The Gift of Frailty: Remembering to Be Grateful

Many years ago I got a bad case of mono. I didn't know I had it and I likely had it for months before being diagnosed. I found out about it only when my body crashed and stopped working. 

Eventually I recovered. Mostly. Even now there are times when I have a mini-relapse. Every few months, I get a cloudy feeling in my head and ears. And I get tired in a way I can't describe. This is fatigue beyond being sleepy or even exhaustion. It's a ravenous, aggressive, virulent sort of fatigue. I can sleep all day and barely touch the raging exhaustion. But even though sleep doesn't help, it's all I can do.

I've learned to accept these occasional bouts as the price of a busy life filled with many good things. So many good things that I'm always running somewhere and doing something.

When these times come, I take a weekend and crash. I sleep and sleep and sleep and eventually, my body resets itself. The ravenous fatigue is sated and life goes on. I don't think I'll ever be energetic or full of pep, but I have enough strength to do what I want. (Please, don't leave comments or suggestions for miracle cures. In over 20 years of dealing with this, I've tried them all. It's not a matter of weight or diet or exercise or supplements. Believe me. I've tried everything in both traditional and alternative traditions short of sacrificing a chicken at midnight beneath a full moon). 

I'm not complaining; this post wasn't written as a way to dig for sympathy. To the contrary. It is written as a full-throated hymn of gratitude because these times remind me of important things that I don't exactly forget when I'm well, but I don't fully remember.

I remember that humans are frail. Our bodies are miracles, but they are miracles that can easily be weak and hurt and flawed. Even the most vigorous among us might be struck down tomorrow with a terrible disease. While my own condition is not changed by diet or exercise, nor does it matter what my weight is, these times remind me that my body is a tremendous gift and that I would do well to take care of it in every prudent way I can.

It also reminds me to be patient and kind, to look with compassion and empathy at those around me who are not so fortunate. I am reminded to be gentle and helpful. I'm further reminded that if I can not be helpful, I can at least be silent. There are so many struggles that our fellow humans face, difficult battles often fought in lonely silence.

I am reminded of what a beautiful world we live in. As I rest in bed, I look out my window and see more miracles--trees that change their clothes with the seasons. Right now, the Bradford Pears are covered with white blossoms and young green leaves. Birds that have been hiding are back and are celebrating spring in full voice. Hyacinths and daffodils are growing. It is magnificent! I'm usually too busy to notice or enjoy the fact that I live in a place that is full of extraordinary beauty. 

I am reminded that I live in a time of tremendous physical comfort. I am able to rest without worrying about drawing water from a well or killing the food I will eat. I can adjust the temperature with a nudge of a dial instead of having to chop wood. 

I have immediate access to the greatest books and music ever written. I can watch just about any movie I want. For my particular tastes, Turner Classic Movies, my trusty DVR, and some supplements from Amazon give me an endless supply of films that truly delight me. 

I  have a family who is patient with me. They are generous with my limitations, understanding of my weakness, and helpful as I recover and regenerate. They also give me a reason to keep going and keep trying.

I have a job that both challenges and comforts me, providing opportunities for both affirmation and continuing growth. I work hard, and I work full days. 12 hour days are the rule, not the exception, and of course, neither teachers nor most writers make a great deal of money. Nevertheless, it's I'm out in the fields doing heavy labor only to have an early frost destroy my livelihood. Sitting at a computer or piano keyboard is demanding, but I have it so much better than just about every human who has lived on this earth. 

So, I'm grateful for this bit of physical frailty, this reminder of just how fortunate, just how blessed, I truly am.