We All Fall Down

 In my last blog post, I told you all about my Blepharospasm diagnosis. It didn't really hit me when I found out in September. Its quirky name tracked with my Odd Duck Syndrome. And I thought, Okay. I can do weird. I kind of live there. And, except for no longer driving out of town, not a lot changed.

On March 2, I arrived at the Winnipeg airport, popped my suitcase onto the escalator and rode to the top. As occasionally happens, my eyes spasmed and I didn't lift up the suitcase in time. Instead, it flew back against me, throwing me down the stairs where my bootlace got caught and the stairs kept moving and my suitcase bounced on top of my head.

It took a while to pull my bootlace loose, push my suitcase up and grab onto the plate above the stairs to haul myself up. The worst part was how old it made me feel. I'm not this person, I thought as I headed out to meet my brother in law, Bob. I climbed into his car, looking like I'd spent a few hours being tortured. My hands were bleeding, my left side was covered in a massive purple bruise and a rib was pushed out of place. 

Linda and Bob cleaned and bandaged my hands and the next day I flew to Calgary. Two chiropractor appointments and one massage later, I still felt a bit messed up. This is not me, I kept thinking. 

When I flew back to Winnipeg, my neurologist put four botox shots into my forehead to help slow the eye spasms. For the first three days, aside from a headache, I felt well. On day four, I woke up with double vision and a sagging left eyelid. According to the Blepharospasm support site, this results from too much botox in one spot. Or, you accidentally rubbed your forehead. 

When I got home, I started taping my eyes open. If they hung down even a little bit, my vision would double. Today it's two weeks after my appointment, and my eyes are beginning to adjust. I can read for longer periods, and the TV isn't split in two when I'm watching a show. 

But I confess to feelings of self pity during these episodes. Mostly because it changed how I see myself. I'm strong, independent and fit for my age.( Right? Thank you! I agree!) And yet, this experience took my self confidence down about 20 notches. It's been so humbling. But it's been a revelation, too. 

Because, we all fall down. In one way or another, we all have to come to terms with certain limitations as we age. For some, it's disability from cancer treatments. For others, it's a newly diagnosed heart condition, or diabetes, or kidney disease or arthritis. Most of us aren't outliers like my healthy Uncle Lionel who lived to a hundred and two.

At some point in our lives, all of us will experience unexpected and difficult moments. And when (some of us) are lying wherever we've fallen, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what just happened, the answer to our survival is not more whining. It's gratitude:

Thank you for my warm bed. Thank you for my car.

Thank you for grocery stores and food in the fridge. Thank you for fridges.

Thank you for my siblings and my children. Thank you for my friends.

Thank you for Canadian health care. It's not perfect, but unlike in many other countries, the wolf is not at the door when a family member needs a second cancer surgery.

Thank you for books and television and movie theatres and our local Drive In, and for all the traveling I've done in the past that opened my eyes to the truth about my life. That it's good. That's its valuable and precious and worth living. That we all fall down, but with the help of others, like my neurologist and my friends and family who give me rides and spend time with me, we take those extended hands and we get up again. 

There will come a day when we don't get up. When we lie there, and loved ones whisper, 'She's gone.' But that's okay. Like birth, death is a part of life. And for  those believers like me, after the trauma of death comes the good part... the door to our next life opens and we meet God and all our dead loved ones. For those who believe that death is truly the end, there's peace in that, too. 

The thing about aging is, you learn a few things. Mostly, that the part of your life where you need to be the bravest is often near the end of it. That's when things get hard. So when you see someone walking with a cane because they've had a knee replacement, or sitting in a wheelchair because their legs don't work anymore, think of them as a soldier enduring some final battles. There are people who experience daily pain. Somehow, they cope, often without letting on to the rest of us about how they're feeling. We don't think about these things when we're young. 

For those growing older, all we can do is pick ourselves up. And reach out to the person lying next to us. Because the best way to get through life is to take the time to be someone else's gift. I learned that from my sister, Susan. The best part of aging is learning the power of compassion. Not just for other people, but for ourselves, too. 

So, be kind to yourself. Forgive your mistakes, and your 'What's that person's name?' moments. And be kind to everyone else. They may be fighting a battle you know nothing about.