Healing Didn’t Read My Schedule

I would like to speak to whoever is in charge of the healing department.

I have a few concerns about the timeline.

When life knocks us down, I think most of us begin making plans for getting back up. We picture the appointments, the physical therapy, the rest, and then that wonderful day when we feel like ourselves again.

I certainly didn’t expect an overnight miracle—although, Lord, the offer still stands.

But I did expect a little more cooperation.

Apparently, healing didn’t read my schedule.

It also doesn’t seem particularly interested in my suggestions.

Living with MS, recovering from injuries, and adjusting to changes in my body have taught me how much I like a predictable outcome. Give me instructions. Tell me what to practice. Let me check a box and see some progress.

Unfortunately, my body has never signed that agreement.

Some days, I feel encouraged. Something seems easier, and I start imagining what might come next. Other days, a familiar task takes more effort than I think it should, and I wonder where yesterday’s progress went.

Those are the days when patience feels less like a virtue and more like an assignment I have already completed several times.

Surely I should have enough credits by now.

Underneath the humor, though, there is real sadness.

I miss doing things without first calculating the energy, balance, assistance, and recovery time they might require. I miss the freedom of deciding to go somewhere and simply going. Sometimes I get tired of having to be so thoughtful about things I once did without a second thought.

And when I work hard at getting stronger, I want that effort to show.

It’s difficult to admit that I can do my part and still have very little control over the timetable—or the outcome.

I’m learning to be more honest about that. I don’t have to dress every disappointment in an encouraging little outfit before I allow myself to feel it.

Some days, “This is hard, and I wish it were different,” is the truest thing I can say.

God can handle that sentence.

My faith gives me someone to turn to when I’m discouraged. I can pray for healing and admit that I’m tired of waiting. I can be thankful for Rick’s help and still grieve needing so much of it. There is room in my heart for all of those feelings, even when they arrive at the same time and nobody has brought snacks.

I’m also trying to notice what my schedule overlooks.

A moment of laughter. The relief of being understood. A good afternoon that I might have dismissed because it didn’t include some measurable accomplishment.

Those things don’t erase my limitations. They do make a difference in how I live with them.

I still have goals. I still hope for improvement. But I’m trying to stop treating each day like a performance review for my body.

It has been through a lot. Maybe it could use a little less criticism from management.

So I will keep doing what I can. I will rest when I need to, ask for help when I need it, and try to speak to myself with the kindness I would offer someone I love.

How has chronic illness changed you day to day living?

If you could change one thing today, what would it be?

For myself it would be to give myself more grace on my journey home.

Julie Payne