Reflections

 

Photo by Wesley Tingey on Unsplash

Reflections.

I'm not even sure I like that title. But I have been kicking it around in my head (and on the coffee table in the downstairs study) long enough that I will go with it while I write.

In one of those perfect synchronous moments, a letter from my friend Tani (who I have known for almost 4 decades now), Disability Pride Month (July), and my own internal struggles all hit on July 1. My feeling had been simmering for a few weeks, but the sweet combination of Tani's words and the editorial comment on the the Poem-A-Day for July 1, "A Sick-Room Idyll" by Williams Gay, tipped me from simmer to bubbling. 

The editorial comment on the poem was that it offered "a rare glimpse into disability space." Tani matched it as she hashed through her thoughts on the possibility of being "chronically severely disabled." Those thoughts wove deftly into my own reflections (that word again!) on what I coming to see as my "new" limitations. 

In late June, while posting a garden update, I wrote about my capacity, which is an ever-changing measure. When I was writing it, I was thinking about a mid-month trip to Pittsburgh that had rattled my conviction that I was just a "little tired." Shortly after that post, Warren and I had a long conversation about a long-planned vacation east and agreed to cancel it. There was a little bit of sadness in that decision, but also some relief. (And to be fair, the concern about my physical limitations was only one of four factors that caused us to pull the plug.) 

Tani wrote about her mental and physical bandwidth being impacted by her situation. I like that term: bandwidth. I replied with a thumbnail synopsis of where I am at: energy levels, decent. But endurance levels? Nope. I can go and do, but then I am done. A vacation with a lot of driving and sightseeing? Ha! The adrenaline would carry me along for a bit, but then I would collapse—exhausted, unwell, and totally drained, with a bandwidth of zero. And based on what I have been experiencing, the recovery time would be extensive. I doubt my body can take it. 

Yeah.

So, like Tani, my thoughts dwell increasingly on being "chronically disabled" and what that means. (Come on, aren't two progressive incurable blood cancers enough?) Going back to the poem with its "rare glimpse into disability space," I increasingly think about what that may mean for me. (Not to mention my friend, Tani, who is still working with doctors and physical therapists to see whether she can make progress in her situation.) What is my disability space? What does it look like? Feel like? How will it impact me as I continue to live my life the way I want and hope to? 

Synonyms for "reflection" include "contemplation," "meditation," "rumination," and "musing." So if you see me and I seem distant, don't take it personally. I am merely ruminating and musing.

And, of course, reflecting.