We watched "You're Not You" on Netflix last night, a movie about a pianist (Hilary Swank) with ALS and her slow descent into death. We were drawn to it because my husband is a professional pianist and I've been suffering chronic illnesses. When you boil the movie down, it's basically another Million Dollar Baby, but only half as powerful and meaningful. It wasn't a bad movie, but it could have been so much better. A few things irritated me, and these things are a great reflection of the problems with how healthy people view chronically ill people:
1. The movie jumped right into the main character starting to get sick. We never got to know her as the person she is, we only learned about her as a sick person. For a movie titled "You're Not You" I don't know who the "You" actually ever was. This irritates me because it's so easy to forget who a sick person is. What are their dreams and passions? How did they spend their time? How did they treat people? What was their social life like? Were they independent, codependent, respected, admired...? I don't know! I knew next to nothing about the character of the main character except that she was a pianist married to a super wealthy lawyer. She was meant to just be viewed as "the sick character." I wanted to know who this poor woman was, and what kind of loss it was to the world when she died. It angered me because I don't want to be viewed that way, as "the sick person," and I feel the movie trained the audience to have pity on sick people instead of respecting who they are as people. I am a person who happens to have an illness, I am not a sickness.
2. I was angry at the main character for not allowing people to love her. Her greatest character trait was pushing people out of her life so they didn't have to be ruined by her illness too. We saw the effects of her pushing out her husband first, then her caretaker later. The problem was, these people had purpose in caring for her. They were better people because of her. She refused to recognize that, and instead wanted them to leave her so they could live their lives without being dragged down by her suffering. She didn't value her life or her ability to contribute to the world, even with an illness. This character was just an illness, hardly a person. The movie did do a wonderful job showing the pain and torment that the second main character, her caretaker, went through when she was pushed away, or "fired."
3. This wasn't a story about the value of life. It was a story about surrendering to an illness and wanting to die. It was about being physically alive, but having already given up on living. I firmly believe that all life has value, even the life of people suffering with serious illness who have no hope of survival. I understand, and can sympathize with choosing not to have medical treatments in order to die a little sooner and have less suffering. But she didn't even try to live with what life she had left - well, she did for a few short scenes, but she went right back to feeling like it was wrong of her to enjoy herself. The movie really needed to show the value of the life she still had in her more so than just showing how heartbroken her caretaker was.
I'm just sad that this movie had the opportunity to teach people empathy for for the chronically ill, but it really just left me with the impression that chronically ill people have too little value left and should be allowed to die. That they still deserve love, but very few people are willing to give it.
The one major point that I really appreciated and connected with was that the main character didn't want a trained nurse as a caretaker. She ended up hiring a disorganized mess of a young woman to be her caretaker, despite not knowing anything about chronic illnesses or nursing. She did this against her husband's wishes because she knew that this girl would actually listen to her. She wasn't a trained nurse, therefore she could be trained to the main character's specific needs. She didn't want to work with a new doctor or take experimental drugs, because they just give false hope without actually listening to her needs or desires. This really resonated with me because I've also grown so angry with health care professionals who think that their training is more important than listening to and adapting to the patient. My naturopathic doctor is incredible in that he meets me on my level, gets to know me, lets me tell me every little detail that's wrong, and fully considers the implications of everything I complain about. He quells my worries and gives me real hope - not false positivity. He uses his training to treat me, but he adapts it to me, specifically. The main character found this same trait her in young caretaker, so she held on to her.
Please, just remember that the chronically ill are PEOPLE. Human beings with a heart and soul, dreams and goal, and plenty of love and life to give despite their limitations!
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Saturday, April 30, 2016
Friday, March 25, 2016
Hilo, The Prodigal Turtle
I wrote this short story in 2009 for musical inspiration for my husband. He was asked to write a short musical composition as part of his master's degree program in Piano Performance, and he needed something to inspire him. He did write a fun, very fitting piece to accompany this story, but he's unwilling to share it. :) I was reminded of it recently. It's a bit raw, unrefined, and underdeveloped, as my intention was just to write it for my husband. I didn't think very highly of the story so I put it out of my mind, just another work of mine that the world doesn't need to see. But after re-reading it yesterday, I like it way better now that all these years have passed and I've put my feelings aside! I thought I should share it here for you wonderful readers.
The best stories I've written and have won awards (even had published in the local newspaper) are always personification stories. I don't know why that is, but I have noticed using animals and objects as characters tends to free up my restrictions so I can say what I want to say in the story. :) Enjoy!
Hilo, The Prodigal Turtle by Sarah Langer
Once upon a time on a cozy sandy beach a turtle named Hilo was born. Hilo was known by all the turtles in his beach villiage to have the prettiest shell of all because it displayed every color of the rainbow and glowed in the light like stained glass. His mother taught him to walk by taking him for a stroll around their village every morning, but she also did this to show off her son’s shell in the morning sunlight. The other turtles liked to comment on it, saying how much more captivating and beautiful it looked with each rising sun. He loved all the other turtles and all the other turtles loved him. His father taught him to step out of his shell and clean it with sponges that washed up from the ocean so that it always looked at its best for his morning walks. As he got older he kept up the tradition of taking a morning walk to show off his freshly polished shell, even once his mother got too old to walk around the whole beach village with him.
One morning when Hilo was cleaning his shell in preparation for his morning stroll he felt a tremble in the sands and a roar from outside of his village. He left his shell in the corner of his sand house and poked his head outside to see why the earth was shaking. Turtles were scurrying through the sand away from the ocean in a hurry the best they could. Neighbors told him to run for his life. He looked towards the horizon to see what they were fleeing from and saw the ocean flowing quickly towards him. Hilo rushed to get into his shell, but the ocean fell onto his sand house and carried him up and away in its current before he could reach his shell. He pushed his green legs as hard as he could through the water to keep his head above the surface. The wave dropped him off with his turtle neighbors in a forest of tall grass and then the wave drifted away. All the other turtles were huddled up next to each other and howling cries of misery. Hilo shivered without the comfort of his shell and joined the other turtles in their crying.
The next day Hilo’s mother found him and wrapped her neck around his to embrace him. “I was worried I’d never see you again!” She exclaimed. “I’m so happy you’re well!” Hilo showed his mother the saddest eyes she had ever seen and he told her his shell got left behind. She told him not to worry about his shell, but instead to help all the other turtles to find their way back to the beach village and rebuild it. He was sad to know his mother wasn’t concerned about his shell, but he took a walk through the grassy jungle to find the turtles who were gathering to rebuild the beach village. He felt ashamed to walk past all the other turtles naked and began to cry.
“Don’t be sad, Hilo! We’ll rebuild our beach village soon and everything will be back to normal!” They said.
