Chronic illness brings with it crucial lessons
No one chooses misfortune, but you must learn to live with it,
Eleven years ago, I suffered a psychological breakdown that kept me in hospital for five weeks and required in-home nursing care for five more. I have been seeing a psychiatrist ever since, and take 13 tablets of psychoactive drugs every day.
I received excellent care and continue to be thankful for the help and insights I get from my shrink. My friends have also been hugely supportive and sympathetic.
Consequently I'm much better, but I'm still sick. On a good day, the most I can expect to accomplish in the way of activities (exercise, volunteer work, visiting friends, running errands) is four to five hours' worth. Two to three in the morning and — if I'm lucky — another two in the afternoon. Otherwise, I have to be alone, quiet and still, although reading, watching TV and writing are fine. I go to bed at 7 p.m. and sleep for 11 hours. On the rare occasion when I'm invited for dinner, it's always early, and I have to do virtually nothing for the rest of the day if I am to get through it.
I also have serious breathing problems. When I exhale I sound like a dump truck grinding its gears or a smoker hacking his guts out. Now, thanks to help from a breathing coach, I'm much better at managing. But the problems haven't gone away. Talking is always tricky, and eating can be a trigger, too.
Eleven years ago, I wasn't told that 11 years later, I would still be sick. Probably because my doctors didn't know that. There is nothing more mysterious in the human body than the human brain, so even the best psychiatrists, neurologists and other brain specialists only know so much.
But I'm grateful for their ignorance. Being told I'd be sick for another 11 years
Misfortune forces you to choose. I chose to swim, but not everyone does.”
would have sounded like a sentence. Instead, I live day to day and year to year. You could say I've finally learned to live in the present. That may sound like a cliché, but the reason clichés become clichés is that they're mostly true.
Before getting sick, the thing I could do better than anyone else was worry. I could have worried for Canada. But now
... what's the point? It's not that the worst has happened because it hasn't. Millions of people are far worse off than I am. It's just that there no longer seems much point in it. What good would it do?
Not surprisingly, that's not the only lesson being ill has taught me. Being chronically sick is a journey, and journeys are peerless teachers that begin with that famous first step. Mine was deciding — although I feel as if the decision was made for me — to get on with it. To swim, not sink. Misfortune forces you to choose. I chose to swim, but not everyone does, and I respect that.
I've also learned that I'm not a complete weakling. That despite a lifetime of compelling evidence to the contrary, I can be tough when the going ... well, you know the rest. (Yes, another cliché, but also another truth.) And while it couldn't have been buried any deeper, it turns out even I have inner strength when inner strength is demanded. Surprise!
Patience has never been my strong suit and it never will be, but even that dial has moved slightly. Luckily, much greater strides have been made in the areas of empathy, compassion, understanding and especially admiration.
OK, two last points: First, despite these unquestionably valuable life lessons, of course I wish it had never happened. Being sick is horrible. Second, while this has been a profoundly meaningful experience for me, nothing I've recounted is original. Anyone who has endured any kind of adversity knows that and more.
I just wanted those people to know that, in my way, I get it — for what little, or perhaps more, that is worth.