by Christine Miserandino www.butyoudontlooksick.com
My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.
As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?
I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn't seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.
As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.
At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.
I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.
Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.
She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become?
I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of "spoons". But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn't even started yet. I’ve wanted more "spoons" for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.
I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said " No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can't take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too." I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet.
Showering cost her spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.
I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s "spoons", but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less "spoons". I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on "spoons", because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.
We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night.
When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.
I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared”
Its hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day's plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count "spoons".
After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can't go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”
Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my "spoons".
© 2003 by Christine Miserandino Butyoudontlooksick.com
This is a very touching and the most accurate account of living with chronic pain that I have encountered so far. I bolded the parts that speak to me the most. The title of the website is a hint of one of the greatest battles of my illness. Also known as, "are you sure it's not in your head?" and "but you seem all better?" and "why aren't you working?", "why doesn't Ari come to shul?" Sometimes there's even the "You're so lucky you didn't have to be pregnant with the twins!" and "How could you have moved back from Israel?"
Some of them are more thought than voiced, but the others are pervasive as well. Perhaps most telling is an interaction my husband and I had back in 2005. We were living in Jerusalem and I had spent most of the year in bed due to debilitating back pain. I was hospitalized more than once for pain and in a rehab day program with soldiers, bomb victims, and old ladies who had broken their hips. Someone else was caring for my toddler. I was forced to wean him, and lifting him was out of the question. I was unable to sit in chairs for the most part, so guests would come to our home and I couldn't join them at the table. Meals were taken lying down on my side in bed. No driving, no shul. No cooking or cleaning. Fewer friends every day. My husband was a single dad while also running a start-up business and caring for a bed bound wife in a foreign country. One beautiful spring morning I managed to go downstairs with Ari to the little cafe directly below our building. We sat there, enjoying our breakfast in the sunlight, feeling normal for the first time in a long time. We talked about Gavriel, our hopes, and dreams. And felt human, just for that one morning. Just another young couple.
Then someone we knew walked up to us, all sunny and cheerful, well-meaning and happy to see us outside together, and said "oh! how wonderful, I guess this means you're all better!" Ari and I swallowed hard, and mumbled some form of deterring answer while the reality of what our life had become settled in.
There is no cure. There is better, and less better. There are days with many spoons, and thank God these days there are many more spoons that there used to be, but then there are days with very few spoons. Days when getting up and getting the children off to school uses up the daily allotment. Many days when the kids eat cereal or chicken nuggets because what I planned for dinner wasn't doable when the spoons ran out mid afternoon.
I always hold one in reserve for 3:45 when my oldest walks in from school. I have to make it up to him, that little boy who gave up so much when his mother all but disappeared. I stand at the door and wait for him, sit with him while he does homework and has a snack. Even if an hour later I have to lay down and see the disappointment in his eyes, maybe one day he will remember that I was always there when he walked through the door.
What the questioning eyes don't know is that we have the big house because I'm stuck in it for so many hours. Some days it is a beautiful blessing that I revel in, and some days it is a prison. We have a laundry room next to the bedrooms so some days I can do it myself and not have to pay someone to do it, or ask Ari and hope that it gets done as I would do it myself. The fancy side-opening ovens not for show but so that sometimes I can cook and not feel bad when once again my husband has to make shabbos. The pot filler because it's the only way I can ever make soup or pasta.
It is a mental drain. Always planning, always budgeting energy. And some days, like today, I made a plan expecting to have 15 spoons, and woke up with only 8. And then I had to use up one of those working at not getting depressed over the disappointment and pain.
Sometimes you have to have chutzpah. Like deciding to have more children even though I felt I couldn't be the best mom to the one I already had. Because once in a while you have to look at the face of evil and say, the hell with you, you may take my body, my money, and my career. You may take my dreams and my hobbies, my passions. But you will NOT win. I will do what is most important to me, and I will succeed in it. If I succeed in one thing, it will be to have my family. My husband and my children, and damn my spine for thinking it can get in the way of that.
We don't know what the future holds. I have been told that I have the back of an 80 year old. What does that mean for my health when I am 50, 60, or 80? We don't know. We do what we can to preserve it. I do as much as possible to enjoy today, to get stronger for tomorrow, and raise our children with our form of normalcy. I am healthier today at 31 than I was at 27, which gives us hope. And we live in a time when advances in medicine may be there when I hit the real 80, God willing.
In the meantime, I will plan out my 8 spoons for today, and make sure I am at the door at 3:45.
My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.
As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?
I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn't seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.
As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.
At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.
I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.
Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.
She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become?
I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of "spoons". But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn't even started yet. I’ve wanted more "spoons" for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.
I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said " No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can't take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too." I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet.
Showering cost her spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.
I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s "spoons", but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less "spoons". I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on "spoons", because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.
We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night.
When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.
I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared”
Its hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day's plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count "spoons".
After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can't go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”
Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my "spoons".
© 2003 by Christine Miserandino Butyoudontlooksick.com
This is a very touching and the most accurate account of living with chronic pain that I have encountered so far. I bolded the parts that speak to me the most. The title of the website is a hint of one of the greatest battles of my illness. Also known as, "are you sure it's not in your head?" and "but you seem all better?" and "why aren't you working?", "why doesn't Ari come to shul?" Sometimes there's even the "You're so lucky you didn't have to be pregnant with the twins!" and "How could you have moved back from Israel?"