Hilo argued, “It’s not the village I’m sad about, I just want my beautiful shell back. Will you help me find it in the village ruins?” The other turtles got angry at this and told him their village was more important than his shell. They told him if he cared about his shell more than their destroyed homes then he couldn’t help them rebuild. Hilo was hurt that they didn’t care about his missing shell and continued to cry.
That night most of the turtles spread rumors about how Hilo wasn’t a much of a turtle without his shell. He overheard them say that they thought he was disgraceful to their community because he didn’t care about the other turtles who lost their homes. At this Hilo grew angry. He whined to his mother, “I don’t need their help anyway! I’ll find my shell without their help and then they’ll see that I don’t need them! Once I find my shell I’m going to find another turtle village that actually cares about me and I’ll live with them.” In a rage, he stomped through the grassy sand towards the boastful roar of the ocean. He traveled the rest of the night until he found the giant fallen tree that his sand house used to stand next to. He dug deep into the sand until the sun rose, when he finally saw a glassy red from his shell sparkling in the light. He pulled with all his might until the shell rose from the sand. Hilo danced in joy at the sight of his shell, but he soon stopped when he took a better look and found cracks and scratches all over it. It looked nearly destroyed and he thought it might fall apart if he tried to put it on, and so, again, he broke down in tears.
Later that day, his mother and father caught up with him, followed by the rest of the turtles. “Hilo! Why are you still crying?” His mother rushed to his side to comfort him. She saw his shell was broken and tried to comfort him by saying, “Hilo, don’t despair. You can wear your grandfather’s shell. We kept it in order to remember him.” Hilo just shook his head and turned his shell in the sun light to see how much of it would glow and found that it hardly had any glow at all.
The other turtles saw his broken shell and one spoke up, “Now that your shell has been found will you help us rebuild our beach village?”
Hilo shouted, “None of you care that my shell is broken and that I’m naked! All you care about is your homes! How would you like it if your shell got destroyed?” He pouted and then cried, “I’m going to find another village of turtles who will actually cares about my problem!” At this he turned and begun to travel up the beach. He walked for day after day until he grew too tired to carry on. He dug a hole in the sand next to a large rock and rested in it.
A seagull dropped from the sky and raced up to Hilo’s shelter in the sand. “Mine!” it yelled and stated and poked its beak into the hole to grab Hilo. Hilo covered his eyes and screamed, but just at that moment a sea lion butted the seagull away with its head. “Mine!” The gull squawked in a fit of rage, but the sea lion just pushed the gull away again with its mighty tail and it flew off over the ocean.
“Don’t eat me!” cried Hilo as he shook in sight of the giant sea lion.
The beast, who called himself Bubba, shook with laughter. “I’m not going to eat you, little one. I’ve been following you for some time trying to figure out why you’re traveling so far without a shell.”
“Don’t make fun of me.” Hilo slowly crawled out of his hole. “I had the most beautiful shell of all the turtles in the world and the ocean took it away from me when it washed over my village. The other turtles didn’t care and now I’m trying to find a village that does care. The other turtles only care about their own homes that the ocean destroyed.”
Again, Bubba shook with laughter. “You poor thing. Do you really think another village will care about your shell? They’ll never get to see it on you and they’ll probably just think you’re bragging.”
Hilo looked around nervously and tried to come up with an answer. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”
Bubba set his head down on the sand in front of Hilo. “Do you notice anything weird about me?”
Hilo studied the sea lion and shook his head. “No.”
The sea lion showed a big toothy grin. “You see, little friend, you can’t even notice what’s wrong with me! Why should they notice what’s wrong with you? Go back to your village, find a new shell, and make some friends to have fun with. You don’t need anything special to brag about to get turtles to like you.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Hilo kept studying its face.
“I have no whiskers. I was born that way. At first everyone made fun of me for it, but then I realized that it is a funny thing. Now I make fun of myself too and we all get along. I’ve never loved life more!” Bubba tilted his head both ways so Hilo could see his bare face. “Now, let me give you a ride back to your village so you can apologize to the other turtles and help them all rebuild. They’ll love you for helping them. Nothing can take away that kind of appreciation – not even the ocean.”
Hilo looked out at the ocean for a while and considered what the sea lion said. “I like you, even if you don’t have whiskers.” Then he climbed up on Bubba’s back. “I’m ready to go back now.”
Bubba laughed some more and scooted towards the ocean waters. “Good choice! Hang on tight little friend!” They swam back to the beach village and Hilo thanked him and said farewell.
The turtles all raced towards Hilo as he walked up towards them. “You’re alive!” they shouted with joy. “We thought we’d lost you for good!”
“You were worried about me?” Hilo asked in confusion. “I thought you were mad at me.”
All the turtles shook their heads. “We realized we were wrong to be mad at you. You lost your shell, which was really important to you. We’re very sorry.”
Hilo smiled. “Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who’s sorry! You all lost your homes and I didn’t care. I want to help you rebuild.”
One of the elder turtles spoke up. “Please, wear your grandfather’s shell. We’ll paint it for you. But first, let’s rebuild our homes!”
A few beautiful sunny days later, all the turtles had new sand homes once again. They all agreed that they were thankful for the ocean taking away their old village because they all liked their new homes much better. The elder turtle walked up to Hilo and thanked him for all his help. The other turtles agreed and also thanked Hilo. Then his father pushed his grandfather’s shell towards him. “Put this on, son.” Hilo grinned and admired the shell. He recognized the pattern of his grandfather’s shell, but admired the colorful painting job all the other turtles did on it. It didn’t glow in the sunlight, but it was very pretty and had a better pattern than his old shell. He walked into the shell and all the turtles in the village cheered. Hilo joyfully walked around the turtles so they could see.
Then Hilo made an announcement. “I don’t want to be the only special turtle in this village. Let’s paint all of our shells!” The turtles cheered and danced at the idea. Over the next few weeks the turtles did nothing but paint each other’s shells. Lots of birds and other ocean creatures circled the village to watch the spectacular event and offered suggestions and help.
Ever since Hilo got his shell painted, the village of turtles had become famous across the entire beach. Other turtles and sea creatures often visited to admire the shells and play. The beach had never been a happier place.
The End
The best stories I've written and have won awards (even had published in the local newspaper) are always personification stories. I don't know why that is, but I have noticed using animals and objects as characters tends to free up my restrictions so I can say what I want to say in the story. :) Enjoy!
Hilo, The Prodigal Turtle by Sarah Langer
Once upon a time on a cozy sandy beach a turtle named Hilo was born. Hilo was known by all the turtles in his beach villiage to have the prettiest shell of all because it displayed every color of the rainbow and glowed in the light like stained glass. His mother taught him to walk by taking him for a stroll around their village every morning, but she also did this to show off her son’s shell in the morning sunlight. The other turtles liked to comment on it, saying how much more captivating and beautiful it looked with each rising sun. He loved all the other turtles and all the other turtles loved him. His father taught him to step out of his shell and clean it with sponges that washed up from the ocean so that it always looked at its best for his morning walks. As he got older he kept up the tradition of taking a morning walk to show off his freshly polished shell, even once his mother got too old to walk around the whole beach village with him.
