Disability in Autumn by Miriam Sagan

The pain meds are wearing off and it’s time to go to bed. Problem is, it’s only 4:30 pm and dinner is half cooked. And it’s a nice dinner, too, fancy rice, warm spinach and my winter kale, shrimp. Rich won’t be home for another hour or so.
I can take different approaches. First off, I’m glad it isn’t 2 pm, like it is some days. I can take a bath in epsom salts, and more or different meds. In fact, that is the most likely scenario. I want to fake it a bit longer.
Here’s the thing—I basically get two units out of three per day. It’s really not that bad. I had a productive writing morning, I had lunch with a friend, and a fun fabric adventure later. New Mexico went mostly blue, and the leaves are still yellow. We’re in that autumn inhalation that pretends there is no winter.
I’m the same.
I know it is kind of high school-y to wonder how others see me. But I just ordered a book on that subject, partially because I feel a disconnect. I think I seem cheerful. However, a friend recently died and I ended up sobbing in my car this morning. Embarrassingly it’s Boy George’s “Karma Chameleon” that set me off because my first, now dead, husband loved it. In fact, he played it over and spring cleaning one March day long ago. That night my godson was born, and I was there to see it.
Marvelously, I’m not deteriorating except for age. What I have or am doesn’t seem to be degenerative (not that anyone really knows what it is). Best guess—post swine flu, lung loss, and surgery. I’ve been noticing recently how my sternum moves out of whack, my ribs float and pop. “Unsurprisingly,” says my trusted PT.
I’m neither a heroic person nor am I blasé. I enjoy complaining, but I don’t mind sucking it up. I don’t compare myself to others or to myself. After all, I’ve been this way for forty-five years.
Being an introvert works to my advantage—I don’t WANT to be sociable all day. And my extrovert bits keep me going—I get curious or interested or motivated and find myself on a plane off to an adventure in Japan or Nebraska.
Compensating all the while.

6 thoughts on “Disability in Autumn by Miriam Sagan

    • Thanks so much for saying that. I tend to hesitate–it took a long time before I could write about it. (Or understand it enough to write). And I tend to get an attack of feeling exposed–but it is worthwhile.

  1. I appreciate your candor writing about living with pain. Actually, much of your blog offers an honest look at many issues along the continuum of life. And, as pain can be such an energy suck, I admire how much enthusiasm you bring to life, Mir. Thank you.

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