Like most people, I have good days and challenging days. On the good days, my neuropathy is a hibernating bear, a quiet steady sleeping, and if I step with care, it may not notice me passing by. I may go hours or days without a confrontation. We co-exist then, my disability and I. Then other days I wake up and the neuropathy is roaring. Like this morning with a stunning headache and bleary, dragging fatigue. I overdid it yesterday, yes, but still . . . does it have to roar so loud? Does it have to weigh heavy on my bones and make my moods glassy and fragile? Does it have to be right here, right now?
I don't get that choice. Some mornings, the bear, the monster, the pain will not be ignored. And I could let that drag me into despair.
Instead, a moment finds me. Family, laughter, creativity, a sunrise that cannot be touched by my challenges. Love does not break even when I feel broken. This wild vast world has such beauty and discovery waiting. Long ago, I thought, if I couldn't walk so far, that would be horrible. If I needed accommodations, that would be terrible. If people knew, well, that would be embarrassing. And all of those things have happened. Yet I have more love and support and hope than ever. I can face these fears with confidence, not that they will be overcome (because they will not all be overcome) but that they will be accepted. And life will go on. And the seeming darkness can lead to unexpected light.
Still, frustrating on these crash-days. We took it easy. And perhaps that will be enough to lull the bear asleep tomorrow. Don't think so, though. Need another day. Guess we'll be finding out how to lure the Hooty-Owl in Viva Pinata :). Or maybe I can play Fable 2 a bit. Or maybe write that story . . . if only Ian wasn't such a tech-kid wanting to pound on keyboards. Off to sleep. The bear is tired. As am I. :)