Sunday, November 8, 2009

keeping up

I am starting to wear thin. My good days are slowly being overtaken by my bad. 
DeCoster was right (Deliver My Liver) when he wrote back to me almost a year ago and said, "I hope you are able to keep your wit and perspective through the times coming."
Even before I understood exactly what he was talking about, I had an idea that my life was going to change immensely. I just didn't know how much until months later.
I didn't know that walking from over there to here would be so much of a chore, or that bending down to pick up something would be so demanding. I didn't know that my legs would go numb from sitting too long if I didn't move or that I would experience a tingling sensation in my circulation as it traveled from one limb to another stretching all the way out into my fingertips. I didn't know that a pounding heart and gasping breath would leave me immobile on those rare occasions when I wanted to run, play, swing.

Later when my body began to change I would quietly turn and study the mirror. That's new. That's new. and, What the hell is that? Those things became my new mantra.
Now I just take cursory looks and tell myself that one day this will all be over. One day I will see my waistline without having to look in the mirror. I will be able to bend and tie my shoes. One day I will be able to take a flight of stairs without stopping for a breather. One day maybe I won't need promethazine or zolpidem or beta blockers. One day I might sleep normally and wake up with the rest of the world.
For now all I can do is imagine what comes next. Will I get confused? Tangled? Distraught? Most assuredly. Already I am.
My friends say, "Hang in there, buddy."
I say, "I am."

It is strange to be in this place. Watching it all fall apart. Once in a while I have to absorb it. Process it. Dwell on what comes next. 
And that is okay.
That is okay.


  1. I'm sorry to hear you are feeling bad. Just try to keep your eye on the prize. ((Hugs))

  2. Oh, my heart. I know.
    But we're all worth fighting for.

  3. You have my best wishes. Every solitary day go out and breath the air...alone. Look around, take in the scene, touch your surroundings, believe that you are part of what you see. Don't go inside until your hopes are replenished. Do this often.

    You're in my thoughts.


  4. Between the new awarenesses of your changing body, the pain, the sheer weirdness of living with a body that is so surprising and exhausting to be in (I have one of those) I hear serenity, faith, belief in the possibility of good health down the road...and I hear a whisper here, a stronger voice there...saying "all is well...I am whole...I am me...I am still here."...I see myself in your a mirror. Perhaps this is our purpose in life...the purpose OF see ourselves reflected through the experiences of others and to recognize their struggles in our own...this is how we connect and feel alive, and blessed no matter what.