You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only option you have.
How true is this?
You lose a parent, a brother or sister, or someone else you dearly loved and yet, time goes on.
Time has to go on.
For your family, for yourself.
Years later you realise you went through that loss better than you ever thought you would.
Being strong was the only option you had.
Being diagnosed with an illness that can’t be cured is a little bit similar, or is it?
The day I received my MS diagnosis is a day I can almost literally rephrase, just like the day you lose someone you love, or the day when absolutely horrifying accidents happen. We all know where we were and what we did on 9/11. Days like these have a way of being imprinted on your eyes and brain.
On that sunny April day, I remember where I anxiously sat in the waiting room, who I talked to and which clothes I wore.
I still hear and see my professor talk.
What was said.
What I should do.
What I shouldn’t do.
Where I stood to call my boyfriend.
But… nothing about accepting your fate and moving on with it.
I wanted to know if we were allowed to be happy, or if we should get a psychologist while we’re discussing which doctors I will need to attend from now on.
Surely I’d need a psychologist to talk me through the first few years of letting a part of myself go?
Thirteen years later, I’ve let my old self go and I quit my job, not because I wanted to, but because I had to.
Three different medical professionals egged me on, as did family, colleagues, and friends.
Eventually, I did and thought that life couldn’t get any worse, at least for a couple of days anyway. The big emptiness was staring in my face and almost jokingly said “Well, how are you going to deal with this little Missy Workaholic and adrenaline-seeker?“
Being strong was the only option I had.
Being strong is still the only option I have.
Sure, you find a new way of living, you move on and try to do it as gracefully as you possibly can.
I might be wobbly on my legs, but I’m still trying to do it gracefully. Nobody would ever suspect me from having wobbly legs because sure, I don’t look sick, right?
Or nobody would suspect me from having mad headaches, eye pains and nerve pains every day and night because surely, if you can write and if I am on the internet joking away, I’m alright, right?
All while still doing it gracefully.
And, nobody would suspect me from being acutely fatigued when I go to the cinema, go for a drive with a friend or go out for a meal.
Little do those people know that there are about 30 tablets a day helping me stay on my feet and awake, or that I have to rest beforehand and go straight to bed after doing such activities.
Because it’s the only option I have.
A lot of people automatically think that because you are sick, you are not allowed to be happy anymore.
As if being sick is the end of the world.
It’s not. It’s an inconvenience.
It’s about how you look at yourself.
Life goes on, even for people with chronic illnesses or those who are terminally ill.
Outwardly we might not be walking around in a graceful manner, or eating properly, or slurring our words, making other people think you’re drunk when in fact you don’t use alcohol at all.
Being strong is the only option I have.
And it’s the only option you have.
So enjoy life, it’s there for the taking.
Carpe Diem, isn’t that what it’s all about?