One morning when Hilo was cleaning his shell in preparation for his morning stroll he felt a tremble in the sands and a roar from outside of his village. He left his shell in the corner of his sand house and poked his head outside to see why the earth was shaking. Turtles were scurrying through the sand away from the ocean in a hurry the best they could. Neighbors told him to run for his life. He looked towards the horizon to see what they were fleeing from and saw the ocean flowing quickly towards him. Hilo rushed to get into his shell, but the ocean fell onto his sand house and carried him up and away in its current before he could reach his shell. He pushed his green legs as hard as he could through the water to keep his head above the surface. The wave dropped him off with his turtle neighbors in a forest of tall grass and then the wave drifted away. All the other turtles were huddled up next to each other and howling cries of misery. Hilo shivered without the comfort of his shell and joined the other turtles in their crying.
The next day Hilo’s mother found him and wrapped her neck around his to embrace him. “I was worried I’d never see you again!” She exclaimed. “I’m so happy you’re well!” Hilo showed his mother the saddest eyes she had ever seen and he told her his shell got left behind. She told him not to worry about his shell, but instead to help all the other turtles to find their way back to the beach village and rebuild it. He was sad to know his mother wasn’t concerned about his shell, but he took a walk through the grassy jungle to find the turtles who were gathering to rebuild the beach village. He felt ashamed to walk past all the other turtles naked and began to cry.
“Don’t be sad, Hilo! We’ll rebuild our beach village soon and everything will be back to normal!” They said.
Hilo argued, “It’s not the village I’m sad about, I just want my beautiful shell back. Will you help me find it in the village ruins?” The other turtles got angry at this and told him their village was more important than his shell. They told him if he cared about his shell more than their destroyed homes then he couldn’t help them rebuild. Hilo was hurt that they didn’t care about his missing shell and continued to cry.
That night most of the turtles spread rumors about how Hilo wasn’t a much of a turtle without his shell. He overheard them say that they thought he was disgraceful to their community because he didn’t care about the other turtles who lost their homes. At this Hilo grew angry. He whined to his mother, “I don’t need their help anyway! I’ll find my shell without their help and then they’ll see that I don’t need them! Once I find my shell I’m going to find another turtle village that actually cares about me and I’ll live with them.” In a rage, he stomped through the grassy sand towards the boastful roar of the ocean. He traveled the rest of the night until he found the giant fallen tree that his sand house used to stand next to. He dug deep into the sand until the sun rose, when he finally saw a glassy red from his shell sparkling in the light. He pulled with all his might until the shell rose from the sand. Hilo danced in joy at the sight of his shell, but he soon stopped when he took a better look and found cracks and scratches all over it. It looked nearly destroyed and he thought it might fall apart if he tried to put it on, and so, again, he broke down in tears.
Later that day, his mother and father caught up with him, followed by the rest of the turtles. “Hilo! Why are you still crying?” His mother rushed to his side to comfort him. She saw his shell was broken and tried to comfort him by saying, “Hilo, don’t despair. You can wear your grandfather’s shell. We kept it in order to remember him.” Hilo just shook his head and turned his shell in the sun light to see how much of it would glow and found that it hardly had any glow at all.
The other turtles saw his broken shell and one spoke up, “Now that your shell has been found will you help us rebuild our beach village?”
Hilo shouted, “None of you care that my shell is broken and that I’m naked! All you care about is your homes! How would you like it if your shell got destroyed?” He pouted and then cried, “I’m going to find another village of turtles who will actually cares about my problem!” At this he turned and begun to travel up the beach. He walked for day after day until he grew too tired to carry on. He dug a hole in the sand next to a large rock and rested in it.
A seagull dropped from the sky and raced up to Hilo’s shelter in the sand. “Mine!” it yelled and stated and poked its beak into the hole to grab Hilo. Hilo covered his eyes and screamed, but just at that moment a sea lion butted the seagull away with its head. “Mine!” The gull squawked in a fit of rage, but the sea lion just pushed the gull away again with its mighty tail and it flew off over the ocean.
“Don’t eat me!” cried Hilo as he shook in sight of the giant sea lion.
The beast, who called himself Bubba, shook with laughter. “I’m not going to eat you, little one. I’ve been following you for some time trying to figure out why you’re traveling so far without a shell.”
“Don’t make fun of me.” Hilo slowly crawled out of his hole. “I had the most beautiful shell of all the turtles in the world and the ocean took it away from me when it washed over my village. The other turtles didn’t care and now I’m trying to find a village that does care. The other turtles only care about their own homes that the ocean destroyed.”
Again, Bubba shook with laughter. “You poor thing. Do you really think another village will care about your shell? They’ll never get to see it on you and they’ll probably just think you’re bragging.”
Hilo looked around nervously and tried to come up with an answer. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”
Bubba set his head down on the sand in front of Hilo. “Do you notice anything weird about me?”
Hilo studied the sea lion and shook his head. “No.”
The sea lion showed a big toothy grin. “You see, little friend, you can’t even notice what’s wrong with me! Why should they notice what’s wrong with you? Go back to your village, find a new shell, and make some friends to have fun with. You don’t need anything special to brag about to get turtles to like you.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Hilo kept studying its face.
“I have no whiskers. I was born that way. At first everyone made fun of me for it, but then I realized that it is a funny thing. Now I make fun of myself too and we all get along. I’ve never loved life more!” Bubba tilted his head both ways so Hilo could see his bare face. “Now, let me give you a ride back to your village so you can apologize to the other turtles and help them all rebuild. They’ll love you for helping them. Nothing can take away that kind of appreciation – not even the ocean.”
Hilo looked out at the ocean for a while and considered what the sea lion said. “I like you, even if you don’t have whiskers.” Then he climbed up on Bubba’s back. “I’m ready to go back now.”
Bubba laughed some more and scooted towards the ocean waters. “Good choice! Hang on tight little friend!” They swam back to the beach village and Hilo thanked him and said farewell.
The turtles all raced towards Hilo as he walked up towards them. “You’re alive!” they shouted with joy. “We thought we’d lost you for good!”
“You were worried about me?” Hilo asked in confusion. “I thought you were mad at me.”
All the turtles shook their heads. “We realized we were wrong to be mad at you. You lost your shell, which was really important to you. We’re very sorry.”
Hilo smiled. “Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who’s sorry! You all lost your homes and I didn’t care. I want to help you rebuild.”
One of the elder turtles spoke up. “Please, wear your grandfather’s shell. We’ll paint it for you. But first, let’s rebuild our homes!”
