My hips are on strike this week, along with my right thumb and a tiny, but crucial place in my lower back. Most of the time I can stand up straight like a normal person, but sometimes I just cannot.
I am easily embarrassed, which might come as a surprise to some; I am horribly self-conscious. I use smart-ass comments and self-deprication to diffuse and hide. But this. There is no witty anything that will make me forget that my body doesn’t work right. There is no joke here, nothing humourous whatsoever. There is no hiding.
I cleaned part of my living room today, removed the toys, reclaimed flat surfaces, filled the giveaway bag and a trash bag. It was less than an hour’s worth of work, and I couldn’t do any more. Didn’t vacuum, didn’t dust, didn’t even take the trash outside.
In everything, give thanks.
Oh God, I am having a hard time giving thanks. I am sad that I am not able to do my job well, I resent the pain and the hindrances and the exhaustion. I want to do and serve and be able. I want to be able. I want to be able-bodied, to do and walk and work and play. I want to see the point of my current state; how do I use my pain for good?
I am thankful for my husband and our short people, for dear ones that lend an ear or a sponge and elbow grease. I am thankful for our home and the food we eat and that The Mister has secured his dream job and is happier than I’ve seen him in the ten years we have been married.
I have so much to be thankful for, I know this in my deepest spirit. I rejoice in these things, but even in the midst of that I feel weighed down by this frustrating disease. I want there to be something good to come from this. It doesn’t need to be a big or important or revolutionary, a tiny quiet something would be just as lovely. Please. And thank you.