But I received so many encouraging responses. A dear friend praised the honesty I revealed. My great ALSA caseworker noted that feeling – and expressing – depression isn't necessarily negative, but can allow negativity to "flow through us rather than getting stuck."
I guess the posting worked, because those were my true motivations. I needed the purgative of complete honesty. I needed a dose of emotional Drān-O to clean my emotional pipes so that I could do again and be again, so I could get back on the horse and write again, paint again, live up to my personal motto and the title of this blog.Now that my pipes are un-clogged, I can look back and realize that a lot of really good things have happened to me over the last few months.
The first is Rose, my caregiver. She comes for a few hours a couple of days a week to bathe me, dress me feed me lunch and – above all – to lift my spirits. She has a goofy sense of humor that does me as much good as her physical care. Plus, her presence gives my husband a much-welcomed respite, which makes him feel better, which makes me feel better, which etc., etc. So thank you, Rose.The second is my new toy, my big-mama super-deluxe electric wheelchair. It gives me a new feeling of freedom, for with it I can maneuver around the house all on my own, and even go outside for a roll around the neighborhood. My next-door neighbor, who has been in a wheelchair since childhood, said it made her sad to see me confined to a chair. Not me. It makes me feel liberated.
The third is my crew. I don't think I'd ever crawl up out of my hole without my husband, my friends and my family, my ALS support group. Scott's ongoing good humor, outings with my adopted "sister," letters and e-mails and phone calls from friends, daughters and various in-laws and outlaws let me know that I am loved and that my life has value.
The fourth may not sound like "a really good thing" to some people, but to me it does. Big time. This fourth thing is Hospice.
Hospice does not mean giving up. It doesn't mean life no longer has purpose or pleasure. It doesn't mean just sitting around (cue the Death March) glumly waiting to die. It means you have support. It means you have realistic expectations and the means to manage them. It means you have a team of caring experts to help you live the way you want to and, when it's time, to die the way you want to.
My Hospice team has joined the Forbes Norris staff, my caregiver, my friends and family, and my wonderful husband in shoring me up, cutting through the miasma of depression, and getting me back up on that horse.
Giddy-up!
