Monday, July 3, 2017

Part of Your World


I want to be where the people are...

Some days, my physical and mental limitations overwhelm me. The brain fog caused by autoimmune illness slows thought processes and inhibits making obvious mental connections. Word retrieval malfunctions regularly, which is probably why it took me over a minute to type two sentences. It's frustrating to misunderstand someone because your brain isn't making a connection in needs to, or to be talking with someone and not remember a conversation you had with them, or to ask a question and be told an answer, only to forget the answer moments later.

Luckily my family and friends have a sense of humor about it all. By 9pm I'm reduced to utter gibberish, which my sixteen year old seems to understand. My husband, however, just gives me perplexed looks and tells me I'll do better next time. I'm often heard saying things like, "can you put this in the fridge for me ... you know, the fridge that heats things up?" We have a cupboard in our house that is referred to as "under the phone" because I once answered a child's query as to which cabinet a large bowl belonged in quite confidently with "the one under the phone," This made absolutely no sense, considering there is no cabinet under the phone, and the cabinet in question was actually in a different part of the room, under the counter between the sink and the stove. I also once told my mom that she was out of "cucumbers, but that's not what they're called ... you know...the long orange things... bunnies eat them?" 

There are many days that I long to be where other people are with the ability to think without having to wade through a murky mind to do so.

Legs are required for jumping, dancing ...

It would also be nice to be able to use my legs without forethought. I go to get out of bed and need to first take stock as to whether or not I think my hips are stable, then move on to testing out my knees before committing to standing up unassisted. Actually, I do this just about every time I get up from a seated position, come to think of it. And then I'll be walking along and all of a sudden stumble sideways because a knee or a hip decided to do something a little different. 

My family and friends are used to this, but those who don't know me so well often look at me quizzically. Strangers may think I'm a bit tipsy. I usually just shrug and declare that my leg decided to go somewhere without me. 

What would I pay, to spend a day...

When I was first diagnosed, I'd have given anything just for a day of "normality." However, as much as it would be lovely to be part of the able-bodied, able-minded world for even a day, I now can't help but think life would be rather boring without the laughs we get from my brain malfunctions and adventures in freaking people out when I hike on crutches. I am thankful every day that I can walk and talk and think and laugh, and that gratitude is all that much deeper because I know the true blessing it is to just be alive. So, instead of wasting time wishing my mind and body would do everything I wish, I work with what I have, and am thankful. 



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