Tuesday, July 3, 2012

A Truncated Life or A Path with Purpose

With all this time today online on a laptop (instead of my iPhone), I stumbled onto my post announcing here that the second pituitary surgery FAILED on May 16, 2011. That's over a year ago. That was 413 days of my life, gone, can't get back, because of Cushing's.  That's 1 year, 1 month, 16 days of not feeling well, not having answers, and not being myself.

When I see that in writing - always more real than living it, somehow - I get teary-eyed.
So many days of suffering.
So many days of heart ache.
So much loss of life. 
Yes. I mean that.
Loss of life.

It may not be many in terms of number of people. I concede that.  
In terms of quality of life, it is unquantifiable. 

Cushing's has done irreparable damage, and that makes me hard to forgive it.  My husband and toddler suffer collateral damage. Cushing's places countless limitations on me cognitively, emotionally, and physically that my family sees, just as I live my daily life.  They don't get to live a full life with me if Cushing's won't allow me to live my full life.

In terms of the every day and big-dream things Cushing's keeps me from doing, boy, the damage is really immeasurable.  I feel the loss of my soul. I miss my identity. Not that I ever really knew who I WAS  was. Seriously.  But I did know what I liked to do, did them, and loved doing them.  So if I am not what I do, but who I am, then Who am I now?

My friend Ashley concurred.  She said, "I feel that way, too.  I feel Cushing's has silenced me... like I was on the verge of something really good, and then Cushing's came along and said, "Shut up. No one can hear you now." 

Word, Ashley. SILENCED. That is so it. I feel that way, too.  I feel like the trajectory of my life has forever been altered by this disease. I hate that part. It really makes me angry.

I think back to when I was a young girl.  I felt average. Not better, not worse than others.  Definitely not more special.  However, I always felt, for some reason, that I was gonna do something BIG, something great. I don't remember (sadly) anyone really telling me that, so I don't know where it came from.  I didn't have any talent to pinpoint, so that wasn't it, unless quoting scenes from 80s movies is a talent.  My family didn't have talent shoes I could step in (sorry family, if you are even reading this).  Regardless of its origin, this feeling really is something that I just carry around with me. Any second, any day, I am thinking this purpose will pop out like clowns in a circus car. 

My life will make sense, and I will have found my purpose.

I don't know yet what that purpose is, but I feel sure that my something great has not happened yet. I am also unsure if Cushing's will hinder that greatness or amplify it. I hope, beyond hope, it is the latter. And more than ever, I hope this purpose presents itself sooner rather than later. I don't know how much longer I can hold on.