A few beautiful sunny days later, all the turtles had new sand homes once again. They all agreed that they were thankful for the ocean taking away their old village because they all liked their new homes much better. The elder turtle walked up to Hilo and thanked him for all his help. The other turtles agreed and also thanked Hilo. Then his father pushed his grandfather’s shell towards him. “Put this on, son.” Hilo grinned and admired the shell. He recognized the pattern of his grandfather’s shell, but admired the colorful painting job all the other turtles did on it. It didn’t glow in the sunlight, but it was very pretty and had a better pattern than his old shell. He walked into the shell and all the turtles in the village cheered. Hilo joyfully walked around the turtles so they could see.
Then Hilo made an announcement. “I don’t want to be the only special turtle in this village. Let’s paint all of our shells!” The turtles cheered and danced at the idea. Over the next few weeks the turtles did nothing but paint each other’s shells. Lots of birds and other ocean creatures circled the village to watch the spectacular event and offered suggestions and help.
Ever since Hilo got his shell painted, the village of turtles had become famous across the entire beach. Other turtles and sea creatures often visited to admire the shells and play. The beach had never been a happier place.
The End
Monday, November 16, 2015
Exhaustion
When I get this totally exhausted, depression and hopelessness over take me. This is when I lose my desire to keep fighting. I'm too tired. Just let me give up. Right now I'm working with a cup of green tea AND my doctor's powder that gives me a huge energy boost. I'm still barely holding on, when normally caffeine has too much of an effect on me.
Have you ever watched the second season of American Horror Story: Asylum? The portrayal of the angel of death was very profound, and it feels so true to me. Basically, the angel of death came when a character was dying or begging for death and kissed the character, taking their soul into the afterlife. This angel of death had a few instances where she sat and chatted with a character for a while. "Are you ready?" "Are you sure?" She might ask. She would let the character debate with her. A couple of characters saw the angel of death multiple times before allowing death to happen, pushing her away, realizing he or she still had work to do on earth.
I haven't seen or experienced this angel of death, but the concept is very familiar to me. When I get this exhausted, I feel like I'm at the end of my rope. I feel like the angel of death could appear at any moment asking if I'm ready. If she were real, I possibly would have said a couple of times. I've been that low - no energy to give me any desire to carry on. What's scary is that when I get this low, death is the only thing I can think about. It's so inviting. I'm not suicidal - I have no desire to end my own life. I just don't have the energy to fight for any more, and my natural instinct, which I don't have the energy to fight, says "give up." I can't give up on my own - I don't have the energy to end my life. This is where I feel like I've met this angel of death, in that deep void of energy. In my case, I don't think I'm the one telling her what to do. I think she's the one telling me I'm not ready. When I eventually come around, I agree - I'm not ready. I do desire to live, just not like this. I want my health back so I can really live, not just exist.
And so this is where I find my motivation to fight. I don't want to experience that low ever again. I don't want to waste my life not living. I want, so badly, to have my health. I'm exhausted. I don't have much to give, but what I have I give to trying to reclaim my health. It's been mostly successful - kind of? To borrow from my doctor's analogy about my energy levels: I feel like I'm trying to recover from bankruptcy, and the best I can do is work a part-time minimum wage job. It means I'm finding the strength to get better, but the progress is very slow. What I need is a full time career to get out of bankruptcy, but I'm not capable of getting one.
I'm describing chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS/ ME). I know many of my readers know what this feels like too, and I appreciate that others can relate so we can give each other support, but I'm hoping that those of you without CFS are reading this. I hope you can have empathy and see that CFS isn't an exaggeration or an excuse to be lazy. Trust me, I'd much rather feel lazy than fatigued. They are not the same thing.
......
I know why I'm in this slump: I've overwhelmed myself physically and mentally.
1. I'm applying for disability, and it's a massive burden. Just today I received deadlines in the mail and I really can't handle the pressure - I just want to run away from all this.
2. My weekend was not restful, between traveling, working, and spending too much energy on a long walk visiting my old college (which I wasn't expecting to do.)
3. I have been researching my DNA results, studying the interpretation reports, and joined in some forums. I also decided to join a Facebook group for B6 Toxicity, which I have. What I've learned is overwhelming. It's too much to handle. I felt myself "shut down" yesterday. When I read what these other people are doing to manage and recover, I totally shut down because my energy got depleted just thinking about doing what they're doing. I really need to take a step back - I knew that DNA results just lead to rabbit trail after rabbit trail. I'm too tired to research that much, and I don't care to study genes enough to even be able to research that much. That's not my job - I'll leave that to the experts. But the homozygous mutations that I do have that are well studied? Yes, they are overwhelming.
Yes, I have B6 toxicity, but I'm going to eat my thanksgiving turkey anyway. I do realize that turkey is high in B6, but I don't care. I just can't do all these limitations. Maybe I'll change my mind when I come around, but whatever.
I've leaned a lot. I have answers. I have better instructions. I have new supplements that are better tailored to my situation. This is great, but it's overwhelming. It feels like such a burden.
....
I'm baring my soul in posts like this. It's not the "me" I like to present on social media. We all want to put our best face forward on Facebook, and this isn't something I'd talk about except to people I'm close to. I'm choosing to write these types of posts for a few reasons: I'm too tired to explain my crisis to everyone who really does need to know, I'm hoping to find support, and I'm hoping to support others. By admitting my problems, I'm hoping I can be held accountable and be given support in getting better.
But right now, I'm hardly able to move, but my brain is happily employing the caffeine. Sigh. Did you know that frequent sighing is a symptom of adrenal fatigue? Sigh... yeah, I do it a lot.
Have you ever watched the second season of American Horror Story: Asylum? The portrayal of the angel of death was very profound, and it feels so true to me. Basically, the angel of death came when a character was dying or begging for death and kissed the character, taking their soul into the afterlife. This angel of death had a few instances where she sat and chatted with a character for a while. "Are you ready?" "Are you sure?" She might ask. She would let the character debate with her. A couple of characters saw the angel of death multiple times before allowing death to happen, pushing her away, realizing he or she still had work to do on earth.
I haven't seen or experienced this angel of death, but the concept is very familiar to me. When I get this exhausted, I feel like I'm at the end of my rope. I feel like the angel of death could appear at any moment asking if I'm ready. If she were real, I possibly would have said a couple of times. I've been that low - no energy to give me any desire to carry on. What's scary is that when I get this low, death is the only thing I can think about. It's so inviting. I'm not suicidal - I have no desire to end my own life. I just don't have the energy to fight for any more, and my natural instinct, which I don't have the energy to fight, says "give up." I can't give up on my own - I don't have the energy to end my life. This is where I feel like I've met this angel of death, in that deep void of energy. In my case, I don't think I'm the one telling her what to do. I think she's the one telling me I'm not ready. When I eventually come around, I agree - I'm not ready. I do desire to live, just not like this. I want my health back so I can really live, not just exist.
