On Mother’s Day I spent a few hours with my family in the living room sitting in a less than conventional way on a big comfy chair. I curled up my legs to join me on the chair and left my feet to cling to the edge of the seat cushion. To me this is super comfortable just like sitting on the floor used to be before my knees gave out. Little was I to know this was going to throw me into a world of pain.
That night one of my feet hurt so bad that I nearly screamed every time I touched it with anything. I tossed and turned all night trying to get comfortable but no matter what I did my foot still killed. It was if all the tendons were stretched to their maximum and couldn’t relax. I tried massage – that was SUPER painful and didn’t help, I tried different positions, but nothing was easing it. When I finally passed out all I could do was hope the morning would be better. It wasn’t. I was now bed bound because I couldn’t put any pressure on my foot what-so-ever. I asked for an old pair of crutches to hobble around on so I could at least feed myself. And when I was back in bed I tried going on a theory that if this was the tendons in my foot maybe they just needed to be stretched and moved. So through unbearable pain and with help from my guiding hand I rolled my foot back and forth and side to side until I couldn’t bear it anymore. I did this physical therapy several times and by the end of the day there was marked improvement!
I’m now on day three – can barely feel the pain but I am still keeping the weight off my foot until it’s gone gone. Meanwhile this has set me back this week. I didn’t go to the grocery store because of this, nor did I finish any of the things I was planning on, but I guess it has given me time to sit down and write and that’s where this long rambling entry comes to… my illness has slowed me down A LOT, to a near halt, and although this has been super difficult to accept at times it’s also been a blessing at others.
My problems started when I was young – just a tender twelve years of age – and by the time I was fourteen it had completely upended my life. I had quit school, none of my friends kept in touch, I was basically just living a miserable intensely isolated existence where all my dreams of the future had come to die. No longer was I on the path to go to college and become a paleontologist or forensic anthropologist I was reduced to just existing, nothing more.
I know, you’re probably thinking to yourself, “That’s terrible, how could you possibly find something GOOD in all that?!” And quite frankly it took time, lots and lots of time. Eventually I came to learn that life on the slow path alters the way you see everything. It shows you what’s important in life and gives you the opportunity to focus solely on those things – loved ones, family, becoming a better self. And it forces you to recognize your surroundings in a way that allows you to see the beauty and majesty that is everywhere. Just last week I was sitting out in my garden taking macro photos of an adorable little glass slug I found in the grass. Do you think if I was healthy I would have ever had the time to spot an animal that was smaller than my pinky nail?? No.
And I have thought long and hard over these past few years what would have happened if I had my health. I would have finished high school, I would have went off to college, but I know in my heart I wasn’t ready for it then. I would have ended up getting overwhelmed and quitting. I would have come home depressed and defeated and now over a decade later I’d probably be working some shitty dead end job just to make enough money to live. I definitely wouldn’t have traveled the entire Lower 48 States, or run a heritage poultry farm, because those things came from being “rescued” by a shitty boyfriend whom I followed just to get out of my miserable existence. Shitty as he may have been I did learn a lot from the experience – specifically who I am and where I need to be. Since losing everything I built with him – my home, the farm, my livestock, the future I was building there, I have learned SO MANY valuable lessons like: how to be 100% fucking independent in a way no one can EVER do that to me again. I learned I have confidence! And in this whole mess I realized I was never meant to be a scientist or a burger flipper and I definitely wasn’t born to be a housewife. You know what I am? A writer, an artist, a homesteader, and a hapless wanderer, a constant student of the world. I wouldn’t change this for anything. All the shit I went through has brought me to a place in my life where I feel like a fucking boss.
Sure, I am not yet where I want to be but at least I know where that is, who I am, and what I am truly capable of. Could I have gotten that far if I were healthy? I don’t think I would have. I think I would be as lost as ever. So even though I’d love to be able to be normal again I also realize this path I’m on is one I should be very grateful for and I am.
I’ve talked to other sufferers of chronic illness and disability and they often have a similar story to tell – that it was HARD for them to shut up their Type A intentions and just be but by then end they realized they were there for their family in a more beneficial way than if they were working and leading a normal life, or that their career diverged to something better and more sustainable, or they have found themselves and improved mentally and emotionally as a human being. Even healthy individuals can learn from this – to slow down, smell the roses, take a moment to breath and think, and if you have a bad feeling about something LISTEN TO IT.
Time has a way of healing all sorts of things and you know what? I’m even contemplating calling up a specialist in immune diseases and making an appointment even though I haven’t called a doctor in years and in general avoid going to them so I can skip the inevitable anxiety that’s provoked from past traumas being shuffled in and out of clinics in my youth. I’ve grown up. I think I can handle this now. It’s time to move forward. Perhaps having an answer is an achievable goal after all.