When I emerged from the stall, I saw this lady drying her short blond hair. Sometime during the five minutes I was changing clothes, she had managed to get dressed and do her makeup. She wore a black and white striped shirt, jeans, and a maroon pashmina scarf, an outfit I often wear. I often get ready in the locker room, hair and makeup included, since I drive such a long way and usually have other activities or appointments in Lexington. The older ladies often stare or make comments about me getting all dolled up. Not this woman. We chatted about the weather, doctors appointments, and then she mentioned to me and another lady in the room about visiting Gatlinburg with her family this spring.
None of this seemed out of the ordinary until she said that she will probably take her wheelchair along to make her trip easier. Not many conditions allow you to choose when to utilize certain equipment - either you're wheelchair bound or you're not. But with connective tissue disorders like mine, some days you need a brace, cane, or chair, and some days you don't.
As she picked up a cane, about to leave the locker room, I wrestled with myself about whether or not to ask what medical condition she has. But my encounter with Deborah briefly entered my mind and so I asked. "MS and mixed connective tissue disorder." As this woman spoke of her issues, symptoms, doctors, and medications, I nodded in agreement and my eyes brimmed with tears because this woman standing before me was my future.
I wasn't crying because I didn't want to be her. The opposite, actually. This woman was strong, brave, and happy. She had struggles. Just that day she had been to the doctor for several hours, followed by physical therapy in the pool. She uses a cane when needed. But she was there. She wore makeup, she fixed her hair, she looked happy. She looked like someone I would like to grow up to be.
Her name is Melissa and she is my mom's age, making her the first person I have met with a connective tissue disorder that is over 25. Being a relatively new diagnosis, not many middle-aged people have been diagnosed with these issues or if they have, it was after years of suffering.
Melissa spoke with such wisdom and understanding. She is obviously a woman of faith and that was evident in the way she talked with me and of her medical journey. She told me of the struggles and scares she has had and of how she was revived after dying from a reaction to a medication. She said, "I still feel like God had a job for me to do here. I don't what it is - maybe it is witnessing to you today."
As tears streamed down my face, Melissa wrapped her arms around me and told me that everything will be okay. But she didn't leave it at that. She told me it will be hard, that sometimes it gets worse before it gets better, but to never give up the fight or let other people, even doctors make me feel bad about who I am and what I have been given. She gave me her contact information and promised we could talk if I ever needed anything, had questions, or just wanted to talk to someone who understands and has made it through.
With this condition, I often meet or hear of people who are on this journey with me, but very rarely do I meet people who have already surpassed where I am and won the battles I am facing. Melissa put a smile on my face, tears in my eyes, and wisdom in my mind, but most importantly she filled me with hope. A hope for a future, an uncertain future, a future with maybe a cane or wheelchair, but a future of happiness, love, and life. That's really all I could ever want.
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