For a former “farm girl”, I recognize it goes against the grain to say I HATE RAIN.
Besides… I don’t HATE rain, I hate the consequence of rain.
Not the consequence of providing necessary water to growing plants.
Not the consequence of washing the world clean.
I hate the consequence of navigating a rainy day. It promises bruises, headaches, falls, and sudden yelps and “CRAP, woah!” exclamations.
The irony is not lost on me that although I am profoundly deaf (when not wearing my cochlear implant),
although I have post concussive syndrome from numerous falls,
although I have a bum ankle that I badly sprained 4 years ago and wish to God I had broken instead,
… Meniere’s disease is the battle for which I must “don the cape”. Something that falls into the “invisible illness” category. A disease/disorder with no cure and few agreed upon symptom smashers.
Meniere’s and weather changes are incompatible. On bad weather days I sometimes have to psych myself up and recognize that I cannot change the weather today and I cannot cure my Meniere’s. What I can do is “don the cape” and make the best of it.
Today I had my heart set on going to training at Fidos For Freedom, Inc., the organization from which I received both of my service dogs. My current service dog, Milo, loves going and the extra practice does us both good. I usually don’t wave the white flag on a day until I actually get up and go look at the sky. Lord knows, our weather forecasters are not very accurate about a “3 day” or “5 day” outlook. (Super strange that it seems the m0re technology available to us, the more meteorologists miss the forecast). I usually know it’s raining outside as soon as my feet hit the floor. I certainly cannot hear it <grin> as I don’t “have my ears in yet”. This morning I knew as soon as I swung my feet out of bed that it was raining. It’s fairly easy to guess when the entire room is spinning and the floor seems to be missing under my feet.
I always start out strong. I CAN DO THIS. I let the dogs out and start my coffee. Something I do each and every morning. No matter that I am doing it while hugging the nearest wall or counter.
I didn’t sink to the floor this morning, sobbing, after letting the dogs in for breakfast. I hung on to the chair rail molding on the wall and shook, said a few choice words, immediately asked for forgiveness and pled in genuine prayer to help me let go and walk to the kitchen. I’ve learned that caving to the despair only exacerbates my symptoms.
So I’m not going to Fidos For Freedom, Inc. today even though Milo-bear is looking forlornly out the window wishing we weren’t at home.
Please do not misunderstand this post. I’m not looking for sympathy. I am not inviting you to my pity party. I simply want to share what it is like to live with a chronic, invisible illness. It might also surprise you that I am
glad happy untroubled delighted pleased
… at peace with having this disease. If I did not have Meniere’s disease, I know that I would not have the heart and passion for people who live with invisible illness. When I am the one tagged to produce a post for “Hearing Elmo”, I do not do so from the keyboard of an expert. I don’t have the answers. I don’t have anything profound to share today.
NOTE: Like to write? Want to share your journey? Hearing Elmo welcomes guest writers!
Instead I can salute and encourage all who must “don the cape” and simply make it through today. Overcoming one hour at a time and making the best of it. Shauna Niequist said, “… what I can do is offer myself, wholehearted and present, to walk with the people I love through the fear and the mess. That’s all any of us can do. That’s what we’re here for.”
We are super heroes because simply “overcoming it” is our default and salvation. It’s not always pretty and I don’t always “rock my cape” with grace, drive, and power. Sometimes I just feel pissed. But…
I’m overcoming it. I’ve had practice. I’ve got this.
And friend? So do you.
Nope. It ain’t easy. You can overcome it. You have before. You will today. “Don the cape” and get through today.
L. Denise Portis, Ph.D.
© 2018 Personal Hearing Loss Journal