Thoughts on Coping

   

I can no longer type, and I can’t hold a book. I am unable to raise my arm high enough to wave at a friend. I am incapable of getting into bed by myself. I can’t eat, dress, or bathe without assistance. I need help to blow my nose. There are far too many itches I can’t scratch. The insult “he couldn’t hurt a fly” applies literally to me. I can’t walk, stand up, or even crawl. I can’t get up when I fall.
     These are just a few examples. I could give you so many more. And yet I would hesitate to trade my life for anyone else’s. Here’s why.

     I’m rarely wet, cold, thirsty, or hungry. I’m not afraid, intimidated, or abused. I enjoy broad liberties and freedom of expression. I do not suffer from clinical depression.

     I can still see, hear, and speak. I can swallow food and breathe on my own. I’m not in constant pain. I can operate a computer using a mouse and voice recognition software. I’m able to sit up in either of my two wheelchairs.

     I have a diversity of interests which occupy me all day long. I own a handicapped van and an accessible house. I have a strong support system, led by my incredible wife. I am loved and appreciated and well taken care of.

     These are just a few examples. I could give you so many more.  I know of several readers whose list of items to be thankful for is not as robust as mine. But I know of no one whose list should be empty.

     I must be careful. My message isn’t that if I can do it, then so can you. The last thing I want to do is be insensitive to people who are unable to cope as well as me.
     For example, I once received an email from a reader who wondered why she couldn’t be as content as I am even though her MS disability was less severe than mine. She felt sad about having MS, and she also felt guilty about not handling it in a more positive manner — a double whammy. She held me in unduly high regard for the apparent bravery I displayed in coping with my disability.
     My ability to see the positive in an otherwise difficult situation is due more to my genetic makeup and the skills I learned from my quadriplegic mother than personal courage or intestinal fortitude. I should be envied more than admired. Individuals who struggle with adversity and are unable to find the silver linings are not inferior or weaker people. It’s just that this particular skill doesn’t come to them naturally, and they must find it if they can.

     It’s not only people with chronic, disabling diseases who struggle to find contentment in this sometimes cruel world. Anyone at any time might experience depression or despair. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, relief can be found simply by pursuing a fresh perspective. But please know that help is available. There’s a wealth of resources on the Internet, and medical professionals and counselors have high success rates for treating depression.

     In closing, consider this quote from Helen Keller, who was uniquely qualified to address contentment: 

“Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.”

Clarifying note: I must acknowledge those folks, like my late friend George, who made the conscious decision to stop fighting. I support an individual’s right to choose such a route, particularly under extreme circumstances.