I Can Do This...Help.
Frustration often gets the best of me. I try like you wouldn’t believe not to show just how frustrated I get but then I get tangled up in a tank top or the left pocket of my pants is sticking out like the floppy ear of an elephant, it straight pisses me off. I know that stuff is really petty, I’m fully aware of that but you don’t get much support from a sports bra rolled up on top of your boobs. The insanity of expecting something different mounts the frustration higher and higher. The “bigger” (not a reference to boobs) things can make me completely nuts if I let them.
“Bigger” means just that...much larger challenges than dressing myself. My brain tumor surgery cost me my smooth, I’m so cool strut and the use of my left arm so many of life’s day to day tasks can be difficult. Necessity is indeed the mother of invention. I have said “I can’t” so many times just before I figure it out and prove myself wrong. Then other things defeat me and I have to ask for help. Being an independent type, asking for help is one thing I struggle with daily.
Imagine, if you will, needing help in the shower and I don’t mean the fun kind of help, I mean help because I lose my balance if I close my eyes or tip my head back to rinse, thus the need for a shower chair and a Personal Care Assistant. Aarrgg!! I’m 55 not 75!! There are days when I hide my tears in the shower so no one knows how disappointed I am...in myself. I know it’s not like I just decided one day to become disabled so I could be a burden to those I love, it’s simply the hand I’ve been dealt and I struggle every single day to understand why I got such crappy cards and no option to fold. What doesn’t kill you, right?
The picture for this blog had to be Annie or Nurse Rachet. No offense to PCA's or Nurses...love your work.