I shot a video of life viewed from a wheelchair. I find that failing to interact with other adults eye to eye is leaving a blow to my psyche. My mental therapist suggested I haven’t accepted MS. Is it just simple denial on my part? Maybe that’s it. I don’t know.
What I know for sure, (“Oprahism”) is that we’ve been here before. We’ve done this already. Okay, not the video thing, but the “entire accept, adapt, and move forward” definitely. I read online that acceptance is fleeting. My, is that my truth!! Because some days I just want to scream the ENTIRE day. Then, other days I’m okay.
Later, I’ll go to physical therapy (I go 4 times a week). There are all kinds of people there with a gamut of neurological pathologies; including strokes, MS, and spinal cord injuries. It’s a pot of all ages and races at different stages of our rehabilitation journeys.
“Why did he even leave me here?” a fellow patient moaned. I recognized the pain. I could feel it. I know when you go to that place not many words are comforting. So, I said little and I simply begin crying right along side her. That was all I could do.
I enjoy going to therapy. I have to admit even as a nurse I didn’t strongly appreciate the impact of physical therapy on multiple sclerosis. A therapist once reminded me that MS is a disease of initiation. The message sent from your brain to move a limb or muscle doesn’t get there because of road blocks (lesions). Physical therapy helps me accommodate these road blocks by possibly forging new routes. Okay, that’s enough medical talk. I know most of my fellow MSers already know this, so that was for friends and family! Besides that’s the most commonly accepted theory, but docs don’t know for sure!
I leave there feeling grateful to be who I am, like I am, because things can truly be worse… MAYBE. I have to live with this huge maybe. I’ve said before, it’s my cross to bear.
I count on the fact that I am here like this for a reason. It’s up to me to make the best of it and share whatever I have to give. This somehow consoles me. I have a responsibility to share my story, to share my gifts. In a way it gives me purpose. I wonder if that’s what I’ve been desperately looking for, purpose?
I bet it’s cheaper than getting hand controls for disabled drivers installed in our truck!