I have lots of thoughts. I’m constantly asking God for the lesson in all this, begging Him actually to lead me to it. Lately, I notice gradual decline in my right arm and hand throughout each day. From the knee down, my right leg feels cold all the time. Getting up and down takes so much effort. Walking requires so much strength. On all fronts, I am hindered or prohibited from doing.

I am frustrated beyond words. My spirit is crushed, and I am just plain mad most of the time. I wrestle with exercising patience and keeping a good attitude versus screaming and throwing everything in the floor that”s within arm’s reach. I don’t want to do this anymore then I wonder if this, any of this, will be part of my life now. I’m afraid.

It’s hard to find the good. It’s hard to be grateful. It’s hard to be nice.

Fighter, Warrior, Survivor

I keep telling myself that brain surgery is coming, and I need to get ready to be a fighter. I need to prepare to FIGHT through the surgery, FIGHT to recover, FIGHT to get abilities back. Then I saw a post in a Facebook meningioma support group…

First, you’re a FIGHTER, then you’re a WARRIOR, then you’re a SURVIVOR.

The Fight

That means THIS is the FIGHT. Dealing with this rapid debilitation, grappling with all these frustrations and emotions, feeling helpless and sad…THIS is the skirmish, the octagon, the gauntlet.

I guess I was saving my fight energy. I’ve been getting manhandled but not offering up much of a defense. I truly don’t know whether I’m the boxer or the bag.

The trouble is, I’m not sure what my “fight” should look like. Should it just look like pure unadulterated, messy endurance like a bull rider just trying to hang on to that savage “Bodacious” for eight seconds? Should it look like an endurance runner’s trying to keep moving despite the desire to collapse?

To just sit still, try to be as comfortable as possible, and find ways to make the time pass seem appealing yet maddening. Comfort is nice, but you feel like you’re giving in…and that “eight seconds” ticks slowly. Attempting to push my body, tease my limits, and make “better” use of my time seem appealing as well, yet impossible. Doing is great in theory, but the actual act of doing quickly reveals plenty of limitations (and frustrations!).

I bounce between the two, neither of which are ideal but both of which seem viable depending on when you ask. Yesterday, I slept until noon (mostly because I had been up all night before), I but also tried to run the vacuum with my left hand from a wheelchair because, by God, I’m not an invalid.

From Warrior To Survivor

The way I see it, I have to fight for ten more days. When I walk through those hospital doors, WARRIOR mode activates. I would imagine it will continue after that for some days, maybe weeks, or perhaps months.

SURVIVOR mode? I’ll be ready.

I find it interesting how we take on roles to suit our condition and place within it. I much prefer “fighter” to “sufferer” and “warrior” to “patient”. And, of course, “survivor” beats “victim” any day of the week.

I hate that I have missed a day or two of substantive updates and posts. I’ve wanted to post, but I haven’t wanted to post. Texting is terrible, because of the lack of coordination, and frankly so is typing, at this point. My last three fingers on the right hand aren’t good at toggling between SHIFT and ENTER or transitioning between letters and symbols. It has taken the better part of two hours to get this out. Someone suggested talk-to-text. Maybe so.

Although I woke up pretty pissy, there are a few things I want to do today that will make me feel better and like a person. I want to look at my friend, Debbi, and I want to see my Gold Alliance dance peeps on my screen. I like looking at Keith, too, because he’s so stinking cute and fuzzy all the time.

Ten days.

#powerinthepurple #graceanddignity #pray4msa

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