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| ~1999 |
The theme of bearing scars, and fighting adversity has come up in a few interesting ways recently.
There was a "thing" going around Facebook about finding out what was the #1 pop song on the charts in the year you turned 14; find out that song, and supposedly it defines the life you've lead. I Googled "pop chart in 1982", "#1 hit song", and I got "Eye of the Tiger". I think we were playing it in high school band, too, that year... good song!
Here are the lyrics:
Rising up, back on the street
Did my time, took my chances
Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet
Just a man and his will to survive
So many times it happens too fast
You trade your passion for glory
Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past
You must fight just to keep them alive
It's the eye of the tiger
It's the thrill of the fight
Rising up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor
Stalks his prey in the night
And he's watching us all with the eye of the tiger
Face to face, out in the heat
Hanging tough, staying hungry
They stack the odds still we take to the street
For the kill with the skill to survive
It's the eye of the tiger
It's the thrill of the fight
Rising up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor
Stalks his prey in the night
And he's watching us all with the eye of the tiger
Rising up, straight to the top
Had the guts, got the glory
Went the distance, now I'm not gonna stop
Just a man and his will to survive
It's the eye of the tiger
It's the thrill of the fight
Rising up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor
Stalks his prey in the night
And he's watching us all with the eye of the tiger
The eye of the tiger
"Just a man and his will to survive"...
I do have a will to survive, it's kept me here for the past 11 years through horrific illness and hopelessness. It's recently been challenged, but that 'will to survive' is still with me. But so is the challenge of that will.
My mom also had the will to survive. When she slipped into a septic coma (sound familiar?) at age 79, with a serious heart condition, nobody (except me & Dad) thought she'd defy odds and ever breathe again on her own. But slowly, over the course of three months, she did just that- got off the respirator. She fought other diseases, she got home from the hospital, at age 79, after a three month coma. But she couldn't walk again. Post-Sepsis Syndrome might be to blame for that, nobody ever figured out why she couldn't walk anymore. She was bedridden for 4 years thereafter, but in her own home with a live-in health care worker. She survived, but her will to keep fighting weakened, as it would.
The main differences between her story and mine are that my septic coma was at age 39, and I had many surgeries to contend with thereafter. She did not. She lived until just a few weeks before her 83rd birthday. I have a long time to keep my survival will going. (We assume). But I did walk again, I re-learned to walk after NF, then again and again with all the hip surgeries. I endured horrific pain with my post-NF abdominal surgeries. It's just, dealing with chronic pain wears you out. My mother was never in pain, thank G-d.
Can I endure this? Will it ever end? I'm sure she asked herself those questions daily, and that was without being in pain. But she endured horrific loneliness being bedridden all those years (some of it self-imposed, but I won't get into that here).
But chronic pain is a very lonely road. You can't talk about it too much because the people around you can't deal with it.
The second song which came into my head yesterday (also because of something I saw on facebook), and didn't leave my head all day, is "The Boxer" by Simon and Garfunkel:
..."and he carries a reminder, of every glove that laid him down, and cut him till he cried out, in his anger and his shame, I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remained, yes he still remains..."Well, I did run away from home, this past Shabbat.
Something triggered hurt in me (I am aware of what it was), and I put some things in a backpack, and went out, without anyone in my family knowing where I was. Remember, it was Shabbat... no car, no wallet, no phone. I went walking, wound up at a destination about a kilometer away- surprised myself. I was gone for 5 hours. In the broiling heat, and in pain. It was somehow freeing and deeply sad at the same time. But I came back.
I am fighting the constant urge to leave still. I'm fighting the urge because you can't run away from your problems, they come with you if you don't take care of them. I'm also fighting the urge because, well, I'm not well. It's complicated to go stay with someone else. I'd love to just go alone to a hotel, actually, but can't bring myself to spend the money. Staying with someone else means traveling (I want to go stay with my friend who lives a 3+ hour drive away), and dealing with a possibly not comfortable bed, or bathroom arrangement, and my body needs creature comforts. I need my kitchen and my cooking, and my bed and bathroom. I know that sounds superficial, but I'm not 25 anymore, and I'm not well. Even with all my creature comforts I'm in constant pain. I don't travel well.
So, I'm not leaving, even though I have been heard- in my house- saying more than a few times over these past few weeks/months, "I am leaving". Yes, even with the kids hearing it.
But the fighter still remains.
My fight constitution goes up and down, though. I'm not sure how much more "resuscitation" efforts my body and soul can endure anymore. I've been in too much pain for too long.
But there is nowhere to run away from my problems.
I'm working on them.
In counseling.
Sometimes alone, and sometimes with Robert.
I'm not running away.
I came back.
For today.
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