Living Like My Tree

I find myself sitting once again in front of my window, the one overlooking the street below, the mall across the street, Nose Hill Park in the distance. My tree, just a few days back heavily covered in snow and ice, stands tall, full and green, all needles and cones, thick branched. It is an amazing thing to me, how much this tree has grown in the last five years, in the years I have lived with ALS. It grows, getting bigger, stronger each day; I shrink, getting weaker, less able, smaller.

This sad bit of melancholy tinges almost everything I do these days. I haven't had a good, solid laugh in a long time. It's not depression so much as dealing with the constant exhaustion and struggle. Today, in what was a fun outing, I came home so tired I needed to sleep for two hours as soon as I came through the door.

It was a fun outing today. A friend snagged a ticket for me to a "food show", a trade fair where suppliers of food and drink show off their wares to commercial customers such as restaurants, pubs, hotels, government purchasers, all that lot. There were samples galore. I stuffed myself with tasty tidbits of seafood, various kinds of meats in sandwiches or on sampler plates, desserts to beat the band, all in small, bite-sized bits, perfect for my limited ability to handle food. There were even beer samplers; I tried an excellent coconut porter, an odd combination with a uniquely interesting flavour.

To say I thanked my friend profusely would be an understatement. It is difficult being my friend these days. I need so much, and I have so little to offer in return. No longer am I the friend with a truck. No longer am I the first to offer help when needed. My resources are expended, so I am grateful when someone offers me a chance to get out, a chance to be in a quasi-business setting where people wear suits and ties instead of scrubs and latex gloves.

It is so sad, that my life is thus defined by home care, medication times, doctors, and health care supplies. I would much rather it was defined the way it was before ALS, a vibrantly painted life rich with the colour I so much enjoy. It is not that I am defined by ALS; it is that my life is hounded and bounded by this pernicious disease.

My tree, now there is life. It draws what it needs from the soil below, pushing ever upwards, sheltering and feeding the birds, holding fast against the wind and weather. I do not live as that tree lives. While I am yet alive, I do not thrive. I do not grow. I am unable to hold fast against all that life hurls at me. I need help so much, and yet it is so hard for others around me. I no longer offer nourishment; I need it. I wish I could be that tree. Now that would be living again.