Asking for help, giving up self-sufficiency

I was the queen of self-sufficiency.  I did everything by myself and hardly ever asked for help.  I had my entire college schedule planned out before I stepped one foot on my campus and I followed it completely minus a few hiccoughs.  Guidance counselors, academic advisors, mentors, and those with wisdom were simply used to confirm I was on the right track, never once did I seek “true” guidance from any of them.  However, today I look at that previous statement and what a 180 degree difference.  Today, I rely heavily on others, not because I want to but because I have to.  I can no longer be that lone ranger doing it all myself.  And you know what I have learned?  I like it better this way.  I prefer to have the guidance and help, because I don’t always know what is best for me.  This realization started about 5-7 years ago, before all this vision stuff started getting bad.  I would have some project or task to do and when I did it myself with no help, it would take hours, days, even weeks.  Then when I would break down and admit I couldn’t do all this alone and asked for help, those projects took a fraction of the time.  I’d get things done so much quicker with others. It was so profound that I noticed in a big way.  As the years have gone on I slowly started to give up my need for complete control and started enlisting the help of others, gratefully.  I was thankful I had folks to ask for help.  In the process I have made some amazing friends, gained great mentors and wise counsel.  So when my vision started to tank, I was already seasoned at asking for help.  It still takes some time to get past the feelings of imposing on others, being a burden, and wanting to just pack up and go it all alone.  But when I push through all those feelings, the benefits are far greater when asking for help than not.  I have to approach this journey like a marathon.  I have to enlist people to stand by and encourage and spur me forward.  If a marathon runner didn’t have anyone to give them a boost along the way, I personally think they would be at a higher chance of quitting and not making it to the finish line. Asking and actually allowing others to help, seems to go against the grain of our pride and instincts, but if you stick with it the results are worth it. 

Do NOT get into a boxing ring with a kangaroo….you will not win

The boxing ring represents everything you have no control over.  It could be circumstances, people, things, anything. When I choose to fight my disability and get frustrated with the obstacles and losses, I might as well get the boxing gloves on and climb in with the kangaroo.  I end up beat up, hurting, more frustrated, and defeated.  This is all part of the process of going from my “normal” life and adapting to my new “disabled” life.  Being disabled isn’t a label or a negative connotation, it simply just is.  The disability is a reality.  You can choose to work with it, learn to live with it, or fight it. (Just an FYI you could ignore it or deny it as well, but trust me it doesn’t turn out well). I have suffered so many different losses in so many different arenas of my life that I have learned that  once in a while you have to just go have a moment.  Scream, cry, throw a mini-tantrum, do whatever you need to do to release all the pent up energy caused by dealing with the loss and then move on.  Whatever loss you have experienced you just get into the ring with the kangaroo and go a few rounds. I have gotten much better at seriously contemplating getting in these days. I consider carefully whether it is really worth it to take it up with the kangaroo.  When I accept that I can’t change my circumstances then my time in the boxing ring is greatly reduced, and I have peace. On this journey I have learned that there is nothing in this world better than peace.  For today, I will stay a respectful distance from the kangaroo and try to do what I need to do to make my life a better one in spite of my disability.

A visit with the retina specialist

I had an appointment yesterday with my retina specialist, which in of itself congers up the desire to run for the hills. I hate these visits.  I have to go through all these diagnostic tests to have someone tell me “Yup, your vision still sucks”.  I have never been told that directly (obviously, that would be rude and unprofessional).  But really in essence that is what is being communicated.  Yesterday I go and am told I have a blood vessel growing in my eye and blood pooling behind my retina.  Yahoo! (sarcasm). The good news first: a blood vessel is treatable with Avastin, technically.  So I had the proverbial (and literal) three injections in the eye.  The first is an anesthetic, followed by Avastin, and then a “balancing of the ocular pressure” by taking some fluid out.  The bad news is: my retina condition/disease (does it really matter what it is called?) is continuing to be unstable.  Another frustrating thing is that there are other drugs that are in the same family as Avastin on the market, but none of them including Avastin are “FDA approved” for ocular histoplasmosis.  Unfortunately, my condition is NOT a large population like Age-related Macular degeneration or diabetic retinopathy. So the likelihood of there being other drugs for me are slim to none especially when Avastin is $70/dose and Ilea & Lucentis are upwards of $2000/dose.  I kind of think the insurance company will wig out there.  The literature, thus far, has said there is little to no difference between Avastin and Lucentis. Don’t even get me started on the pharmaceutical industry. I worked for them for several years and let us just say they are not in the business of helping patients they are in the money making business-- that I believe falls under the heading capitalism.   I am not bitter.  Ilea is a new drug on the market that seems to have a longer therapeutic effect. It is also an anti-VEGF drug like Avastin and Lucentis.   Anti-VEGF means anti-vascular endothelial growth factor.  In layman’s terms it is an antibody that blocks a growth factor that is present when there is new and rapid growth of blood vessels; it actually spurs production of blood vessels.  In normal circumstances it is fine, but in the eye unchecked is bad. The irony is I used to do research and development on similar drugs in my career. 

