we all work to make a difference TODAY instead of write people off as if they have no future?
9. We don’t care about our health.
Yes. Some diagnosis make it really difficult to move, to exercise, and to live a healthy lifestyle. Sometimes people who are differently abled gain weight. But added pounds does not mean they don’t care about their health. As a matter of fact, most of us have learned that dietary changes, moderate (doable) exercise, and holistic approaches can improve the quality of our life. Don’t preach at us to become “juicers” or vegan, or organic shoppers. Don’t tell us to just get out and MOVE. Folks who live with a long-term illness or disability are often avid health nuts. They may not look it, but they work to keep things such as blood sugar, cholesterol, and blood pressure in control. Please don’t judge.
10. We are disabled.
Being disabled does not mean not being able. We are very able. We likely just do things differently. We are still more LIKE you, than not like you. We feel. We love. We get pissed. We yearn to connect. We throw our dog’s ball and scratch our purring fur-balls. We are very able. If in doubt, get to know us and discover it for yourself.
It may or may not be news to you that I am in grad school. Part of the program I am in requires academic residencies. I just completed another one on Dec. 27-30th and there are few things I despise more.
It isn’t because I don’t enjoy the workshops and expert speakers. I do.
It isn’t because I hate the schedule. It’s hard, but I can do it.
It isn’t because I am not learning anything. I am.
Academic residencies are very tough for me because a lot of blow-hards attend and I consider myself lucky to exit the residencies having met one or two people who ARE NOT.
I’ll admit it. I am a bit of a loner. It isn’t that I don’t LIKE people. I do. As a matter of fact, Ilovepeople. However, if I have 30 minutes to eat lunch, I’m not going to go to a crowded restaurant, nor stand in line for a turkey sandwich that costs $11.00 plus tax. I’m going to pack my own lunch, sit in a nearly deserted room at the next location of a required workshop, and work on my homework while I regenerate. (Did I explain I was part Borg?)
On Sunday, a longer residency day for me, I was holed up in a large room eating my lunch and tossing Chloe’s pink bunny while completing an essay on boolean phrases (aren’t I talented?) Unfortunately, by day two, other people are also figuring out these empty workshop rooms are great places to eat lunch. Some of these people are talkers. *grimace*
I suppose an “off vest” service dog playing with her toy, wagging her tail like crazy, and huffing quietly to me so I’ll throw it again, invites spectators and conversationalists. Sometimes I really want to PLAY DEAF. I cannot, however, for I feel a certain responsibility to be a good testimony and example of a “hearing again” person. So darn it. I am pulled into conversations.
“Oh this is great that you allow your service dog an opportunity to unwind. That is a great stress diversion instrument!” said a very well-meaning (I’m sure) observer.
I know I looked at her funny. I’m pretty sure an eyebrow went up. Unfortunately, funny looks and raised eyebrows invite further conversation.
“Will your dissertation be about the place of service animals in the lives of persons with disabilities since you are a cognoscente in this area? I know many of us who are scholar-practitioners are aficionados in our area of interest”, said the now expectant observer.
I may love people, but sometimes? Sometimes I’m not very good with people.
I snorted.
That’s right. It’s a good thing my sinus were clear because lord knows what would have flown out.
I pointed to Chloe who was currently rolling around “scenting” her pink bunny and said, “You know that is a slobbery toy? It’s not an INSTRUMENT. I am doing my dissertation on something I believe in and yes, know well because I live it. But let’s cut the crap on the big talk. It’s lunchtime and I’m relaxing so you don’t have to impress me. Heck. I hardly even know what you are saying!”
Are you as horrified as I was? I wanted to slap my hand over my mouth and then immediately apologize. What happened next had me exchanging emails and finding a new friend.
“Oh thank God. My partner tells me to cut the crap all the time. Don’t you hate feeling like you have to ‘play doctoral program’ when you are here? I mean we are all just trying to get done, doing our best to reach goals. Holy realist, Batman. Can I eat lunch with you tomorrow?”
(In case you are wondering if that is her quote, I can’t make this stuff up. I even emailed her later and asked to “quote her” in an upcoming post).
I howled with laughter. I mean, I had tears rolling out of the corners of my eyes. Chloe was a bit concerned but continued to take advantage of her off-vest playtime.
Stop Trying So Hard
In the years I have chosen to identify as a person who is “differently abled”, I have met two kinds of kin.
One group of folks I feel a certain amount of kinship with since they, too, live with a chronic condition, disability, or invisible illness, are commitment-aholics. They choose to be involved in everything – just to prove they can. (A friend wrote an excellent post about this – click here to read it). They work so hard at making sure they are independent, they smack the back of the helping hand reaching towards them.
They work so hard at proving themselves at work, they are over-committed to volunteer committees and focus groups. They strive so hard to show the world (and themselves) that they CAN, they do very little well. They bust their butts to impress us. The reality is they walk around with – erm… – busted butts.
My other “cousins” are people who refuse to participate in much of anything for fear of letting others down. Instead of learning what their own physical, emotional, and mental limitations are and living an abundant life within those boundaries, they isolate themselves and refuse to put themselves in a position that they may blow it. They get around making poor choices by choosing not to make any choices at all. Their souls are withering and they don’t even know it.
Use Your Talents and Skills. Just STAY REAL
We all have talents. These are gifts we are born with while a skill, on the other hand, is something we are good at because we’ve worked hard at being good at it. We can even take natural born talents, work hard, become skilled, and use these abilities in our personal and professional lives.
