what I would give, just to feel you again~
looking for 'normal'
When I was a little kid, I remember that getting really sick was so surreal. It felt as though I'd left my body behind, and was watching everything from afar. My mom would make tinctures and teas, compresses and steams. I know I've probably made this next part up, but I can almost swear she'd put on her old linen apron while working her magic. I was the youngest of five children, so I loved the special attention and care I received while sick. Sure, some of it sucked, like having to chew on licorice root or the 'no tv' rule, but otherwise, it was almost wonderful. Except, of course, being really sick.
MS seemed a little like this at the beginning. Everything felt dream-like. The uber rides up and down the hill to the hospital, moving in slow motion from one room to the next, and sitting with my family for dinner (after the kids had spent the first two weeks at their dad's). Everything was quiet and dimly lit. I wore my pajamas or sweats all day. I couldn't see myself in the mirror because of my vision problems, and I couldn't brush my hair, let alone get dressed, without help.
But there was one place where I felt like I could fall apart. I would ask someone to light the candle in the bathroom and I'd slowly get into the shower. I would cautiously sit down, then lay on my back and gracelessly scoot myself directly under the oversized shower head. I could lift my legs so the water hit the bottoms of my feet, and I would just lie here for what felt like hours.
While in the shower, I remember looking up at my legs, my feet, and I'd try willing my body to wake up. I looked so normal from the outside, why was everything going hay-wire inside? I honestly considered myself to be so healthy! I mean, compared to others, I was doing pretty well physically, wasn't I? Why did this have to happen to me?
It's been almost a year and a half since then. I've had a lot of time to work on accepting how things are today. I've learned to use my left hand like I never thought I'd be able to. I can see that my toes have become more flexible, as I rely on my left side so often to keep my balance. I've gotten used to not being able to feel my right hand, and have to stay mindful while cooking that I don't accidentally burn it moving around pots or removing lids. I first touch things with my left hand, just to be safe.
The only thing I truly miss is being able to feel water on my right side. I know this doesn't seem like the biggest deal, given how poorly things could've gone. I am beyond grateful to have feeling on my left side, to be able to see normally, to walk almost perfectly, to sleep without much pain (the list goes on and on). But when I wash the dishes, and hold the sponge in my right hand, it's as though I'm wearing a thick plastic glove. I can't feel the detergent, the bubbles, or the water as I squeeze out the sponge. It's the strangest sensation. It's as if my hand's been painted with superglue, or as if I've severely burnt it.
Every now and then I lie down with my back against the shower floor, and raise my legs back up. As the hot water beats down against my feet, I try to remember what it felt like when I first got sick. I roll drops of water between my left thumb and left pointer finger. It feels like life between my fingers. I try (again) with my right hand, and on this side I continue to feel nothing. I had no idea how something so seemingly unnecessary could be missed so terribly. Adaptation is what drives me forward, but every now and then the sense of loss simply hurts.
