Conversing With Myself

Blurb of the Day:
If you really want to do something, you'll find a way; if you don't, you'll find an excuse. ~Anon~

I saw an interview with Michael J. Fox on "Insider" earlier today and felt compelled to start typing. As I watched this man involuntarily weave, tremble and stutter from the Parkingon's disease he suffers with, it slammed home to me the realization of how fortunate I really am. I have these epiphanies a lot, but this was a good one.

Every once and awhile I get into a bit of a funk and have a real pity party for myself about my emphysema. I get tired of being tethered to an oxygen source and dragging a 50' cord around with me. I get real tired of tripping over the damn thing - one of these days, I know I'm going to hurt myself, probably as I tumble down the stairs. I get tired of lugging around an oxygen tank on wheels everytime I want to go outside and people looking at me like I have two heads. My insurance doesn't cover the convenience of a compact O2 source. With this miserable condition, I find myself gasping for air from the smallest amount of activity, like washing my hair or making the bed. I just get tired of being tired... literally.

Most of all, I get tired of not being able to do something as simple as play Frisbee or throw a ball with my grandsons. We do a lot of other things together - play games, bake cookies, make fudge, watch movies... I feel so bad though, like I'm depriving them of something. Like I'm not giving them the 100% of me that they so deserve. The 100% that I had before they were born and before my 35 some-odd years of smoking caught up with me. They'd probably chastise me for feeling this way... they're real loves and I think just glad to spend time together, but sometimes I can't shake it.

So, as I looked at this supremely courageous man, all I could think was who am I to get all bent out of shape with my situation when so many others are less fortunate and yet continue to carry on to do good things? So I get tired, so what? At least I'm mobile, I can speak... hell, I can type! I'm alive and I can do a lot of things... it just takes me longer to do them.

Get over yourself, Marianne, everybody has a story. Everybody struggles with something. Look on the bright side... it could be worse. A tired old cliche, I know, but you know what? It really works... :-)