[ the humbling ]

The Mortality Check is in some ways above all else, a humbling experience.
It is dreadfully humbling to be reminded that your time on this planet, in your current state of being, is so limited, and without guarantee. It is strangely humbling to be the impetus of such an intense, focused medical scrambling to adjust the potential outcomes the Universe has laid, like ominous lead eggs, in your nest. And perhaps the most humbling experience of all is learning how to accept help from others.
Fiercely independent me, I struggled mightily against help in the beginning. But I have had to learn to let someone else make my dinner, take my children out to play, fold my underwear and pair my socks, and sit with me patiently while that little tube dangles from my port for hours on end. And now I am trying to learn how not to flee the scene of the latest incarnation of help, wringing my hands hysterically.
If you have involved yourself in the campaign my brother has facilitated for my family, please know that I am trying desperately to learn the appropriate etiquette of such things, and how best to express my infinite gratitude and love, which is currently mixed with the bone trembling terror of judgement. That is perhaps the last slice in the Humbling Pie when you are made to fight for your wellness and depend on others to enable you to do it – fear of judgement. Of what people will think when your hair is so bad, of whether or not the strange scars and bumps on your chest are making someone uncomfortable, of feeling like you are disappointing someone because you were not able to get up and get moving on a particular day, or most recently, of presenting as someone that should have done more, or better, on their own.
This is the bit you have to dismember carefully, so only the useful parts remain, like being comfortable with yourself no matter the situation, or learning not to judge others without climbing right on under their own raggedy hats. Learning to find the silver linings under Fear of Judgement’s seams is an ongoing process for me – we’ll get there eventually.
In the meantime, if you have contributed to my most recent humbling experience, a thousand times, in every imaginable mode of expression, thank you.


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