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In chronic autoimmune illness the body is at war with itself. Researchers and doctors have yet to discover or agree what causes these diseases. In lay language, our bodies turn against us. Those “fighter cells” that are supposed to work for us and keep intruders away (such as infection) instead are part of our problem. In autoimmune people, these cells have become our “enemies” instead of our valiant saviors. The result is inflammation, pain, and nasty flares across an array of illnesses from Rheumatoid Arthritis and Systemic Lupus and M.S. and those with esoteric names and rare occurrences. For most of us it’s all about one fact: we are in a struggle within ourselves. Add to this the reality that many of us must take drugs that suppress our immune system thereby making us even more vulnerable to “normal” sickness.
Our diseases mug us. The drugs we take mug us. Treatment protocols mug us.
Sometimes I feel as if parts of myself are holding a gun to the “throat” of other parts of myself. There are days when I feel I am a hostage --body and soul -- to the entire process of my autoimmune disease.
Many years ago my meditation teacher told me a story. It’s probably well known to many. A woman is waiting for the elevator in a lobby of a building. Suddenly, the lobby empties out and she is alone. Just as she is about to enter the elevator, a man comes from the side, gets on the elevator and holds the door for her. For a split second she thinks she should not get on the elevator with him, although there is no obvious sign the man is dangerous or suspicious. She forces the thought from her mind and gets on with him. Between floors he pulls the “off” lever and brutally assaults her, and also takes her wallet. She is barely conscious but is aware he takes the elevator all the way to the top floor where he escapes. Eventually, she is found and taken to the hospital. Her injuries are many and severe, both psychological and physical. Finally, she returns to her own meditation teacher and tells him the entire story about what happened. She explains what a terrible victim she was in this ghastly and violent mugging encounter.
He is silent for a long time. Then he says, “but you had the feeling that you should not get on the elevator with this man, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” the woman replies, “but what does that have to do with it?”
The wise teacher says, “You mugged yourself.”
The lesson is a simple one: Trust your instincts.
Chronic diseases mug us and we do not ask for that. However, the ways in which we handle the facts of illness remain in our control. If my instinct is not to attend a very large party during the flu season, I have learned not to go however regretful I am to miss an evening with friends. If I have not slept for nights on end and my instinct is to take a day to rest, and even to sleep and not write, I know now I must trust that instinct.
One day I was feeling weak from a bad flare and far away from my closest friends and my physician. My instinct was to email a trusted friend and tell him I was afraid and ask him to call me. I couldn’t bring myself to it. My prideful Warrior Woman independence barrier would not permit me.
Instead, I emailed a semi-professional question. I received a perfunctory response. I felt hurt and misunderstood. I wanted reassurance and his kind support that I would weather another disease storm. This is what I receive from my email obscured any possibility of his seeing my pain and fear. I contemplated his response.
If I mattered so little why did I bother communicating?
Then, I remembered my meditation teacher’s story from three decades ago. I had not followed my instincts. I had not given him the slightest clue what was going on in my life. If I can muster bravery to fight illness, why can’t I find that path in friendship as well? Although I did make contact with him, I really was a coward. His response was based on the tone and content of my email and was exactly what I deserved.
I mugged myself.
Check out Alida's Website and her Dancing at the River's Edge Blog.
