The Slipping Difference.

I was in the E.R. tonight.
Ruptured Cyst. My first ever. My goodness did it hurt!
I would rather repeat the 18 hours of labor I experienced with my son than that cyst. Needless to say amongst all the test was a flu test.
I laughed.
"No, I don't have the flu." I proclaimed as they shoved that medical q-tip up my nose the full inch dead into my nasal cavity.
The result. Positive.
I have the flu. For the third time this year. I really do think this is a record.
Then a conversation with my mother made something click in my head. The conversation was about pain and the fact that the longer you live with pain the lower your tolerance is.

It's true.

I just noticed.

The so many changes that I've silently done.

I loved wearing all my high heels, but for months now it's been flats.

More days than not I opt for the comfy clothes rather than my business causal.

I take sick days now. I learned to say "It will have to wait till tomorrow."

I've gone slowly from healthy with sick days to sick with good days. 

Each day as I walk to class all the people who ride the bus with me seem to pass me. I kept telling myself that it's because they're in a hurry and I'm not. But the reality it loud and clear when I notice the one person who is always keeping pace with me; an older gentle man with a bad knee and a cane.
No. I am not taking my time. I am moving at the steady pace of pain.

I stopped walking the stairs at school. With a freshly healed broken hand from a fall on my own at home. I'm more aware now that my zealous adherence to the "A body in motion stays in motion" mantra while good in some areas is dangerous in others. I take the elevator.

Once when I was walking out the doors an acquaintance of mine made a comment about how she hated the fact that perfectly able bodied students where using the handicap buttons to open doors. "Hey," I said, "You never know if they're suffering, not all illnesses can be seen." I'll admit, her words stung because I recognized my use of them. Sometimes, they're just to heavy. 

But it's reality for me. The slipping difference between who I was and who I have to be.

I don't know how to feel about this. Most days, I know I am in denial. Some days I learn to embrace it. All the other time is just voids filled with a mental war between the denial and reality.