For a little over two weeks, I’ve been getting my butt kicked. At times, literally. But more to the point, I’ve been having my pride kicked. Very hard.
Because I’ve not taken ill in over nine years, I’d begun thinking my immune system was invincible. I see illness as a sort of moral failure. Having to acknowledge illness for me is not unlike saying, “I’ve been going to the old folks’ home for the past two weeks and raping the residents. I hope to be over that in a couple of days, ‘cause it’s growing old.”
So the last couple of weeks have been humbling to my spirit. But I consider that a good thing, as well. Even though I take great pride in my health, I don’t believe I’m necessarily judgmental about other’s health. But lack of judgment on someone and having compassion are not the same thing. Being in a weakened state greatly increases my compassion for other’s weakness.
Also, I am (I hope) on the repair. For many who have on-going conditions, illness is their way of life. For several days I could keep nothing on my stomach. But for many undergoing chemotherapy, it’s their daily existence.
I feel like it sounds trite to say so, but when I have my comforts removed, it helps me to put them in perspective with those living in those conditions of illness as a matter of course. When I think about people who are living with far greater trials than I’m facing, it helps me put my weeny struggles in a different frame of reference.
Charles