And so this is where I find my motivation to fight. I don't want to experience that low ever again. I don't want to waste my life not living. I want, so badly, to have my health. I'm exhausted. I don't have much to give, but what I have I give to trying to reclaim my health. It's been mostly successful - kind of? To borrow from my doctor's analogy about my energy levels: I feel like I'm trying to recover from bankruptcy, and the best I can do is work a part-time minimum wage job. It means I'm finding the strength to get better, but the progress is very slow. What I need is a full time career to get out of bankruptcy, but I'm not capable of getting one.
I'm describing chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS/ ME). I know many of my readers know what this feels like too, and I appreciate that others can relate so we can give each other support, but I'm hoping that those of you without CFS are reading this. I hope you can have empathy and see that CFS isn't an exaggeration or an excuse to be lazy. Trust me, I'd much rather feel lazy than fatigued. They are not the same thing.
......
I know why I'm in this slump: I've overwhelmed myself physically and mentally.
1. I'm applying for disability, and it's a massive burden. Just today I received deadlines in the mail and I really can't handle the pressure - I just want to run away from all this.
2. My weekend was not restful, between traveling, working, and spending too much energy on a long walk visiting my old college (which I wasn't expecting to do.)
3. I have been researching my DNA results, studying the interpretation reports, and joined in some forums. I also decided to join a Facebook group for B6 Toxicity, which I have. What I've learned is overwhelming. It's too much to handle. I felt myself "shut down" yesterday. When I read what these other people are doing to manage and recover, I totally shut down because my energy got depleted just thinking about doing what they're doing. I really need to take a step back - I knew that DNA results just lead to rabbit trail after rabbit trail. I'm too tired to research that much, and I don't care to study genes enough to even be able to research that much. That's not my job - I'll leave that to the experts. But the homozygous mutations that I do have that are well studied? Yes, they are overwhelming.
Yes, I have B6 toxicity, but I'm going to eat my thanksgiving turkey anyway. I do realize that turkey is high in B6, but I don't care. I just can't do all these limitations. Maybe I'll change my mind when I come around, but whatever.
I've leaned a lot. I have answers. I have better instructions. I have new supplements that are better tailored to my situation. This is great, but it's overwhelming. It feels like such a burden.
....
I'm baring my soul in posts like this. It's not the "me" I like to present on social media. We all want to put our best face forward on Facebook, and this isn't something I'd talk about except to people I'm close to. I'm choosing to write these types of posts for a few reasons: I'm too tired to explain my crisis to everyone who really does need to know, I'm hoping to find support, and I'm hoping to support others. By admitting my problems, I'm hoping I can be held accountable and be given support in getting better.
But right now, I'm hardly able to move, but my brain is happily employing the caffeine. Sigh. Did you know that frequent sighing is a symptom of adrenal fatigue? Sigh... yeah, I do it a lot.
Saturday, November 15, 2014
The Importance of Inspiration
Chronically ill people have it rough. First, they're in pain and suffering. Second, their brains don't work as well as they used to. Third, people around them typically don't believe them and may even assume they're hypochondriacs. Fourth, it's hard for them to find the energy to fight to get their life back.
Finding inspiration to fight to get my life back was very important in my healing process. At first, when I finally collapsed from sickness last fall, nothing mattered. I was so deprived of energy that I couldn't think well enough to gain inspiration. The only things on my mind were: fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue, arthritis, aching joints, and pain. Lots of pain, and no energy. All I had was raw willpower. It was all that got me out of bed to eat, go to the bathroom, and stay alive.
My first wave of inspiration came from my parents when they invited me out to to their state to see a doctor who came highly recommended by a friend who suffered similar issues to me. Someone else had recovered from fibromyalgia and was able to work a full-time job? This doctor actually understands fibromyalgia and successfully treated someone? The hope this gave me helped me get on a plane and travel - I didn't know I had it in me to travel. After meeting the doctor, I was even more hopeful. Being a naturopathic doctor, he treats differently from conventional western medicine. His regimen for me didn't include drugs, but did include a lot of effort on my part. I was willing to take the challenge. I had hope, and I was very inspired by my parent's friend who got better.
After a few months of the regimen, I was feeling better enough to start enjoying myself, even when I was too lazy to move. I couldn't manage to read books - that took too much brain power. I would read a sentence over and over before I finally was able to form the image in my head - if an image came at all. I decided to try something much more simple: graphic novels. I found many of them were still way too heavy, so I went even more simple: manga. As a kid, I was obsessed with Sailor Moon - the cartoon. I loved it to no end. I never had the chance to read much of the manga it was based on, though. Coincidentally, the manga series was being re-released with a new translation that same month that I was looking for a manga to read. Inspiration! I got a hold of both box sets and dug in.
I found myself absorbing the story in Sailor Moon, easy as drinking a milkshake. It was easy to read, easy to follow, and highly enjoyable. For the first time in a long time (maybe a year?) I was really enjoying reading (and I've always been in love with books - you should see the library in our living room.) It could just be that I really wanted to read it. I was actually excited about something. It could also be that it was actually easy to read. Either way, I found a way to really enjoy myself while laying in bed in pain. Better yet, the story of Sailor Moon was inspiring. I could write a whole dissertation on the brilliance of the story (the children's anime was very loosely based on the original manga, which were not written for little kids as they contain mature subject matter - it's Harry Potter quality in that all ages can really dig into the rich vibrant story with lots of morals and messages.) In particular, I was inspired by one character: Hotaru. Her life was miserable - way worse than mine. Her house burned down and killed her mother. She was also almost killed, but her father made a deal with an evil entity in order to save their lives. Hotaru was turned into a cyborg in order to stay alive, though was in poor health all the time, and her father had to do this evil entity's will. Hotaru, though, had a greater purpose than to barely stay alive with the help of machines. She was a Sailor Soldier - a mythological goddess reborn on earth as a human in order to fulfill her soldier's mission. She had to find a way to fight the illness, break free of the machine, and save the world - essentially. Her spirit led the way to her recovery, and things eventually worked out - though there was a lot of pain and suffering first. I won't spoil. I needed a story like that. Fictional or not - super hero or not - it was inspiring. I too had a more important mission in life that I needed fulfill. I took my supplements, ate my diet, and continued to do my pathetic little work outs with a renewed sense of importance and vigor.
I found myself drawn to more manga stories with inspiring messages of hope and purpose. Within the past year, I've read and really enjoyed Legend of Basara, Vinland Saga, From Far Away, A Bride's Story, and Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles. Each of these stories were about characters who stepped up to take on a higher purpose, finding the wisdom, strength, and inspiration to succeed.
