On this arduous day of moving, I can’t help but think about all of the ways in which my very own body has actively, repeatedly, and violently betrayed me. This body used to once have the capacity to run several miles per day, with no shortness of breath.
Fast forward to today. I’m watching all of the others move the heaviest items, while I audibly gasp for air as I attempt to simply move whatever I possibly can. I truly tried to help out, in the only way that I really could, by going out to pick up lunch for everyone earlier.
In doing so, I was having increased MS symptoms. These included leg weakness, as well as difficulty with walking. Numbness and tingling sensations were coursing throughout my legs. Is there no end, I’m thinking?
I have also been experiencing annoying, embarrassing stress incontinence as I have repeatedly, aggressively been clearing my throat. I most likely need to pursue treatment for this irritating problem, too.
This is all too much. Stop the ride, I want to get off, I’m repeatedly thinking.
For the past five years, I’ve lived with my mother. She’s now 89 years old. Relatively recently, her short-term memory has become severely impaired. It saddens me very deeply to see her change so much over time. I truly feel like I am losing her, while she’s still here.
My mother is now going to move in with my daughter and son-in-law. My daughter is an outstanding RN, and a charge nurse in a transplant unit at a nearby medical center. I’m very reassured that my mother will be living with such a competent caregiver. They have an exceptionally close relationship.
This move will be a very significant adjustment for my mother, as well as for my daughter. She’s been living in her current home for close to 29 years.
It was the third home that my father built. He passed away in February 2017. Tonight, my mother will sleep in that home for the very last time.
Five years ago, I was in the process of moving from Illinois, back to New York. I had not yet applied for social security disability benefits, but I had resigned from my full-time position as a clinical psychologist.
At that time, I could not possibly have imagined that I would be seriously contemplating undergoing a tracheal re-section, for the management of my subglottic stenosis. Multiple specialists had previous informed me that I was not a viable candidate for such an aggressive surgical option, due to the location of my stenosis.
I had already been through multiple rounds of chemotherapy infusions, as well as taken multiple, potent immunosuppressants. Furthermore, I was still on a very high dose of prednisone, a corticosteroid with hideous side effects. My subglottic stenosis kept returning, nonetheless.