Bridges

Day two of my bionic conversion therapy
is complete, and look how well it's going!
 

I recently told two of my neurologists that I didn't want to do spinal fusion surgery unless they could also include the bionic implants. One of them laughed his head off, and said he'd sign up for that, too. The second one was horribly confused, and stammered through an attempt at explaining how that technology wasn't available yet. Poor guy. He apparently didn't catch the twinkle in my eye.

Dealing with any illness is difficult, and dealing with a chronic, progressive disease requires large amounts of humor, patience, resilience, and a healthy dose of grit. It's often the littlest things that make a difference. A friendly chat. A shared joke. A walk with the dog. A new pen. An opportunity taken.

Chronic diseases take away opportunities. It gets a little disheartening at times. Sometimes, it gets downright climb under a rock, wish the world away, hold your breath depressing. All those things I never got around to trying when I could, and now I can't. It's enough to slow the hardest pounding heart.

So I've learned that while I can so quickly fall into that pit of regret and remorse, I can also build a little ladder across it. Sometimes, it's a tiny, tenuous ladder. Barely more than a wobbly branch to creep across, hands and legs clenching, teeth grit. Those little paths over my pit are things like my comfy bed, my snoring dog, a pretty view out the window. I'm stuck here today, but at least I have comfort and beauty around me. That knowledge holds me for the moment.

Sometimes it's a wide bridge, and I can stroll right across, barely even noticing I've done so. Spending a lovely afternoon with a dearest friend who came to keep me company during my infusion, followed by a delicious lunch builds a beautiful, sturdy bridge.

Browsing in a store with all my bandages, the plastic tubing hanging off my arms, and the bruises and bizarre colors of my skin from all the poking (and spray painting without gloves...) can be highly entertaining, and a bridge building experience. Seeing the nervous looks in my direction gives me the opportunity to practice my stand-up skills. How could I not? Launching into a friendly, "Oh, don't worry! I'm not contiguous. This is an experimental, bionic conversion therapy I volunteered for. Did you ever see that show about the Bionic Woman or the Six Million Dollar Man? Kinda like that..." I skip right over that brightly painted bridge.

Last week, my bridge was these pens. I go through them like mad, doodling away in my sketchbooks when I am able to sit up and do so. Sometimes even that's too much, though. So sometimes my bridge is simply laying in my cozy bed and daydreaming about what I'll sketch next with those well loved pens and markers.

I love just about any pen, but these Pigma Microns have a special place in my heart. They're the only thing in my studio that none of my family are allowed to borrow. I never seem to have enough of them since I go through them so fast, but drawing with them always manages to get me across that pit, and I love them for it.

Today, I have a bridge waiting for me already. Another sweet friend is coming to keep me company during today's infusion. It's Friday, and that means family movie night. My bridge got an early start today when my husband woke me to come see the sunrise off our deck.

Illness takes away opportunities, and that sucks. Illness also clarifies things if we let it - opportunities I never saw, people I didn't take time for, sights I was too busy to admire, bridges I never even noticed being built.

Illness itself is no blessing, but the life I choose to live is blessed.