A few months ago, I attempted to read a novel again. No pictures to do the imagining for me - an actual novel with only words to tell the story. I picked up Donita K Paul's latest book, One Realm Beyond. I loved her other series, Dragon Keeper Chronicles. It was slow going at first, but I managed the first chapter. It was tiring to read - it really wore me out. I read the next chapter the next night. Eventually, after a few months, I did finish the whole book and LOVED it. It was a slow read, but I did read, and it was so worth it! I renewed my hope with this book!
In the mean time, I was also attempting to take on video games again. I've always been a big gamer. I'm a nerd, and I have no shame. There was no way I could handle action, platform, or any type of game that involved getting my adrenaline up. Anything with a timer was off-limits. I didn't have the energy, but I also didn't want to ruin all the work I've been doing to heal my adrenal glands. I pulled out my Nintendo DS and played Pokemon in bed. Great games, for the record. They let me rest while giving my brain something to work on. Recently, I decided to replay an old computer game of mine: The Longest Journey. It's an adventure game, meaning it operates under a "point-and-click" system. You can't die, nothing is timed, and the point is to work your way though a story by solving puzzles in order to move forward. Simple, but a great story line and a system that kept my brain working. This game also gave me a renewed sense of inspiration. The main character, April Ryan, is an 18-year-old girl art student at a college who is living paycheck-to-paycheck and doesn't know what to do with her life. She slowly uncovers that she has a special destiny to give up her life for 1,000 years in order to keep the balance of both worlds. Sounds cheesy when I put it that simply! Anyway, I had to navigate this young girl through a gigantic crisis of the worlds until she could fulfill her purpose in life. This girl, with seemingly no hope to make a good successful life for herself, ended up being a hero that the worlds praised through stories for the rest of history. Totally beyond the realm of my possibilities for my life - but getting to play a girl who struggles greatly in order to achieve a higher purpose is very satisfying. It definitely inspired me to fight for my higher purpose. I can't believe that that my higher purpose is to remain sick forever.
I love stories. They're my favorite form of entertainment. I play video games for the story. I read books and graphic novels for the stories. I watch movies for the story. If it doesn't have a good story, I'm unlikely to care about it. So for me, finding these stories, no matter the medium they came in, was the best way for me to find inspiration and hope.
This inspiration and hope motivated me to stick carefully and diligently to my doctor's difficult regimen. It got me out the door and into the YMCA for work outs. It kept me away from temptations that I know will poison me, like too much chocolate. It got me to go out with friends every so often and pretend I was well. It got me to take on necessary house repair projects. It got me to work harder on being a good wife to my husband instead of a pile of skin and bones he felt obligated to care for. It got me to feel better. It's the reason I worked so hard on getting my life back, and I'm half-way there!
In the past month, the need for money is my newest source of inspiration. I've been trying to refocus my slightly higher levels of energy onto projects that will make money. I've graduated from resting in bed most of the time to actually being up and around the house most of the time, so it seems right that my entertainment graduates to a new level too. One of those projects has been looking for a job in town that won't make me sick. Another project has been starting a Zazzle shop. It's giving me the need to get back into drawing and designing, something I used to love to do. I don't have much up right now (one of my two designs was removed for being too similar to something copyrighted - oops!) I am, however, working on more and will build up my items for sale soon. Please support me by checking out my shop: http://www.zazzle.com/paper_constructions*
I encourage you to never give up. Please remember what you used to love to do, and find a way to involve yourself in those things. Find inspiration. Renew your vision of a good future for yourself. Give yourself purpose again. Don't remain a slave to your chronic illness. You CAN do this. Mental willpower and prayer (lots and lots of prayer!) are more powerful than any drug on the market. If I could work my way out of the hardest health slump of my life, you can too.
Finding inspiration to fight to get my life back was very important in my healing process. At first, when I finally collapsed from sickness last fall, nothing mattered. I was so deprived of energy that I couldn't think well enough to gain inspiration. The only things on my mind were: fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue, arthritis, aching joints, and pain. Lots of pain, and no energy. All I had was raw willpower. It was all that got me out of bed to eat, go to the bathroom, and stay alive.
My first wave of inspiration came from my parents when they invited me out to to their state to see a doctor who came highly recommended by a friend who suffered similar issues to me. Someone else had recovered from fibromyalgia and was able to work a full-time job? This doctor actually understands fibromyalgia and successfully treated someone? The hope this gave me helped me get on a plane and travel - I didn't know I had it in me to travel. After meeting the doctor, I was even more hopeful. Being a naturopathic doctor, he treats differently from conventional western medicine. His regimen for me didn't include drugs, but did include a lot of effort on my part. I was willing to take the challenge. I had hope, and I was very inspired by my parent's friend who got better.
After a few months of the regimen, I was feeling better enough to start enjoying myself, even when I was too lazy to move. I couldn't manage to read books - that took too much brain power. I would read a sentence over and over before I finally was able to form the image in my head - if an image came at all. I decided to try something much more simple: graphic novels. I found many of them were still way too heavy, so I went even more simple: manga. As a kid, I was obsessed with Sailor Moon - the cartoon. I loved it to no end. I never had the chance to read much of the manga it was based on, though. Coincidentally, the manga series was being re-released with a new translation that same month that I was looking for a manga to read. Inspiration! I got a hold of both box sets and dug in.
I found myself absorbing the story in Sailor Moon, easy as drinking a milkshake. It was easy to read, easy to follow, and highly enjoyable. For the first time in a long time (maybe a year?) I was really enjoying reading (and I've always been in love with books - you should see the library in our living room.) It could just be that I really wanted to read it. I was actually excited about something. It could also be that it was actually easy to read. Either way, I found a way to really enjoy myself while laying in bed in pain. Better yet, the story of Sailor Moon was inspiring. I could write a whole dissertation on the brilliance of the story (the children's anime was very loosely based on the original manga, which were not written for little kids as they contain mature subject matter - it's Harry Potter quality in that all ages can really dig into the rich vibrant story with lots of morals and messages.) In particular, I was inspired by one character: Hotaru. Her life was miserable - way worse than mine. Her house burned down and killed her mother. She was also almost killed, but her father made a deal with an evil entity in order to save their lives. Hotaru was turned into a cyborg in order to stay alive, though was in poor health all the time, and her father had to do this evil entity's will. Hotaru, though, had a greater purpose than to barely stay alive with the help of machines. She was a Sailor Soldier - a mythological goddess reborn on earth as a human in order to fulfill her soldier's mission. She had to find a way to fight the illness, break free of the machine, and save the world - essentially. Her spirit led the way to her recovery, and things eventually worked out - though there was a lot of pain and suffering first. I won't spoil. I needed a story like that. Fictional or not - super hero or not - it was inspiring. I too had a more important mission in life that I needed fulfill. I took my supplements, ate my diet, and continued to do my pathetic little work outs with a renewed sense of importance and vigor.
