We were enjoying great music, singing our favorite
songs at a summer concert. It was nearing
the end when the lead singer pointed to the guitarist in the band and explained
how after each performance, no matter the amount of applause received, this
talented musician would spend days behind closed doors. He was driven to refine the music. Making improvements to rework what was
already close to perfection. The singer went on to explain that what the
guitarist was doing was called “shedding”.
I couldn’t tell you much
about the playlist or the length of the show.
For that matter I have little memory about the guest
performers. But what I do hold onto is the
image of that guitarist “shedding” - knowing I would somehow make it my own.
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Lately a verse from the bible
tugs at my heart - “For the old conditions and the former order of things have
passed away”. Familiar during moments of great sorrow, but
today these words accompany me as I close the door to begin my own manner of
“shedding”.
It is not the first time I’ve
entered this room and definitely not the last.
For it was my first place of solace when the symptoms of my illness took
hold of me. Early on I needed to come to
terms with my new self and leave behind the old order of my life. But recently I’ve sensed a need to return to
that room…. closing the door again (for a little while).
I know the answer to my
question before asking - but still I ask:
Ken - “Does my walking seem awkward? Are my movements unnatural?”
Lisa - “Can you notice a difference in the way I
move?”
Katie -“Am I dropping more things?”
Ann - “Is my pace slower than ever before?”
And lately to anyone around I ask, “Do I seem worse?”
Each of my dearest
companions doesn’t seem to notice what I know to be the truth. Looking directly into my eyes they comfort
me with assurances of how great I am doing. But the nature of my progressive illness tells
me differently. My ever changing,
stumbling gait points to weakness in both legs.
The combination of increased stiffness in my muscles and numbness all
through my hands – plunges me deeper into a dark reality.
With little else to do
(after MS drugs have been poured into my veins and routine exercise keeps me
moving) - I become conscious of the need for “shedding”. To alter, once again the conditions I’ve grown
accustomed to and search for a new sense of order. The whole process allowing me to put on a stronger armor for protection. All the time trusting that through the "shedding" I will be
made perfect.
