Wednesday, October 21, 2015

A Chance Meeting...That Touched Me

Today started out as just another day at work in a very busy neurodiagnostics lab trying to find machines to run tests, while waiting for the docs to finish rounding to free up equipment.  Calling the floors trying to find patients who are available for testing, trying to find doctors, residents, etc. are all part of our every day routine.

Later in the day I happened across two people in the hallways of my day who were typical...two married people, one being ill, one being supportive but as they began to speak I realized that we were living the same life, sharing the same grief, and bearing the same pain. 

Multiple sclerosis touches me in a way that's difficult to explain in my work setting.  I know part of me recognizes the clinical signs:  the struggle to walk, the cane, the staggering gait, the speech that becomes tangled, the handwriting deterioration, the fatigue...  Yet in the time that we are together we bonded on a level that brought us some comfort.

They shared themselves with me; I shared myself with them; we have MS.  I  have needles and pins in my neck, in my hands, my hands tremble, I trip over things that aren't there, and I understand the fatigue.  We connected in that moment, in that brief instant when we identify with each other because we do have that disease in common.

We are walking the same road.  We are on the same journey, on the same page, in the same book.  we have experienced the same grief, sadness,  anger,  acceptance...all the while moving forward in hopes that things will get better.

So when  the family member  questions me about my pain, my balance, my speech, my memory, my ability to work  I know they are hopeful.  I could see that they are further down the road than I in that the person who has MS in this couple is limited in ways that I have yet to encounter.  Will I be like that in a few years?

I know that they understand.  There are days when I wake up grateful just to know I can still swing my legs over the side of his bed and put my feet on the floor.  It means so much to be able to walk to the shower, brush my hair, brush my teeth, and just take care of myself without wishing  for it to be over. 

It is a gift to live one day at a time without the fear of being unable to care for myself.  There were times that I lived in dread of being unable to bathe myself or to feed myself.  How do you explain how important it is to be able to open a jar?  How do you say how awful it feels to walk unsteadily on my feet down the hall at work?  How do you pretend that when your speech comes out tangled up it does not embarrass you?  My hands don't work like they used to... my fingers don't have the strength they used to.  The fear that overwhelms me is the fear of the unknown.

When I meet these people we share things that we have experienced along the way; we talked about our mutual diagnosis.  We embraced the importance of maintaining as good a life as possible while limiting stress.  We chuckled over learning to pick and choose your battles to better manage the stress and frustration.  We set boundaries while accepting our limitations.

I stepped into their world today through that window of opportunity that permitted us to spend time joking and reminiscing about the way it is.  We agreed that people don't understand the things that we have experienced.  They would not appreciate the things that we no longer take for granted; the things that really brought us together to encourage each other...just weary travelers on the road.

I walked away knowing that they would go home; he would sit in this chair, and the dogs would sit in his lap.  His wife would bring him coffee while he would check and see what's on TV. They would pick up their lives where they left off yesterday.  You know I am sure that they will remember me and I will remember them...


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