Comprehension and sight go together

I never realized how much comprehension was linked to vision. This is a huge struggle for me now since my vision loss.  The funny thing is I actually will squint to ‘try’ and see well enough so that I can understand something better.  Even though squinting does absolutely nothing, my brain still tries.  I guess I shouldn’t fault the grey matter for trying eh?   I read an article last year and from the few gathered cues I got it was about a young man in high school and a math council.  I was almost at the end of the article before I realized I was missing something critical. It stated something to the effect of “we are trying to get the word out on the dangers of math”.  Hmmm.  Back up here Nelly, something is amiss.  I went back to the top of the article and reread it.  It was a meth not a math council.  (I wanted to learn about the dangers of math, seriously).  This is just one example of how interrupted my reading has become.  This has been a very hard reality for me because I am such an avid reader.  My reading speed has come way down and (obviously) my comprehension has been affected.  I don’t read the newspaper or anything frivolous.  Basically, it has to be worthy of reading for me to fight all the obstacles to read it.  The good news is I do have several devices from the Library of Congress for listening to and obtaining audio books and a wonderful program on my computer to magnify text as well as an audio reader. Additionally, I should be getting a CCTV that is specific for low vision shortly. I am on the cusp of being able to read a little more comfortably with the help of various tools. So in the meantime, if there is something going on in my world or community that is kind of “critical” to know, please call me and if you know of any great books or authors email me your recommendations.

Grief cycle, each event and circumstance does have and end point

          I have been blogging a lot lately about grief (in a non-direct way). I haven’t had someone in my life die recently; however, I have suffered loss.  Loss is loss and every time you truly “lose” there is a grief cycle to go through.  I hate it, but having been through the cycle multiple times I know that there is light at the end of the tunnel and things do get better.  It all royally sucks, but it does get better.  So, I guess the question you are asking is ‘Why am I in the grief cycle?’  My vision tanked again.  You know that cute grid picture on the right of my blog?  Well last Thursday I could see some greying around the middle and lines going wavy more than usual.  Right now the center of the grid is simply gone. Always before when my eyes do this my vision does come back a certain extent.  It comes back, not because the condition has healed itself but because my brain has relocated a better spot on my retina to bring images into focus.   I feel like I have done all this work to adapt and rehabilitate and then it is like being placed back at square one and asked to start over again.  I described this process as being like getting pulled out to sea on a rip tide, and then you use all your strength, training and knowledge to get back to shore.  Just as you are about to lay a hand on the beach another rip tide hauls you back out to sea and you start over.  I am exhausted.  I was told I not only have suffered a primary loss (my vision), but secondary losses (all my fine tune vision requiring hobbies, my degree and training being rendered useless, and everything else my lack of vision has stolen.).  I think the hardest part of the grief cycle is how people respond to it.  When you are the person on the outside looking into a person and their grief is rather frightening.  It makes you contemplate those things in life no one wants to ever think about.  However, as the outsider you don’t have to do any of the work, surfer any of the effects, deal with any of the obstacles.  You are simply an observer.  There are no words to say, nothing that can be done accept to just stand by and silently support the hurting simply by your presence.  These are the times you learn the depth of friendships.  Friends, true friends, silently climb into the trench with you and choose to just be with you in the midst of the loss. They don’t try to ‘fix it’ or tell you how you should deal with it, they just buoy you up with their presence, compassion, and love.

Can anyone out there relate to this?

