Tag: accomodation

Posted on

Owning the Worst

I’m going to ask my fellow Denver Bronco fans to go to a very dark place for a moment.

Imagine that the recent Super Bowl bus accident was worse. Imagine that Von Miller, our monster with a license to sack, was hurt badly. So badly, in fact, that he was unable to suit up and take the field for Super Bowl 50.

Undaunted, the brothers of the Orange Crush know exactly what they must do. And when game time comes, they stream onto the field – 10 players, ready to go, with a gap where Miller would normally stand.

“We can’t let ourselves be dragged down by this,” they insist. “We have to think positively. If we play as though Von were still here, the rest won’t matter.”

And then of course, they get beaten like a drum. Why? Because you’ve still got 10 men going up against 11. And all the positive thinking in the world won’t change the realities of math.

It sounds obvious. Even a little bit silly.

But when it comes to the world of chronic illness, you’d be amazed how many missing Millers there are.

My wife Heather runs into this every so often online. Her own list of chronic conditions would have medical students fighting for the chance to invite her to show-and-tell. Crohn’s disease. Multiple sclerosis. Ankylosing spondylitis. A couple of others that lengthen the medical file and send spell check screaming for help.

Because of her situation, she visits a lot of patient-oriented online forums and groups. And when someone else wants to talk about their condition or the pain and discomfort it causes, she’ll usually respond, just to help the person see they’re not alone.

Unless, of course, someone else closes off the discussion first by insisting that “we don’t want to dwell on our illness here.” Or that “Focusing on it only gives it power over you.” Or otherwise implies (or states!) that by refusing to acknowledge the illness, you can continue to live your life in spite of it – sort of a medical prosperity gospel.

Few things will infuriate Heather more quickly.

“There’s not a part of my life that hasn’t been touched by this,” she told me recently, after one more clash with the power of positive thinking. “You have this – and it’s OK. You have to work with what you have.”

That’s true of so much more than the medical.

It’s a human thing to try to wish problems away, or to hope that ignoring an issue will eventually resolve it. It’s rarely that easy. You can compensate for it. Work around it. Even maybe come to peace with it. But outright denial not only doesn’t help, it can often make the problem worse. Ever driven a car too long on a flat tire? Or tried to exercise through a minor injury, only to discover what a major one’s like?

Contrary to the popular imagery, chronic illness isn’t a war. Not in the usual sense, anyway, where you can rally the cavalry and sweep the enemy off the field. It’s more like being a civilian during the Blitz, the German bombing of London in World War II. You don’t ignore the bombs. You take shelter when you have to. But you keep on living your life as best you can, making adjustments for what’s been damaged or lost.

It doesn’t mean you drown in your pain or become morbidly obsessed with your condition. But you forge a sort of partnership, taking what you can, planning where you must. Not a life without hope – quite the opposite! – but a life with the awareness and effort that real hope requires.

It’s OK to not be better. It’s not your fault. It doesn’t mean you’ve failed. You can own it, and in doing so, deal with it.

Take your best 11 and put ‘em out there. It might not be the team you want. But it’s the one you’ve got.

Play hard.

Posted on

In The Blink of an Eye

Pay no attention to the eye doctor, Scott.

Yes, he is going to be holding a needle in his hand. Yes, it will be approaching your eyelid. But we’re not going to think about that, right? We’re just going to lie back and breathe and get nice and relaxed and cozy …

“Aaaah!”

You thought about it. Didn’t you?

One more try. Deep breath. No, steady breath. A deep breath warns your body that something’s wrong, that you’re about to plunge into shark-infested waters. No, we’re calm. We’re calm. See how calm we are? Nothing out of the ordinary, doot-do-doo, oh, look, here comes the nice doctor reaching for my right eye…

Oh, look, there I go making the Olympic high jump team.

“And we’re done,” the doctor said, setting up an appointment for a second try to remove my eyelid cyst – this time, with medication.

And the patented Scott Rochat Whole-Body Eye Defense triumphs again.

Darn it.

Some people have a blink reflex. I am a blink reflex. Ever since the age of 15, I’ve known that my body will intercept threats to the eye faster than Bruce Lee, Chuck Norris and Mr. Miyagi combined. No conscious thought required: the jumps, squirms and jerks of Eye Fu are completely instinctive, a true union with the Tao … or at least with the “Ow.”

As you might guess, this presents a few problems.

I’ve never worn contact lenses, for obvious reasons.

Theatrical makeup takes three times as long to put on as it should, and sometimes requires a second person to hold me steady.

Even giving me eye drops require catching me off guard – at which point, the chances of success rise to 50-50.

So when I had a head-to-head collision last summer with Blake, the Dog of Steel – well, can you blame me for thinking/hoping/praying that the bump on my eyelid was a bruise? Or at worst, scar tissue?

No such look. I mean, luck.

Sigh.

I suspect most of us have similar weak spots, that one fear or reflex we can’t master, no matter how important it may be. My wife Heather can face the prospect of major surgery with firm resolution, but the approach of a tongue depressor will send her running to the nearest wastebasket as her gag reflex goes into overdrive. A former Denver Post columnist, Mark Obmascik, once wrote about a hiking partner who had such an aversion to needles that the man blacked out during an interjection – and came to in the parking lot, learning that he had punched the nurse and fought his way out of the hospital.

The mind may know better. But it’s not in the driver’s seat anymore.

There’s an irony to writing this so soon after New Year’s. After all, this is the time for grand resolutions, for the conviction that life can be changed for the better and that we’re the ones to do it. That we can control ourselves, take charge of our circumstances, make ourselves into the people we want to be.

That’s not a bad attitude. And it can lead to some great things. But even the best will in the world can hit limits. The spirit is willing, and all that.

And in a weird way, that’s reassuring.

It’s good to be reminded sometimes that I don’t control everything. It’s good to be reminded that I have to make allowances for others, to account for a world with its own drives and imperatives, even to – hardest of all – ask for help. I need to remember that “what I want” isn’t the most important thing in the world, that even my own body is a gift for today that might not answer the wheel tomorrow.

It’s called humility. Not the most common attitude in America these days, I know. But vital.

If it means some frustration at times, so be it. I’ll get through it. My reflexes are real and they have to be accommodated, but accommodation doesn’t mean surrender. This can be done.

Am I sure?

Eye-eye, sir.