Friday, June 17, 2011


These last few weeks I've noticed more physical failings. Sometimes when the eventide softly escorts the silent blackness of night down, like the gentle, solemn draping of the flag over the casket of a fallen soldier, I yearn for sweet repose; not to ward off the stinging arrows of pain that pierce my body, but instead to nullify the doubting suspicions of tomorrow, next week, next year - will there be a next year?

We all know tomorrow is promised to no one, but to those suffering with a debilitating disease, the question of tomorrow becomes much more poignant. It's not just the length of one's future, but too, the physical reality it represents. Hate is mounting as I attempt to impede my independence stealing away like the ebb tide sneaking out to sea. Hate of my disease and myself is steadily climbing my mountain of self-worth inching toward the pinnacle, ready to fly its banner of conquest. Minimally as allowed, I perform my daily exercises to stem the progression of my disease, but it's a losing attempt. Loss keeps gaining ground.

With the help of drugs, I've learned to deal with physical pain; it's become a lifelong partner like a shadow ever present. However, pain is not my biggest foe or paramount contender in life's main event. Each day the realization of what I inflict upon others drags me deeper into the morose pit of guilt-ridden despair. Every day intensifies the knowledge of my burden on others and I hate myself because of it. Gal Friday has become my second skin. Undaunted, she tends to me night and day and without her loving care, I would perish and this is not fiction, but fact. My friends see me morphing into a physical state foreign to their sorrowful eyes, yet unable to formulate change, they too watch and suffer.

The loss of independence is a passive method of explaining what's truly happening and that is the onslaught of dependence. Relying on others for basic everyday functions is maddening. Even though I battle against it, my guilt factor worsens until I'm about to totally abhor myself. This is the struggle - not to hate yourself so much you are blinded to any positives. All this is truly a sad struggle.

Now the good news. My plus side is still scoring higher than my negative. Even though I blissfully ignore possible horrors in my immediate future, I continue to strive for and appreciate a life worth living. I have Gal Friday, my daughters and grandchildren, great friends and neighbors. The anticipation of publishing my novels , building a new home and once again volunteering for a cause close to my heart keeps me excited.

While wonderful expectations still exist, the struggle gets harder.


  1. My friend,as a nurse,I understand your daily struggle.And that it will get harder. But I am glad to read that you still have good future expectations.That is very important. And that you have caring Gal Friday & family is so great. Barb

  2. God sometimes gives us very special caregivers for very special people. You and Gal Friday are the benchmarks. Saving the Wild Irish Rose to share with both of you at the publishing party.