My ordeal is most likely disappointment with myself. I am gradually becoming more and more convinced that in order to strike down this spirit of disappointment I must take up the sword of Chronic Hope, I must recognize and celebrate every incremental victory.
Sometimes, if I wallow in my pain long enough, I find that the muck of it all covers my eyeballs, and all I can see are my insides. It’s not a pretty sight when my insides are filled with resentment, self pity, bitterness and anger. My challenge is to get my head out of this pigsty high enough to see the beauty that surrounds me.
Two Weeks in Hawaii
When that happens, I can grab the sword of Chronic Hope and fight my way out of the muck. Every incident of incremental healing must be met with gratitude. I was given many opportunities to prove this theorem true over the last two weeks in Hawaii. The day before we left the mainland, I called the airlines to arrange for a wheelchair. But as it turned out, I did not need the chair even once on the way there and on the way back.
I started a puzzle, expecting that hiking the amazing lava tubes and trails would be beyond my lower back’s abilities. Surprisingly,I participated in every hike except one. There is nothing that I crave more than walking barefoot through the sand and gentle surf right on the edges where it ebbs and flows. I got to walk through heavenly black, green, and white sand for about five miles.
I was sure that my diving fins would put too much pressure on the cyst in my lower back, so I applied tons of sunscreen, knowing that I would be the one to guard our stuff piled on the beach while Dan and Sally snorkeled. Guess what? I swam with at least 20 spinner dolphins, got within about 10 feet of a shark (not on purpose) and was astounded by the beauty of thousands of shiny tropical fish. And our stuff was not stolen.
And probably the best day was a few days ago. Not one single ache or pain. I celebrated the healing even if it was just for one day.
Early this morning I got out of bed and immediately grabbed my sword of chronic hope. If there is one place that a person with Parkinson’s especially needs gratitude and grace it’s at an airport. We drove behind a bus that stopped at least every five minutes and never allowed traffic to go around it. We got to the airport, weighed bags and found we had to redistribute items. Then the security line was long and painfully slow. One by one I asked other travelers if we could please go ahead of them to reach our gate. People were so kind until I reached Goliath. He was 7 feet tall, but compared to my 5’1”, he could have been 9’ tall. He would not let us pass.
We reached our gate one minute after the doors had closed. Ugh – really?
But then our fairy godmother appeared; her name was Sharla. A native Hawaiian and Southwest ticket agent, she made all the necessary arrangements for us to arrive in Denver only an hour later than previously planned. We are in the air now en route to Las Vegas, so we shall see how well that works – I am celebrating that we are almost in the mountain time zone, and I am celebrating that we are on the proper side of the Pacific. Every victory counts when a person has chronic hope.
Our trip was filled with incidents of incremental healings, and my reservoir was refilled with chronic hope. But even more important than all of this is that I have a sneaky feeling that it’s not even about me – it’s about the people who I need to help. It’s not about whether I live a comfortable and easy life. It’s more about those who are watching and waiting to see how I approach and live through each of these challenges. I know that I have had periods of struggle, feeling sorry for myself. I am far from perfect. But if I can help some people as they live the best they can with Parkinson’s, then it will have been worth it all.
Hard to believe that at this age, two weeks short of 70, I am still learning and growing. But I am. I am experiencing a gift called Post Traumatic Growth, and there are some people who have told me that I’ve had an impact on them by the way I try to remain joyful even when it hurts inside and outside my body. Could it be that something good could come from all of this?
I humbly tell you that my book, Chronic Hope, is in the hands of my publisher now! I’m praying that it will be a help to some of my Parkinson’s brothers and sisters.
Patti Burnett 