He Said It Was Permanent

He said – “it’s permanent”.   My shocked breath pulled these words into my body like a knife stabbing me deep into my soul.  Just like that, I became a person with a life-changing, permanent disability.

The doctor kept talking but all I could hear, all I could feel was permanent pulsing through my body, stabbing my mind, and killing who I was.

Nothing seemed real, the halls of the clinic took on a ghostly haze.  It was eerily quiet but for the explosion of terror my brain was yet to absorb.  My head was spinning, my disturbed vision dimmed, and like my balance, the floor below my feet disappeared.  With my back against the wall, I slid off the world into a nightmare, a terrifying, life altering nightmare. 

He said it was permanent.

I was frozen, terrified to move, I didn’t want to feel what permanent felt like.  I was terrified to open my eyes, I didn’t want to see what permanent looked like.  I wanted only to visualize memories of who I was before his permanent words had stabbed me.  I wanted to look at who I was before I totally disappeared.

He said it was permanent.

I remained in this frozen psychological state for a good two years desperately wanting my memories to come back to life.  Then, I was given the lifeline that pulled me to safety; “I am still me, just in a different skin”.   

That’s when I discovered that my permanent also purposely includes my memories.  I discovered that every little, not so little, and powerful thing I have experienced will help my permanent evolve, which is how I also thankfully discovered that permanent does not always exist.   

Wait –  permanent does not always exist?  What do I mean by that? 

Well technically, the physical destruction of my vestibular system is permanent, and I’ll always struggle with the damage it has done throughout my body.  I’ll always need to be diligent on taking medication and monitoring my seizure disorder and keep up with scans of my brain for aneurysms.  So, these things are permanent, however, just because they are doesn’t mean I’m not getting better.  Just like my fingerprints or the color of my eyes, it’s all part of who I am.   But wait – this is all permanent, right?  Well, again, in the physical realm, yes, but with every step I’ve taken along the way, I find I get better because for me, getting better means getting better at changing up what permanent means to me and how I can best relate to it.  

I had to get up, I had to move, I had to open my eyes.  I mean, there I was, standing in what I thought was a forever sentence believing nothing would ever change.  However, what I didn’t understand back then was that I was also standing in memories that were exactly what I needed to form new strategies, new visions and goals, to take new steps, and form new memories to leave behind the idea of what I thought I permanently would never do again. 

I’ve learned that I first had to go through some pretty dark places.  I had to work hard at taking new steps that were ridiculously exhausting without staggering or falling down.  I had to endure countless amounts of physical and psychological pain, despair, and the lure of just wanting to give up.  I had so much anger, sadness, fear, pretty much every emotion in the book inside of me.  I thought I just wasn’t going to get better and that my world  had stopped in a permanent horrible place. 

Now, it means that I have to work hard at staying positive, to keep believing in myself, and take steps that lead me to push through what I have to do so I can surround myself with colleagues, and my family and friends.  It means that I will always embrace the outdoors I so love so I can make that photograph I’m after.  It means I will stand on the shore of the beautiful Lady Lake Superior to feel her glorious soul lifting spirit and rejoice in how very blessed I am to be in this world.  It means that somehow, I will make a difference in this world.

But I can’t sit here and offer you a bed of roses to lay on while I tell you this is easy because it’s far from that.  I still have days when I could easily crawl under a rose bush and rather than surround myself in the scent of its petals, I’d wallow in its thorns.  But what good would that do.  That would only block me from taking the steps I need to make room for my permanents to evolve along the way.  I just cannot allow myself to live my life hurting in the thorns.

This means I am responsible for opening myself up to where my life has taken me, to explore it, and to accept it. 

This means I never stop looking for ways to improve myself and to always let my creative side shine.

This means I never give up on myself.

This means I ask for help when I need it.

It means I have to use all I have acquired in my life prior to my introduction to disability, the accomplishments I’ve made, the successes, and even the failures I’ve had since, to make my changes work permanently perfect for me along the way.   

It means that by my own design, I must use the tools from my toolbox overflowing with countless skills I’ve acquired throughout my lifetime and then add those I learn as I continue travelling through this world. 

There is one permanent thing I do every day that helps me discover my next step; only look forward, never behind.

So, throughout my journey, I’ve learned that every day is a perfect opportunity to build an addition to our lives that in some tiny way, changes where we are.  A change that leaves an old one behind, is that of healing. 

I’m so happy I got up to move and that I opened my eyes.  I’m so happy to  make new memories and forge new tools that help to evolve my permanents as I make my beautiful journey on this endless transformation I am on.  And I must say, I’m nowhere near finished.

Here’s to many new adventures, hope to see you along the way!

Let your light shine.

Photograph by Cheryl Schiltz 

“Like a waterfall, healing flows from within”.