I found myself drawn to more manga stories with inspiring messages of hope and purpose. Within the past year, I've read and really enjoyed Legend of Basara, Vinland Saga, From Far Away, A Bride's Story, and Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles. Each of these stories were about characters who stepped up to take on a higher purpose, finding the wisdom, strength, and inspiration to succeed.
A few months ago, I attempted to read a novel again. No pictures to do the imagining for me - an actual novel with only words to tell the story. I picked up Donita K Paul's latest book, One Realm Beyond. I loved her other series, Dragon Keeper Chronicles. It was slow going at first, but I managed the first chapter. It was tiring to read - it really wore me out. I read the next chapter the next night. Eventually, after a few months, I did finish the whole book and LOVED it. It was a slow read, but I did read, and it was so worth it! I renewed my hope with this book!
In the mean time, I was also attempting to take on video games again. I've always been a big gamer. I'm a nerd, and I have no shame. There was no way I could handle action, platform, or any type of game that involved getting my adrenaline up. Anything with a timer was off-limits. I didn't have the energy, but I also didn't want to ruin all the work I've been doing to heal my adrenal glands. I pulled out my Nintendo DS and played Pokemon in bed. Great games, for the record. They let me rest while giving my brain something to work on. Recently, I decided to replay an old computer game of mine: The Longest Journey. It's an adventure game, meaning it operates under a "point-and-click" system. You can't die, nothing is timed, and the point is to work your way though a story by solving puzzles in order to move forward. Simple, but a great story line and a system that kept my brain working. This game also gave me a renewed sense of inspiration. The main character, April Ryan, is an 18-year-old girl art student at a college who is living paycheck-to-paycheck and doesn't know what to do with her life. She slowly uncovers that she has a special destiny to give up her life for 1,000 years in order to keep the balance of both worlds. Sounds cheesy when I put it that simply! Anyway, I had to navigate this young girl through a gigantic crisis of the worlds until she could fulfill her purpose in life. This girl, with seemingly no hope to make a good successful life for herself, ended up being a hero that the worlds praised through stories for the rest of history. Totally beyond the realm of my possibilities for my life - but getting to play a girl who struggles greatly in order to achieve a higher purpose is very satisfying. It definitely inspired me to fight for my higher purpose. I can't believe that that my higher purpose is to remain sick forever.
I love stories. They're my favorite form of entertainment. I play video games for the story. I read books and graphic novels for the stories. I watch movies for the story. If it doesn't have a good story, I'm unlikely to care about it. So for me, finding these stories, no matter the medium they came in, was the best way for me to find inspiration and hope.
This inspiration and hope motivated me to stick carefully and diligently to my doctor's difficult regimen. It got me out the door and into the YMCA for work outs. It kept me away from temptations that I know will poison me, like too much chocolate. It got me to go out with friends every so often and pretend I was well. It got me to take on necessary house repair projects. It got me to work harder on being a good wife to my husband instead of a pile of skin and bones he felt obligated to care for. It got me to feel better. It's the reason I worked so hard on getting my life back, and I'm half-way there!
In the past month, the need for money is my newest source of inspiration. I've been trying to refocus my slightly higher levels of energy onto projects that will make money. I've graduated from resting in bed most of the time to actually being up and around the house most of the time, so it seems right that my entertainment graduates to a new level too. One of those projects has been looking for a job in town that won't make me sick. Another project has been starting a Zazzle shop. It's giving me the need to get back into drawing and designing, something I used to love to do. I don't have much up right now (one of my two designs was removed for being too similar to something copyrighted - oops!) I am, however, working on more and will build up my items for sale soon. Please support me by checking out my shop: http://www.zazzle.com/paper_constructions*
I encourage you to never give up. Please remember what you used to love to do, and find a way to involve yourself in those things. Find inspiration. Renew your vision of a good future for yourself. Give yourself purpose again. Don't remain a slave to your chronic illness. You CAN do this. Mental willpower and prayer (lots and lots of prayer!) are more powerful than any drug on the market. If I could work my way out of the hardest health slump of my life, you can too.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
The Wounded Hawk
Last night I was reading A Bride's Story Vol. 5 by Kaoru Mori, and one of the chapters really inspired me. I think it captured the greatest issue all sick people worry about the most. Before I share the story in the chapter, let me give you a bit of background. A Bride's Story is a Japanese manga (not a childish manga, like you may be used to seeing,) about nomadic (traveling) tribes living on the Silk Road (eastern part of the Middle East) during the turn of the 19th century. It follows a few main characters as they live their day-to-day lives, really immersing the reader in the culture, habits, or lifestyle of these nomadic Muslim people. The two main characters featured in the pages I'm about to show you are an odd couple in an arranged marriage. The woman, Amir, is about 20 years old and is married to Karluk, the 12 year old boy, from a neighboring tribe (they have a very loving and patient relationship, despite the ages.) Amir loves to hunt with a bow and arrow, and then cooks for and feeds Karluk's family with the meat.
(Japanese books are read from right to left, the opposite of English books. Click on the photo to enlarge them to read. I do not have permission to use these images, but I do own the books. The scan quality isn't great because I didn't want to hurt my book by flattening them. I also don't want to give away the whole story/ experience, as I believe in buying the books to support the author. These books are expensive - but so worth reading!)
Amir goes out hunting and spots a wounded hawk, which she can tell is a trained hawk belonging to someone...
She takes the hawk back to her village with the intention of trying to heal it and finding its owner...
Amir hand feeds the hawk meat and tends to its wound. A while goes by, and Amir and Karluk decide it's time to release the bird to the wild since no one has claimed it. The hawk can't fly.
Karluk asks Amir if she wants to keep it as a pet, and she says, "That is completely unthinkable!" She wants the hawk to have a full life of flying and hunting, saying the hawk wouldn't really be living as a pet. She would rather the hawk be eaten in nature.
Karluk offers to "put down" the hawk so Amir, who had grown attached to it, doesn't have to. They bury the bird. The owner of the hawk finally comes to town, just a little too late.
There are many wonderful, strong messages to consider in this short story. What is the value and purpose of life? Is life worth living if you're not in good health, unable to "fully live?" Do other people have the authority to help you end your life if you're not healthy enough to "fully live?" Did Karluk do the right thing by putting down the hawk, or would the right thing have been to let the hawk live until it was eaten by a predator? Was Amir wrong to refuse to keep it as a pet and give it the happiest life it could expect to have with a broken wing?
If you're reading this blog, I'm guessing that you or someone you know is suffering complicated health issues. Those of us who are not healthy can relate to this poor hawk, can we not? The hawk had the will to live, because it gladly accepted food from Amir. The hawk had the will to attempt flight after trying to heal its wing. The hawk clearly desired to live a full, normal life. Don't we also desire a full, normal life? We say things like, "I wish I could taste my neighbor's heavenly pumpkin pie again, but my body would hurt too much if I did." Or, "If only I didn't get sick, I'd be president of my company now and I would be so fulfilled!" Or, "I wish my spouse didn't leave me, because it's not my fault that I got sick and couldn't take care of myself anymore!" Or, "If only I could do that one thing, despite my sickness, I would be happy." I also know that many sick people are too depressed to care about a normal life again, but yet somehow, they hold on to life, knowing there might be something left for them.
