You Can't Do That

There are few things in this world that I despise more than someone telling me I can't do something that I really want to do. I come by it honestly.

My mother was crippled with a disability most of her life--Scoliosis. Having grown up in the cut-em-up era of medicine, her numerous back and spinal surgeries did little to help, and a lot to further debilitate her. Later she became addicted to multiple pain medications, nicotine, and alcohol in her search for relief. Though she tried with all that was in her, to put herself in God's hands alone, she was constantly defeated by her fleshly pain. The "S" shaped curvature of her spine caused a shift in her vital organs, including her heart and lungs. Complicated by her smoking, her lung capacity was zilch. Her heart stopped numerous times in the last year of her life. She suffered endlessly and died young.

Just six months before she died, she rallied for the birth of her first grandson, my 9yo. We believe she probably lived just for that time. She died just 9 years ago in January and it seems like yesterday.

It has all come back to me in a furor over the last year or so as my own Scoliosis has begun to progress and cause me difficulties. Though I'm under the care of a great Chiropractor, as well as Thee Great Physician, reality is reality. A bad car accident a few years back, carrying two children and my ever-increasing age has begun to take it's toll. The pain has increased along with the list of what I can't do, while what I can do seems such a short list! My heritage is my constant companion; a constant warning alarm in my head and in my heart.

It was just this week that my own Doctor threw the "wheel-chair" threat at me. Having also attempted to treat my mom without much success because of the damage done by surgery, he knows what I face in my own mind. As I face the new year, and another birthday this coming week, I can not deny, any longer, my disability.

Thou shalt not bend.
Don't pick that up. Don't move that over. Don't close the dishwasher with your hands. Don't look inside the dryer. Don't look under the table. Don't plant those flowers. Don't pull those weeds.

Thou shalt not lift.
Don't pick up your daughter. Don't pick up your friend's baby. Don't carry that load of books at the book sale or convention. Don't lift that laundry basket. Don't carry that anything!

Thou shalt not pull.
No book carts! No wagons. No lower freezer doors.

Thou shalt not push.
No grocery carts. None. Not even Target. (Especially not Target!) No lawn mowers. No vacuums.

Thou shalt not engage in activities which take me to the point of physical exhaustion: fatigue is thy enemy.
No long shopping trips. No tornado house cleaning. No prolonged activity of any kind.

Thou shalt not...
Turn around in the car to see the children.
Face the husband while he is driving.
Go bowling.
Lift that case of water.
Ride Space Mountain.
Do "certain things" in "certain ways."
Walk down the stairs without holding the railing--ever!
Get pregnant. (Oh yes! That was a mandate I won't discuss.)
Walk on ice.
Etc.
Etc.

Thou shalt put thy hands down before sitting.
Thou shalt walk.
(Thou shalt leave the treadmill open.)
Thou shalt swim.
Period.

While I don't believe that my condition mirrors my mom's in many ways, I know that it's not something I can ignore. It will not cause addiction, unless it's to more chocolate. I'm not my mother. It is not a death sentence. It is not a curse for every bad thought I ever had toward my mother. It is just the curse of degradation caused by a sinful nature. It is temporary, as long as I'm on this earth. It is hereditary, so my own dear children will need to be educated.

It is not reversible, but it is treatable.

It is limiting, but not limitless.

It does hurt often, but God supplies all my needs.

No. I don't like being told what I can't do. I will strive with my whole being, constant prayer and the support of my husband, children, and friends to remember my limitations on days when book sales and babies are beckoning. I will anchor myself to my Source of Peace that surpasses even my own understanding and strive to be thankful instead of fearful. I will feel sorry for myself from time to time, but always I will have my hope in Christ alone, rather than myself.

One day I'll join my mother in heaven (hopefully a long, long time from now!) and together with our heavenly, straight spines, we'll continue our rejoicing. For today, son will vacuum and push my grocery cart. Husband will carry our daughter and maybe even mow the lawn! My feet will serve as hands for dishwashers and dryer doors. Weeds will grow. The floors will be messier longer. The "lunge" will take up residence. But me?

I'll still be dancing! Thou slowly and not for very long! :)