The day began with a reminder call that my portable oxygen tanks would be delivered between ten and twelve o’clock. “O.K.” is my standard answer. I have learned that the delivery may happen at any time. Sometimes the delivery time may be a different day. These tanks are not an emergency. They will be available for times when I leave the house. I have a large concentrator that is to be used around the clock at home. I also have a large portable tank that will be available in case of a power outage.
I have needed these tanks for the past 1 1/2 years. I smile as I remember the beginning of all this. I cleaned the house to the best of my ability. I wore clothes that would have been reserved for dress up. Now days, the oxygen delivery finds me and the house “as is”. What was once a big deal is now a casual occurrence.
The need for this delivery has not yet become a casual occurrence. A huge part of me wants to say that this delivery person must have the wrong house. This part of me finds it hard to believe that I am considered this ill.
For many years, when I worked for a family service agency, a large part of my job was to serve people via home visits. I was the one who rang people’s bell and entered their homes. I was the healthy one who climbed over drifting snow to get to the door. They put the Christmas tree out for me. Sometimes I would be the only visitor that season.
I still feel like that provider of services. As I open the door and accept the oxygen, I tell the provider how I am doing. The other part of me is also present. That part says that the person must have the wrong house. They better leave now because I have to go to work.
The traits of introversion are an asset when someone is burdened with a chronic illness. It has been two years since my diagnosis of Myasthenia Gravis. All of my muscles are weakened. My arms, hands and legs have lost strength. I have double/triple vision. It is difficult to speak because my chest muscles are not strong enough to move my vocal chords. Over exerting makes all of this worse. Rest has been emphasized as a key part of treatment. When this began, I was still working. I expected the illness to be followed by recovery. I grieved my busy life.
I have worn the rose colored glasses throughout my life. My childhood role in the family deemed the glasses as necessary. I flashed that smile and said, “I can do this”. Most of the time I could. I grew into a multitasking adult who was always fine. I pushed through tasks when I was tired or ill. I did not accept limits.
There is a wisdom that can be obtained by aging that cannot be found any other way. When I speak of aging, I use the word “old” quite freely. OLD is just as beautiful a word as YOUNG. An old face is just as beautiful as a young face. Facial lines tell awesome stories of the journey. Why would someone want these lines erased?
