"Progress always involves risks. You can't steal second base and keep your foot on first." ~Frederick B. Wilcox
I always viewed baseball as the least invasive contact sport, until I compared it to living with Stiff Person Syndrome. The opportunity to score is only when you leave the safety of the dugout--alone--just you, the pitcher, and the ability to crack a trick pitch to run for the safety of first base. A beginning.
I made a feeble attempt to leave confining dugout safety a few years ago. SPS fear and insecurity had me back in the dugout, with a different team, and still a bench- warmer. "Batter up!" Taking another chance at risk, I picked up a heavy bat, tapped the packed sand from my cleats, and looked the pitcher in the eye.
Hit in the side by a fast ball I could not duck, I hobbled to first base, but I was in position to score! Baseball involves understanding the rules, looking for opportunities, and stealing the safety of a base while sliding to avoid being out.
Catching my breath from the hard hit landing me on first base, I welcomed the opportunity to score. Alone on the field with nine players focused on taking me down, (SPS symptoms), the glare of the lights, and yelling crowd, (boos & cheers), were distractions interrupting my strategy to steal. Just breathe and focus.
My recent neuro visit was an obvious uplift for him regarding my progress--going over my stats. I have been going to the gym 3 times a week, gait aid in hand, but doing light weight training and elliptical workouts during medication peaks. Outside walking with my two hiking poles on off days is agoraphobia training. (I was stuck outside of the library last week, but a kind stranger walked me to my car.) I mentor a child and have developed some friendships and a social life topside of the SPS underworld. I still do some SPS advocacy, but within a healthy balance. Third base goals are in my sight.
Dusting off my knees from my brutal second base slide, I watch the ongoing game with renewing confidence--waiting for my third base opening. I am already contemplating home and another round at bat. My lunch as a mentor this week was appropriately the baseball favorite--an American hot dog.
"Never let the fear of striking out get in your way." ~Babe Ruth
Copyright © 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
Here Comes The Sun
“Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves.” ~James Matthew Barrie
I live with chronic illness. Anyone living with a chronic condition knows the physical discomfort, limitations, and emotional expense it takes every single day. If I let it go unchecked, I drown in a self-absorbed preoccupation with the popular trio of me, myself, and I. It is easy to see just inside your own box and become oblivious to the pain of others. One of the best things I do for myself is to give to others. How? What? Why?
My heart is unaffected. I can love, share understanding, listen. I have been in public and see someone who is obviously having a bad day. A genuine smile and kind word go a long way to brighten their day and mine.
I turn off my SPS saga and listen to the problems/worries/fears of others. In listening and offering compassion, advice, and friendship to one in need gives me a boost of appreciation for the good things in my life. I rediscover my worth as a person who can give, not just take.
A member of my sunday school class had lost a loved one. I signed up to take a meal. A bucket of chicken and a couple of sides can go a long way to let a family know you care and ease things for them during a rough time of grief.
My church offers mentoring programs for children: spending time with a special needs child, reading, or planning class parties.
Nursing homes welcome volunteers to visit with the residents, just talk. The residents love it and the time I did that, I was richly rewarded with love and a firsthand account of historical events. Fascinating.
It only takes a caring heart and time to chase away the blues. Here comes the sun!
Copyright © 2011
I live with chronic illness. Anyone living with a chronic condition knows the physical discomfort, limitations, and emotional expense it takes every single day. If I let it go unchecked, I drown in a self-absorbed preoccupation with the popular trio of me, myself, and I. It is easy to see just inside your own box and become oblivious to the pain of others. One of the best things I do for myself is to give to others. How? What? Why?
My heart is unaffected. I can love, share understanding, listen. I have been in public and see someone who is obviously having a bad day. A genuine smile and kind word go a long way to brighten their day and mine.
I turn off my SPS saga and listen to the problems/worries/fears of others. In listening and offering compassion, advice, and friendship to one in need gives me a boost of appreciation for the good things in my life. I rediscover my worth as a person who can give, not just take.
A member of my sunday school class had lost a loved one. I signed up to take a meal. A bucket of chicken and a couple of sides can go a long way to let a family know you care and ease things for them during a rough time of grief.
