The holidays can be a rough time for those of us who suffer from non-life-threatening but life-long illnesses. Often, depression is a part of the illness, and sometimes it's brought on because we dwell on all that we can no longer do.
This crashed down on me me like a load of hot asphalt--as a combination of no longer user-friendly arthritic joints and "Fibro burn"--hit in waves as we were setting the table for our Thanksgiving feast last week.
Gathered around our extended and re-extended table were our kids, their kidlets, friends, a neighbor, and a sibling or two, when I realized I'd lifted the last bowl or plate of anything for the day. Our son-in-law stepped in to help even though he has his own set of physical health issues.
Our "almost"-thirteen-year-old and "almost" adopted grandson popped into the kitchen in time to learn how to smash potatoes, stir gravy, and find the bottom of the kitchen sink once more. Hubby and son ferried food from the kitchen to the dining room and daughter jumped in to ferry empty plates to the dishwasher. We got it done.
Actually, they got it done. I was D-O-N-E for the day.
After eating food I'd spent hours preparing but could not taste because wracking pain had overtaken my senses, my Michael helped me hobble off to bed. After he tucked me in I buried my head in my pillow and cried because I couldn't join my extended family to watch Shrek 3. I'd hit total physical meltdown. Pain robbed my body of movement. Pain seared through my muscles when I'd not moved.
Determined to not let osteoarthritis and fibromyalgia steal away time with my family, I gobbled down my allowance of pain-numbing medications early the next morning. While not alert enough to chance driving or operating machinery, I was able to rock the baby, and hug our 3, 4, 7, 8, and "almost" 13, year-olds as often as possible. They played in the middle of the living room floor while I sat in an "almost" comfortable chair, carrying on at least five conversations at once.
Fortunately, part of the crowd had cleared out the night before, and we were down to just the kids and kidlets--who all pitched in to make brunch. Even 20 month-old Abby helped by carrying the napkins to the table. It was a much easier day yet my over-taxed joints and muscles still screamed.
I'm thankful that children don't like for us to always make complete sense. We can make a game of messing up words. Brain exercises are supposed to help us stave off dementia. Right ...
The over-achiever in me had kicked in and Fibro and OA had kicked my ass.
I recently wrote a piece for The Writer's Chatroom's blog entitled The Art of Thankfulness, including my beliefs that we draw to us what we believe we deserve. By that, I certainly didn't mean that I believe I deserve to suffer from this never-ending pain. I do believe that I deserve to be surrounded by loving family and friends often, even if the added responsibilities cause more physical pain. I also deserve to continue on as an avid Freecycler, recycling usable goods rather than filling up our landfills, and meeting new friends along the way.
It's difficult to find middle ground most days. I'm fully aware that I must avoid additional stress--even on deadline days. I'm working on getting my writing assignments started earlier. I no longer can hold down a "real" job, yet Social Security remains unconvinced. Every day holds special challenges, and I strive to meet them to the best of my ability at that moment.
Today, I got a phone call from our neighbor who lives far from his own family and is always included in our family events. He had called to let me know how thankful he was to have been able to share in our Thanksgiving.
Sometimes, pushing through the pain is just worth it. Even if ...
Depression is a slippery slide. I try to find at least one thing to be thankful for every day.