Some of them are more thought than voiced, but the others are pervasive as well. Perhaps most telling is an interaction my husband and I had back in 2005. We were living in Jerusalem and I had spent most of the year in bed due to debilitating back pain. I was hospitalized more than once for pain and in a rehab day program with soldiers, bomb victims, and old ladies who had broken their hips. Someone else was caring for my toddler. I was forced to wean him, and lifting him was out of the question. I was unable to sit in chairs for the most part, so guests would come to our home and I couldn't join them at the table. Meals were taken lying down on my side in bed. No driving, no shul. No cooking or cleaning. Fewer friends every day. My husband was a single dad while also running a start-up business and caring for a bed bound wife in a foreign country. One beautiful spring morning I managed to go downstairs with Ari to the little cafe directly below our building. We sat there, enjoying our breakfast in the sunlight, feeling normal for the first time in a long time. We talked about Gavriel, our hopes, and dreams. And felt human, just for that one morning. Just another young couple.
Then someone we knew walked up to us, all sunny and cheerful, well-meaning and happy to see us outside together, and said "oh! how wonderful, I guess this means you're all better!" Ari and I swallowed hard, and mumbled some form of deterring answer while the reality of what our life had become settled in.
There is no cure. There is better, and less better. There are days with many spoons, and thank God these days there are many more spoons that there used to be, but then there are days with very few spoons. Days when getting up and getting the children off to school uses up the daily allotment. Many days when the kids eat cereal or chicken nuggets because what I planned for dinner wasn't doable when the spoons ran out mid afternoon.
I always hold one in reserve for 3:45 when my oldest walks in from school. I have to make it up to him, that little boy who gave up so much when his mother all but disappeared. I stand at the door and wait for him, sit with him while he does homework and has a snack. Even if an hour later I have to lay down and see the disappointment in his eyes, maybe one day he will remember that I was always there when he walked through the door.
What the questioning eyes don't know is that we have the big house because I'm stuck in it for so many hours. Some days it is a beautiful blessing that I revel in, and some days it is a prison. We have a laundry room next to the bedrooms so some days I can do it myself and not have to pay someone to do it, or ask Ari and hope that it gets done as I would do it myself. The fancy side-opening ovens not for show but so that sometimes I can cook and not feel bad when once again my husband has to make shabbos. The pot filler because it's the only way I can ever make soup or pasta.
It is a mental drain. Always planning, always budgeting energy. And some days, like today, I made a plan expecting to have 15 spoons, and woke up with only 8. And then I had to use up one of those working at not getting depressed over the disappointment and pain.
Sometimes you have to have chutzpah. Like deciding to have more children even though I felt I couldn't be the best mom to the one I already had. Because once in a while you have to look at the face of evil and say, the hell with you, you may take my body, my money, and my career. You may take my dreams and my hobbies, my passions. But you will NOT win. I will do what is most important to me, and I will succeed in it. If I succeed in one thing, it will be to have my family. My husband and my children, and damn my spine for thinking it can get in the way of that.
We don't know what the future holds. I have been told that I have the back of an 80 year old. What does that mean for my health when I am 50, 60, or 80? We don't know. We do what we can to preserve it. I do as much as possible to enjoy today, to get stronger for tomorrow, and raise our children with our form of normalcy. I am healthier today at 31 than I was at 27, which gives us hope. And we live in a time when advances in medicine may be there when I hit the real 80, God willing.
In the meantime, I will plan out my 8 spoons for today, and make sure I am at the door at 3:45.
10 comments:
Made me cry.
You are so brave, and so strong. And you have no idea how important it was for me to read this now. Today.
Thank you for helping me understand.
I wish I could send you some virtual spoons with love over the internet for the days you need them :-) Cousin Sheryl
How many spoons did your visit out to us cost? Thank you.
love you.
I know this was hard to just put out there...but thank you for sharing this. You are such a strong woman and I am so lucky to know you. Wishing you many spoons...
Darling Shana,
I couldn't comment when I 1st read this, it left me with a profound sadness. Parents raise their children hoping that they will be happy, with as few disappointments as possible. I think we are both shocked that yours has been overshaddowed by pain, a curveball we never would have imagined even 10 yrs. ago.
I like to think there is some truth to the quote from one of our favorite movies, "that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger". My brain can't remember the name of the woman who said that, though her face is right in front of me. I don't know whether to laugh or cry about it. But I know I'm still loved and valued in spite of it, and so are you.
Right now my spoons are a tad battered, but they are always yours to use.
Love,
Ima
thank you. to all of you, and especially ima. you have given me many many of your spoons over the years. and you're right for reminding me that we are just as valued and loved no matter what.
love,
shana
Oh, Shana! Do you know, that whole year when I was living down the street from you I never realized? I mean, I knew you had some back trouble, but I had no clue of the extent and the difficulties. To think of all the things I could have helped you with! Not that I think my help (or any one person's) could make up for being unable to do what you want/need to do for yourself and your family...but still. I'm really sorry. :-(
I'm reading back a bit on your blog and wanted to comment on this beautiful entry. You revealed a lot of yourself to at least one person who is almost a complete stranger to you and that takes a lot.
Maggie
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