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talking with a stranger . . .
Feb. 15th, 2006 03:30 amI fell into a conversation with some local shopowners, as I often do in our small town. They run one of the local birding shops. I was stocking up on suet cakes and buying a couple small feeder items. Another customer asked what birds I see and I laughed and said that I'm not seeing too many, as birds get up much earlier than I do.
The shopkeeper then introduced me to the other customer. I recognized the name of a prominent pyschiatrist/writer, but we did the whole cordial greeting thing. She began chatting to the shopkeeper and I wandered back to look at more items. The other shopkeeper came up to greet me--I always enjoy chatting with them. Then I noticed that the other customer was carrying two books on the Chechen conflict. I told her that I enjoyed both books and that I hoped she found them interesting.
She was shocked that I'd read them. I'm not sure why. She asked why I'd read such depressing fare and we discussed areas of interest and education--she's giving lectures on the Beslan situation, I just keep up with the region out of interest. She then asked what I'm doing with the degree and I cheerfully informed her that I sleep. I'm very casual when perfect strangers ask what I do--these days, people always ask where you studied, why you moved to X, where you work. I typically answer such questions with noncomittal and jovial answers: I studied in DC, I like the food, I'm a poodle wrangler.
Anyhow, she started going off about how I needed a job so I didn't have to sleep all the time. Needless to say, I just smiled and said, "I have chronic fatigue syndrome". This news stopped her in her tracks. She looked shellshocked. She asked how one gets over it. "You don't. You learn to cope."
This is where she went off on a pity streak a mile wide--it continued as we left the store and went to our respective cars, despite my telling her that I'm happy and fine.
I do not need pity.
Yes, my life has changed. Former hopes, dreams, aspirations--all gone. You know what, though, if I can cope with that, so can a perfect stranger. Sure, there's no Peace Corps, no Foreign Service, no grad school. Heck, half the time, there's no dinner service. That's okay.
I have agood wonderful life. My beloved partner in life adores me--or at least puts up with me and even seems to be fond of me. I have a poodle who contorts himself into wacky positions when he sleeps on the couch. I can go for hikes in the mountains and take pictures of wildflowers I'd have never seen if I'd not fallen ill.
I have friends. I have tomatoes which grow in my garden. I have the remarkable ability to throw together a casserole on a minute's notice.
Yes, I'm in physical pain every single moment. Yes, I have overwhelming fatigue. It's true, I can't have a fulfilling career, but a career is not required to live a full life. Nor is good health. Heck, I don't even need a dayplanner and I survive just fine.
My illness may limit certain aspects of my life, but it does not limit me.
I do not need pity. The fact that a stranger can't comprehend how a young woman can be happy while living with a chronic illness is not my problem, it's hers. And I feel sorry for her. She was horrified at the thought of spending one's day watching birds out the window or taking pictures of native wildflowers with a loved one. She can't comprehend how I can be content with the life I have . . . she doesn't realize the value of the small things. Sometimes, the small things are larger than we think.
The shopkeeper then introduced me to the other customer. I recognized the name of a prominent pyschiatrist/writer, but we did the whole cordial greeting thing. She began chatting to the shopkeeper and I wandered back to look at more items. The other shopkeeper came up to greet me--I always enjoy chatting with them. Then I noticed that the other customer was carrying two books on the Chechen conflict. I told her that I enjoyed both books and that I hoped she found them interesting.
She was shocked that I'd read them. I'm not sure why. She asked why I'd read such depressing fare and we discussed areas of interest and education--she's giving lectures on the Beslan situation, I just keep up with the region out of interest. She then asked what I'm doing with the degree and I cheerfully informed her that I sleep. I'm very casual when perfect strangers ask what I do--these days, people always ask where you studied, why you moved to X, where you work. I typically answer such questions with noncomittal and jovial answers: I studied in DC, I like the food, I'm a poodle wrangler.
Anyhow, she started going off about how I needed a job so I didn't have to sleep all the time. Needless to say, I just smiled and said, "I have chronic fatigue syndrome". This news stopped her in her tracks. She looked shellshocked. She asked how one gets over it. "You don't. You learn to cope."
This is where she went off on a pity streak a mile wide--it continued as we left the store and went to our respective cars, despite my telling her that I'm happy and fine.
I do not need pity.
Yes, my life has changed. Former hopes, dreams, aspirations--all gone. You know what, though, if I can cope with that, so can a perfect stranger. Sure, there's no Peace Corps, no Foreign Service, no grad school. Heck, half the time, there's no dinner service. That's okay.
I have a
I have friends. I have tomatoes which grow in my garden. I have the remarkable ability to throw together a casserole on a minute's notice.
Yes, I'm in physical pain every single moment. Yes, I have overwhelming fatigue. It's true, I can't have a fulfilling career, but a career is not required to live a full life. Nor is good health. Heck, I don't even need a dayplanner and I survive just fine.
My illness may limit certain aspects of my life, but it does not limit me.
I do not need pity. The fact that a stranger can't comprehend how a young woman can be happy while living with a chronic illness is not my problem, it's hers. And I feel sorry for her. She was horrified at the thought of spending one's day watching birds out the window or taking pictures of native wildflowers with a loved one. She can't comprehend how I can be content with the life I have . . . she doesn't realize the value of the small things. Sometimes, the small things are larger than we think.
