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Sleep. Creep. Leap.


It's been awhile. Did you miss me, I wonder? 

I've been drifting about on the clouds of memory fog and forgetfulness that accompany conditions like psoriatic arthritis and fibromyalgia. (My family gets a kick out of my loopiness.) The plethora of doctor appointments and hospital stays have kept me pretty occupied, as well.

Since autoimmune dysfunction assaulted my life, I have come to accept most things as they appear with much less stress than before. Perhaps time heals. Now if I could just remember to schedule that massage...

Having been diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis in 2014, I am much more invested in the reality of this disease now. I have read, asked questions, written, researched, traveled and cried. Knowing what I know now, I wish I wouldn't have been so hard on myself. A gift from my daughter, Alesha, may have been the the gentle nudge I needed to truly realize this.

She gave me a rose bush for Mothers Day the same year I was diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis. I have never been good at roses. I try to hard. I over think it. Maybe I over think
everything. 
Trimming, pruning, fertilizing.

I underestimated the foundation this poor rose bush already had. Its constitution. Its presence. I wish I wouldn't have been so hard on this rose bush. I figured it out eventually.

When I first moved to Georgia and built a home with my husband, a dear mentor of mine told me that plants have a reliable system for growth. They will sleep when they are first planted, taking their time to acclimate and settle into their surroundings. The second year they will creep, venturing out slowly , stretching their roots a bit and establishing a presence.
Finally the plant will expand it's horizons and leap into uncharted territory during the third year, having found its confidence in its new environment. Such wisdom.

As I admire this once small, struggling plant, now flourishing and prolific with blooms each spring, I have realized something profoundly simple. Growth takes time. It comes in stages. It comes with set backs. Acceptance is a journey I have taken with bumps and roots and tangled vines. I was really mad about my diagnosis at first, then I just hung back and sat with it for awhile. I would dip my toe in and then recoil in chronic pain and fear. Then one day, things changed. More diagnosis led to the reality and need for action. Rare diseases will startle you into motion...of this I am sure. I took my baby steps toward Advocacy and began forming a more specific plan. My gifts are coming to fruition as I work as a Patient Leader and reach out with arms wide open.

Just like my rose bush, I'm leaping toward the sky, growing up and out. Soon the buds will bloom and I will see past all the fog and forgetfulness.  Perhaps some Post It's may be in order... but I've got this. I now drift on the idea that my little voice can make a difference.
Sticky notes come in lots of colors and I've got great ideas...

Peace.
Ellie

Comments

  1. Beautiful way of delivering your words on page "Since autoimmune dysfunction assaulted my life, I have come to accept most things as they appear with much less stress than before. Perhaps time heals. Now if I could just remember to schedule that massage..."

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