Shedding

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 isave little memoryH 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.