My church offers mentoring programs for children: spending time with a special needs child, reading, or planning class parties.
Nursing homes welcome volunteers to visit with the residents, just talk. The residents love it and the time I did that, I was richly rewarded with love and a firsthand account of historical events. Fascinating.
It only takes a caring heart and time to chase away the blues. Here comes the sun!
Copyright © 2011
Hit & Run
“A warrior takes responsibility for his acts, for the most trivial of acts. An average man acts out his thoughts, and never takes responsibility for what he does.” ~Carlos Castaneda
Tuesday evening was a fun get-together with friends for pizza. It is liberating and healing to laugh and socialize in a 'normal' setting--especially if pizza is involved. I talked a friend into splitting a sinfully decadent chocolate dessert called 'Chocolate Temptation.' (Worth every fat gram and carb!)
The first to leave our party came abruptly back into the pizza place--an eye witness to a hit & run to a parked vehicle in the parking lot which happened to be mine! She was a good witness--getting the man's phone number and name from the counter employee as he was a pickup order. Apparently he was fashionably coordinated in red crocks with a matching red shirt.
I can tell I am getting old. The responding officer looked more like a cub scout than a policeman, but he was eye candy. Investigating the damage, my rear tail light lay in splinters on the asphalt, grooved punch in the bumper, and a silver trim something lay in solitary twisted carnage in the dimly-lit crime scene.
I guess I have been fighting serious health issues for so long, I felt nothing looking at the broken shards littering the ground--knowing my car can be repaired. My broken health is an ugly duct-taped temporary medication repair of questionable efficiency. My body is totaled. Engaged in a daily battle with Stiff Person Syndrome, I need to have the mindset of a warrior. Life priorities refocus with clarity--important and trivial, permanent and temporary.
Outside of his garrish attire, Mr. Red Crocs is an irresponsible and average guy. I wish SPS would take a lesson from our pizza-toting flight perp, don some red crocs and go on the lam. No chase would ensue.
Copyright © 2011
Tuesday evening was a fun get-together with friends for pizza. It is liberating and healing to laugh and socialize in a 'normal' setting--especially if pizza is involved. I talked a friend into splitting a sinfully decadent chocolate dessert called 'Chocolate Temptation.' (Worth every fat gram and carb!)
The first to leave our party came abruptly back into the pizza place--an eye witness to a hit & run to a parked vehicle in the parking lot which happened to be mine! She was a good witness--getting the man's phone number and name from the counter employee as he was a pickup order. Apparently he was fashionably coordinated in red crocks with a matching red shirt.
I can tell I am getting old. The responding officer looked more like a cub scout than a policeman, but he was eye candy. Investigating the damage, my rear tail light lay in splinters on the asphalt, grooved punch in the bumper, and a silver trim something lay in solitary twisted carnage in the dimly-lit crime scene.
I guess I have been fighting serious health issues for so long, I felt nothing looking at the broken shards littering the ground--knowing my car can be repaired. My broken health is an ugly duct-taped temporary medication repair of questionable efficiency. My body is totaled. Engaged in a daily battle with Stiff Person Syndrome, I need to have the mindset of a warrior. Life priorities refocus with clarity--important and trivial, permanent and temporary.
Outside of his garrish attire, Mr. Red Crocs is an irresponsible and average guy. I wish SPS would take a lesson from our pizza-toting flight perp, don some red crocs and go on the lam. No chase would ensue.
Copyright © 2011
Rare Disease Day
Rare Disease Day is recognized on February 28. For those of us with a rare disease, every day is rare disease day. I appreciate the many unified voices of advocacy, along with the year-long efforts of Eurodis and NORD, to bring awareness to this 'rare' community that collectively affects 1 out of 10 individuals.
I am always touched and inspired reading the stories of others with a different diagnosis, but who share the same struggles as me with medical and social understanding...just living.
Copyright © 2011
I am always touched and inspired reading the stories of others with a different diagnosis, but who share the same struggles as me with medical and social understanding...just living.
Copyright © 2011
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