Seeing clearly

It's been a few days since I've written. That terrible episode was followed by some better days. I'm still holding out and longing for a few days that just feel normal, in the mean time every chunk of 'normal like' hours I get, I will cherish and be present for. On Monday, I took a beautiful walk with my parents and took in the beauty of nature. What a gift. When my feet hurt, I took my flip flops off and buried my feet into the hot sand. I would imagine releasing the pain into the enormity of the scenery around me. When my back or abdomen spasmed, I'd stretch and breathe and release. I'm beginning to see that life is a constant process of letting go.



There is something so healing about being out by the ocean or under the trees somewhere. I feel like I can breathe more, like my 'problems' are minuscule in the grand scheme of things. And, they really are. When I turn on the news (which I try not do too often because it's so depressing and fear based) I see what a mess our world is in. People are dealing with a lot more than what I'm facing. Oil spills, natural disasters, cancer, violent children, hate crimes, assaults against children, I could go on and on. But, I won't. You get my drift.
I remember a story my mother told me about a day she was out with one of my aunts. I believe they were in Pebble beach, observing the baby seals. In one direction there were several happy, peaceful seals playing and soaking up the sun. In the other direction there were 2 seals, a mother and a baby. It looked as if the baby had passed away and the mother was frantically trying to push the baby onto shore or 'wake her up'. She was in a lot of distress. My mother, being the bleeding heart that she is, started to suffer with the mother seal. She could hardly stand it. Knowing my mother, she was probably in tears and panicking, ready to leap into the sea and perform mouth to mouth on the baby seal. My aunt saw this, took her by the shoulders and turned her in the other direction where the seals were playing and peaceful. She shifted her view toward the beauty in the scene and simply told her "You are focusing in the wrong direction". I tell this story metaphorically, not literally. I don't think we should turn away from the sadness in the world. I think it is imperative that we face grief, the dark sides of things, offer a hand where it is needed and work to shift the imbalances that plague our world. We should do all we can to help each other and the other creatures of this earth. But, in this case, there was nothing my Mother could do to change the reality of this situation and the events taking place were the events that this mother seal was faced with in her life. So, I see it more as a metaphor. In any situation, no matter how bad, I believe there are always at least slivers of beauty. Even if the beauty is only that it makes us stronger. Focusing on the love, the support, the the human kindness that emerges in crisis can relieve some of the suffering. Pain is inevitable, but suffering can be optional. I am not minimizing people's pain in any way. I'm just saying that shifting perspective can at least lessen it for moments. Especially in situations that we are powerless to change the circumstance of.

When I read about this disease and other people's experiences, it can get daunting. People not responding to treatment, losing sight, being confined to a wheelchair, it goes on and on... There is also the aspect of it all that nurtures paranoia. For instance, the actual history and possible origin of the disease and the way medical politics and corporate greed has altered it's course. To me this is the struggling mamma seal. I choose to focus for this moment on the light that has come shining through the cracks of this dark room I find myself in and it is bright. I'm looking at the seals basking in the sun, so to speak. Never have I been more aware of the amazing people in my life and the capacity of love. I have had a lot of love and support from the people directly in my life and also from others. It's so heartening. I have received a few e-mails on Facebook from acquaintances offering support and kind words. It makes all the difference in the world. I've even received an e-mail from someone who stumbled on my blog and has been experiencing a similar struggle. Alone we can do so little, together we can do anything. Thank you to all of you that have reached out and offered support of all kinds. I love you.

Ivy came yesterday and gave me my second intramuscular shot. Ouch this time. It was worse than last time, but no big deal. I did fall down after, but hey I'm a klutz. Breathing, being next to an amazing friend and an icepack countered the pain. I'm noticing small differences. The neurological things are still present, but seem to be plateauing. I fell yesterday while standing still, but the short term memory stuff has been better. I think so anyway, unless I just forgot. I'm twitching less. I can walk on the soles of my feet in the morning now without crying and the rash has cleared up. The headaches are holding strong and the body pain is sticking around, but nothing I can't handle. I've been using a sedative to get a little more sleep at night and that seems to lessen the "electrical current" that pulses through my body and keeps me up at night. The extra sleep hasn't helped with the puffy, dry and blood shot or glassy eyes, but that's what big Jackie O glasses are for :-). They also help with the light sensitivity. The orange tears have gone to a lighter, more yellow color. Despite a little eye trouble, I certainly feel as if I am seeing more clearly.