Riding my 3-wheeler on a Sunday morning bike ride with David, we pedaled a mile to get donuts (a reward for exercising). We pass by a huge grassy field on our route and paused to watch a man throwing a ball to his dog. A golden retriever, she looked to be a mature animal, but what do I know about dogs. Anyway, that dog wagged and ran and fetched, wagged and fetched, and laid on the cool grass when she wanted to. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a dog take a time out from playing fetch, but this one did. “Her way of saying ‘time to go home’”, the man said.
Lately I’ve started refusing to fetch, too. Uh, I’m thinking about it, at least. It’s tough to pull off; I block out what it looks like when I’ve fetched for far too long: stumbling, falling on my butt, weaving as I walk — overall, looking like I’m under the influence. More horrible is that I’m inflicting this “new reality” on others, especially David, who I rely on when I get into trouble
As a Marriage & Family therapist and Relationship Coach, being disabled is double-edged. On the one side, I’m a role model for others with disability; the downside is that there are those who are put off by a therapist they may feel they have to take care of — someone who’s “broken” as one guy told me. I hate it when that happens; I feel rejected.
It doesn’t matter that I don’t want what’s true to be true. It is. Imagining and pretending belong in private, if at all. I can’t take pride unless I have pride; let go of what doesn’t work anymore. Stop running so hard and so far. The reality is more rapid disease progression and I’m pretending nothing’s changed. I can’t take pride unless I have pride; let go of what doesn’t work anymore. Stop running so hard and so far.
Geez, I hate it when a dog’s smarter than me…
Tell me, how ’bout you? Accommodated yourself to your “new reality” yet?