My Lesson With Miss Madeline
I'm sitting with a lady today, hitting 86 soon, who is pretty inspiring to me. The gig fell in my lap about a week ago, seemingly for a reason. I don't discount these strange coincidences. Adhering to my policy of changing names in order to protect privacy, I will call my lady Madeline.
Madeline and I have something in common. She just returned home from the hospital after a hip surgery. Hers was a more normal one, considering she was born with all her parts. I, however, am mangled at the hip in a different way. The commonality of hospitalization and therapy remains, though. I was born with a very severe case of hip displasia, and have undergone numerous surgeries throughout my life. I've also been given a plethora of verdicts about my situation and my future by surgeons, therapists and random critics. I've learned over the years that the final diagnosis isn't so easy to make, and is dependent on so many factors it makes my head spin. Madeline helped me sort that out in just one meeting with her, as she set down her example upon me like a mountain. I'd previously been under the impression, concordant with specific specialists I'd trusted, that I wasn't going to be able to maintain my habitual surgery every ten years and still remain ambulatory on into my future. This was in tune with most people I witnessed with bone problems late in life. They all seemed to have so much trouble that their doctors discouraged surgeries after a certain age, leaving them all reduced to sitting in a chair for the rest of their days.
Madeline was a different animal. She took her situation with fortitude, and was determined to get up off her seat. It took her about two weeks to become more fluid with her body than my own grandmother at the same age. Her positivism about her circumstances was rousing, and I realized her abilities were based around her spirit. She said it was a beautiful day. She said she loved the music on her radio. She was not going to sit down and miss out on life. So she raised herself up and off she went. I couldn't keep up with her; I saw then that I was only around at that point for company. I didn't have to lift a finger to help this woman with anything. She was determined that she was the one in control of it all. All my life I'd been told that serious surgical procedures were detrimental to the physical futures of the elderly, and to prepare myself for the fact that I'd lose my own abilities to function at some point. I knew it would happen much earlier to me, considering the reconstructions I'd already suffered. I had resolved myself to becoming stiff and unchanging, and living the rest of my life in a wheelchair.
I watched Madeline try her best to use a cane and carry her soup at the same time. She did it. I watched her struggle to get each leg into her pants that morning without any aid. She did it. I watched her mind function like a machine, taking her medicine without being reminded. I listened to her tell me about her life and all its details without a glitch. I overheard her conversation as she argued with a man on the phone who probably thought his game would've been easier with an old woman. I was amazed- and suddenly very excited about my own life. I decided to stop taking the words of professionals as though they were engraved in my premature tombstone. This was a new release for my head and my heart. I would be taking my own life back, and I would never again look upon my future with that old reaper in the corner, snickering at my feeble attempts to keep moving. So what if they were feeble! I believe it just takes a little more effort. Which is absolutely in line with everything else in life. For example, wealth is simply convenience. A less financially stable person can get a lot of the same things accomplished with more effort. (Sometimes considerably more, but the possibility exists.) Educational institutions aren't always the alpha and omega of ability. I've seen people rise to incredible heights, both in reputation and in fortune, without a degree of any kind. And the final word of a doctor isn't always final. We are all capable of incredible feats.
This life is a learning experience. Living with chronic pain is a struggle, but it doesn't have to be the road to an early grave. What drives us to that dawning death is sedentary living. It's the failure to take care of ourselves as we age, and the belief that we're supposed to behave a certain way. It's not bothering to pay attention to our lazier habits and our slacker diets until we realize we've allowed our bodies to deteriorate too far. I'll end this post with the joy I feel as I cut my eyes to the side and watch Madeline scooting her way to the kitchen with her head up, a smile on her face, and her radio cranking out 50's party tunes. This house is absolutely filled with bliss and charm on this sunny, Monday morning.
Madeline and I have something in common. She just returned home from the hospital after a hip surgery. Hers was a more normal one, considering she was born with all her parts. I, however, am mangled at the hip in a different way. The commonality of hospitalization and therapy remains, though. I was born with a very severe case of hip displasia, and have undergone numerous surgeries throughout my life. I've also been given a plethora of verdicts about my situation and my future by surgeons, therapists and random critics. I've learned over the years that the final diagnosis isn't so easy to make, and is dependent on so many factors it makes my head spin. Madeline helped me sort that out in just one meeting with her, as she set down her example upon me like a mountain. I'd previously been under the impression, concordant with specific specialists I'd trusted, that I wasn't going to be able to maintain my habitual surgery every ten years and still remain ambulatory on into my future. This was in tune with most people I witnessed with bone problems late in life. They all seemed to have so much trouble that their doctors discouraged surgeries after a certain age, leaving them all reduced to sitting in a chair for the rest of their days.
Madeline was a different animal. She took her situation with fortitude, and was determined to get up off her seat. It took her about two weeks to become more fluid with her body than my own grandmother at the same age. Her positivism about her circumstances was rousing, and I realized her abilities were based around her spirit. She said it was a beautiful day. She said she loved the music on her radio. She was not going to sit down and miss out on life. So she raised herself up and off she went. I couldn't keep up with her; I saw then that I was only around at that point for company. I didn't have to lift a finger to help this woman with anything. She was determined that she was the one in control of it all. All my life I'd been told that serious surgical procedures were detrimental to the physical futures of the elderly, and to prepare myself for the fact that I'd lose my own abilities to function at some point. I knew it would happen much earlier to me, considering the reconstructions I'd already suffered. I had resolved myself to becoming stiff and unchanging, and living the rest of my life in a wheelchair.
I watched Madeline try her best to use a cane and carry her soup at the same time. She did it. I watched her struggle to get each leg into her pants that morning without any aid. She did it. I watched her mind function like a machine, taking her medicine without being reminded. I listened to her tell me about her life and all its details without a glitch. I overheard her conversation as she argued with a man on the phone who probably thought his game would've been easier with an old woman. I was amazed- and suddenly very excited about my own life. I decided to stop taking the words of professionals as though they were engraved in my premature tombstone. This was a new release for my head and my heart. I would be taking my own life back, and I would never again look upon my future with that old reaper in the corner, snickering at my feeble attempts to keep moving. So what if they were feeble! I believe it just takes a little more effort. Which is absolutely in line with everything else in life. For example, wealth is simply convenience. A less financially stable person can get a lot of the same things accomplished with more effort. (Sometimes considerably more, but the possibility exists.) Educational institutions aren't always the alpha and omega of ability. I've seen people rise to incredible heights, both in reputation and in fortune, without a degree of any kind. And the final word of a doctor isn't always final. We are all capable of incredible feats.
This life is a learning experience. Living with chronic pain is a struggle, but it doesn't have to be the road to an early grave. What drives us to that dawning death is sedentary living. It's the failure to take care of ourselves as we age, and the belief that we're supposed to behave a certain way. It's not bothering to pay attention to our lazier habits and our slacker diets until we realize we've allowed our bodies to deteriorate too far. I'll end this post with the joy I feel as I cut my eyes to the side and watch Madeline scooting her way to the kitchen with her head up, a smile on her face, and her radio cranking out 50's party tunes. This house is absolutely filled with bliss and charm on this sunny, Monday morning.
Comments
Post a Comment