It is very important to use what is available (talents) and work hard (become skilled) so that each of us can make a difference (with our abilities). Yet, too many times we get side-tracked by making sure folks recognize what we are good at doing. Cut the crap. Be real, but be nice. Be who you are – which means at times you are wearing a cape, and other times you are asking for assistance. Share who you are (why keep abilities to yourself?) but be a humble expert in who you are. Don’t be an over-achiever. Don’t be an under-achiever. Just be real!
Deborah Marcus, friend and photographer, explains, “I love to hear how what I capture and share gets people to notice stuff they’d probably overlook”. I have learned much through seeing what she sees through her camera lens.
A dear friend and fellow “hearing again with a CI” friend, Deborah Marcus, has a knack for capturing the kind of photos that has me sucking in my breath and having to pinch myself to remember to continue breathing. She finds the smallest detail and creates a visual memory by “pointing and clicking”. It’s a talent, and one I don’t have. So I enjoy seeing the small things through her camera lens that I would normally miss. Why do I miss them? I’m not looking…
The Problem With Health Challenges
One of the biggest problems with health challenges isn’t pain. It’s not fatigue. It’s not the stigma. It isn’t depression, anxiety, or any other comorbid diagnosis. In the years I’ve lived as a disability advocate, writer, and mentor, the biggest danger of living with chronic health conditions and challenges is that it can make a person extremely self-centered.
It’s easy to do. No one understands except perhaps others we’ve connected with who “live the same”. The people we love may be supportive or stumbling blocks. They may be our biggest advocates, or the pain in our… erm… behind.
Take Deborah’s photo above. Now me? I love daisies and any type of flora that is yellow and white. But ya know? I’d walk right by this flower and only think, “what a pretty flower!” I don’t stop, grow quiet, get down on my knees, and really open my eyes. If I did that more often, I’d see the gorgeous wee bug. (Entomologist, I’m not…)
It can be the small things that make an ordinary moment in time, something to be celebrated. When we become self-focused, it is impossible to see those small things and we miss celebrations.
Pity Parties are still Celebrations
Don’t get me wrong. I believe it is healthy to have a good ol’ pity party from time to time. After all, a party is a celebration … of sorts. ♪♫ It’s my party, and I’ll cry if I want too…♫♪
Learning to adjust to new challenges can be exhausting. Some folks with chronic illness or invisible disabilities may find it very therapeutic and healing to bawl their eyes out (Borchard, 2014). In “7 Good Reasons to Cry Your Eyes Out”, Borchard (2014), explains all the GOOD that can come from a good ol’ pity party.
But self-pity is dangerous and different than an occasional pity party. Self-pity begins and ends with self-focus. When we are entirely focused on ourselves and our own problems and difficulties, we cannot see the small things and miss the celebration. “We are bombarded with opportunities to feel sorry for ourselves” (Smith, 2004, para. 2) and if we become self-focused our camera not only fails to capture the beautiful bug, but we miss the flower as well. As a matter of fact, we may only see the dusty road in front of us as we trudge along feeling sorry for ourselves.
My Life is Hard. Can I Learn to “Really Look” Again?
Life is hard. I have heard from many readers who live with chronic conditions and invisible illness who know that they will wake up with pain and fatigue, stress and anxiety, and go to bed holding hands with the same bed fellows. However, many of these same people have learned that in spite of their circumstances, they can make a difference.
They have set short and long term goals… and are seeing them fulfilled.
They have reached out to mentor and volunteer… forever changing the life of another.
They have learned to adjust and evolve, rolling with the “punches”… teaching others by example and living with courage and perseverance.
They have learned to stop focusing on self… and can see the small things. They are celebrating.
I’m still learning how to do this myself. Believe me, when I reflect on “things we should do”, I’m sitting in the front row of my own classroom. And sometimes, it isn’t fun. Last week we had StRaNgE weather. It was in the mid-70’s one day, and in the low 30’s the next. Sunshine to snowflakes. For folks with Meniere’s disease this means you walk as if strolling on the deck of a ship – IN THE MIDDLE OF A FREAKING HURRICANE.
Rushing from my car to my 11 o’clock class, I was trying to hurry Chloe out of the wind and drizzle and hustle 100 yards into the building. One thing folks with Meniere’s disease do not do well is hustle. Not even with blinged-out cane and service dog. So I slipped on some leaves plastered to the sidewalk and fell on my hip and rolled to my caboose. I sat there a second with Chloe, wagging her tail beside me, perfectly content for a spontaneous pit stop. Since I was already SITTING, I let her go leash length to do her thang. As I moved to get up, my “no slip” (*rolls eyes*) boots slid some leaves out of the way as I struggled to rise. I noticed that the leaves had left perfect “leaf footprints” on the white sidewalk in a beautiful display of “peek-a-boo” gone right. I stood there and said, “well celebrate THAT!” I’m learning to look, and it only took 10 seconds. I remembered that leaf pattern long after my britches dried out. It was worth remembering; worth celebrating.
I hope each of us who live with significant challenges can learn to see the small things. We can only do it if we learn to look and if we take the time to do so. We can only do it if we stop with what is natural – self-focus and self-pity. I believe no human is stronger than those who live with invisible illness and disability. I’m a wimp with little to no ability to see what is right in front of me. If I can learn, you can as well.
Hearing Elmo 