What do we do with us sick people who have the will to live, yet can't fully participate in life to the degree that most people do? Would it be more hospitable of us to "put them down," so to speak, than to help them live their life, with their abilities, to their fullest? Is life not longer valuable if the person can't fully participate in life? If a painter loses their hands, they can learn to paint with their mouth or toes. If a pilot loses his vision, he cannot make any adjustments in order to continue flying. There are various degrees of limitations among the sick. Some are able to make do with their limits and still find fulfillment in life. Others will have to learn a whole new way to be fulfilled if they are to continue enjoying life. What constitutes "not being able to fully participate in life?"
This is a very dark subject. I've been there - a year ago I was laying in bed in sheer pain, contemplating my worth. Wondering if recovery was even possible. Wondering if I'd ever feel even an ounce of happiness again. I held on to hope. I chose to believe that my life has value, even if I was useless to others in that state. I chose to believe that I deserved to live, even if my life was miserable and painful every moment of the day. I chose to believe that I could create a purpose for myself, even if I stayed that miserable the rest of my life. I chose to give my life value, and I chose to live. If I were that poor hawk, though, I would have been "put down." I, thankfully, am recovering! I know others, however, who haven't made any improvements in years, yet they still hold on to life, believing that they also deserve their valuable life. Some of these sick people I know are even very joyful, happy people, despite their severe limitations from poor health. They found purpose, and they're living their purpose!
As a Roman Catholic, I have faith-based answers to all these questions. I don't want to disclose them on this blog, as my intention is to help you come to your own conclusions. I'm not here to preach religion. Don't you think, however, that you would prefer to fight for your life than to let someone end it for you? What is your life worth to you? Can you make adjustments in order to find fulfillment? If not, do you still want your life? Why?
Have hope. Have faith.
Give yourself purpose.
Your worth is not determined by your health limitations.
(That said, I would have done the same as Amir and put the hawk down. The hawk grew completely dependent on her, and she couldn't be fully responsible for it as she had too many other responsibilities to her fellow humans. If the hawk were a human, however, the story would have been much different.)
(Japanese books are read from right to left, the opposite of English books. Click on the photo to enlarge them to read. I do not have permission to use these images, but I do own the books. The scan quality isn't great because I didn't want to hurt my book by flattening them. I also don't want to give away the whole story/ experience, as I believe in buying the books to support the author. These books are expensive - but so worth reading!)
Amir goes out hunting and spots a wounded hawk, which she can tell is a trained hawk belonging to someone...
She takes the hawk back to her village with the intention of trying to heal it and finding its owner...
Amir hand feeds the hawk meat and tends to its wound. A while goes by, and Amir and Karluk decide it's time to release the bird to the wild since no one has claimed it. The hawk can't fly.
Karluk asks Amir if she wants to keep it as a pet, and she says, "That is completely unthinkable!" She wants the hawk to have a full life of flying and hunting, saying the hawk wouldn't really be living as a pet. She would rather the hawk be eaten in nature.Karluk offers to "put down" the hawk so Amir, who had grown attached to it, doesn't have to. They bury the bird. The owner of the hawk finally comes to town, just a little too late.
There are many wonderful, strong messages to consider in this short story. What is the value and purpose of life? Is life worth living if you're not in good health, unable to "fully live?" Do other people have the authority to help you end your life if you're not healthy enough to "fully live?" Did Karluk do the right thing by putting down the hawk, or would the right thing have been to let the hawk live until it was eaten by a predator? Was Amir wrong to refuse to keep it as a pet and give it the happiest life it could expect to have with a broken wing?
If you're reading this blog, I'm guessing that you or someone you know is suffering complicated health issues. Those of us who are not healthy can relate to this poor hawk, can we not? The hawk had the will to live, because it gladly accepted food from Amir. The hawk had the will to attempt flight after trying to heal its wing. The hawk clearly desired to live a full, normal life. Don't we also desire a full, normal life? We say things like, "I wish I could taste my neighbor's heavenly pumpkin pie again, but my body would hurt too much if I did." Or, "If only I didn't get sick, I'd be president of my company now and I would be so fulfilled!" Or, "I wish my spouse didn't leave me, because it's not my fault that I got sick and couldn't take care of myself anymore!" Or, "If only I could do that one thing, despite my sickness, I would be happy." I also know that many sick people are too depressed to care about a normal life again, but yet somehow, they hold on to life, knowing there might be something left for them.
What do we do with us sick people who have the will to live, yet can't fully participate in life to the degree that most people do? Would it be more hospitable of us to "put them down," so to speak, than to help them live their life, with their abilities, to their fullest? Is life not longer valuable if the person can't fully participate in life? If a painter loses their hands, they can learn to paint with their mouth or toes. If a pilot loses his vision, he cannot make any adjustments in order to continue flying. There are various degrees of limitations among the sick. Some are able to make do with their limits and still find fulfillment in life. Others will have to learn a whole new way to be fulfilled if they are to continue enjoying life. What constitutes "not being able to fully participate in life?"
This is a very dark subject. I've been there - a year ago I was laying in bed in sheer pain, contemplating my worth. Wondering if recovery was even possible. Wondering if I'd ever feel even an ounce of happiness again. I held on to hope. I chose to believe that my life has value, even if I was useless to others in that state. I chose to believe that I deserved to live, even if my life was miserable and painful every moment of the day. I chose to believe that I could create a purpose for myself, even if I stayed that miserable the rest of my life. I chose to give my life value, and I chose to live. If I were that poor hawk, though, I would have been "put down." I, thankfully, am recovering! I know others, however, who haven't made any improvements in years, yet they still hold on to life, believing that they also deserve their valuable life. Some of these sick people I know are even very joyful, happy people, despite their severe limitations from poor health. They found purpose, and they're living their purpose!
As a Roman Catholic, I have faith-based answers to all these questions. I don't want to disclose them on this blog, as my intention is to help you come to your own conclusions. I'm not here to preach religion. Don't you think, however, that you would prefer to fight for your life than to let someone end it for you? What is your life worth to you? Can you make adjustments in order to find fulfillment? If not, do you still want your life? Why?
Have hope. Have faith.
Give yourself purpose.
Your worth is not determined by your health limitations.
(That said, I would have done the same as Amir and put the hawk down. The hawk grew completely dependent on her, and she couldn't be fully responsible for it as she had too many other responsibilities to her fellow humans. If the hawk were a human, however, the story would have been much different.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)