I have been a believer of Jesus for 20+ years.  I have done countless bible/book studies.  I do believe that Jesus is at work today just as He was during His brief stint on this earth.  I seem to find myself in these studies where there is a similar theme/story given.  A person has a hardship and God asks them to give something up or trust Him with some part of their life or leave a circumstance at the foot of the cross.  The person sweats it out, suffers for a time and then….wait for it….there is a miraculous healing, the “thing” they had to give up was only for a time (usually short) or some other “happily ever after” scenario.  Just once I would like to hear a story about the person who prayed and gave something up to God but that thing/person was still taken away from this life.  I am not trying to morose or overly somber I just want to hear my story told once. I prayed faithfully every day for over a year for my father’s cancer to be healed.  Then as his health really declined and there appeared to be no relief I prayed “God, if there really is no cure and no improved quality of life, please take my dad home”.  And guess what, that was the prayer that was answered; my father went to be with the Lord the very next day. Then this crazy eye disease, I have begged for it to be taken, but it is still here wreaking havoc on my sight.  Where is the miracle you ask?  Well, the miracle for me is that I wake up every day still believing that God is good and has my back.  I trust Him so fully that it is overwhelming.  I have faith that He will do great things with my life regardless of my losses and disability. And I see that He is actually using these losses for His glory.  My relationship with my God is stronger and more alive than it has ever been because of my circumstances.  But these same circumstances seem to really impede my ability to relate to a lot of fellow church goers because my story is messy and can’t be tied up with the pretty bow of “happily ever after”.  They can’t accept or even fathom a sacrifice that is placed on the altar which actually sits there for a life time or is taken up to heaven.  Here I am growing closer to God yet more alienated from those who have never experienced significant loss. I have had the privilege to stand with those whose child or parent died, marriage crumbled, health declined, or is disabled.  Honestly, I glean more hope, inspiration, and wisdom from my fellow travelers than from a book/bible study that keeps it neat and simple.  I have learned that life is anything but neat and simple and it takes courage to reflect God’s love in the midst of the suffocating sorrow, excruciating pain, or harrowing loss. I guess I know what my purpose is now, to communicate and share what it is like to have a life like mine and how to know that God is in the midst of it all.  I need to share my story so no one else feels like I do when a fairy tale is shared: alone, left out, and unnoticed. It is not a fun place to be, even when I feel God nearby.

Acceptance is not easy

Apparently I have issues with acceptance.  Frankly, it has issues with me.  I have come to this place multiple times over where I want to be able to just sit down and have the straight answer given to me.  Here it is, this is all that you need to accept.  Then you could pick it up and strategize how you are going to move forward. Once you do, you are done and can move on.  Ha, if only life were so easy! Instead, we analytical types that deal in black and white, rudely find out that life is grey, multiple shades and hues of grey.  No one can tell me how bad my vision will get; if there will ever be a true cure/fix, just silence.  How do you accept something you don’t know yet?  How do you come to terms with a condition, situation, diagnosis, whatever, when you can’t have all the facts before you and make an educated decision?  All you can do is accept what is before you right now, today.  That’s it.  Stop predicting or planning the future, live in just today and be intentionally present.  If I can just remember what I need to do today and accept what is, I find a serene place.  But when I start going down that ugly road of “what if”, “if only”, “I could have, would have, and should have” that serenity is gone and it is replaced with a depression that can settle like a thick fog.  Clarity is gone and anger is just simmering under the surface.  Anger for me is a positive indicator of fear.  When I get scared, really scared, I get mad.  I get scared when I can’t control the future and I desperately want to. I get scared when there are unknowns, for example, how bad are my eyes going to get? What does my future look like? Can I be successful before I burnout from working with my disability?  Can I find something I am passionate about and my eyes don’t get in the way? Can I truly accept that all my college and professional training were just for that season and it is now time to move on to something else?  Will I ever feel “normal” in my skin again? Will I ever get to a place where I don’t want to eat my weight in malt balls to assuage this pain? I guess I just need to lean back on the motto “progress not perfection” and just keep putting one foot in front of the other because as long as I am “doing the next right thing” I am making forward progress. If I have forward momentum then I can’t be sitting in morass of self-pity but actually moving toward acceptance and away from despair. I heard once, “just because you trip on a step doesn’t mean you have to throw yourself down the flight of stairs”.  Here’s to “one step at a time”.