Two Talks

I’ve been thinking a lot about two very different encounters I had this past weekend.

Last Friday, I went out for a little walk down the street, and on my way I noticed a woman about to cross the street in front of me. She looked at me, started across the street, then clearly changed her mind and beelined her way straight to me. Little lady, about 60 years old.

And she started right in aggressively asking what was wrong with me. No matter how I dodged her questions, she wouldn’t let up. So finally I told her straight up – “I’ve got stage IV cancer and treatment for it has paralyzed my right leg.” Oh! The hoopla that ensued. She’d also had cancer a few years before, and now felt entitled to tell me how to treat mine. And by the way, I needed to walk better and work harder than I was doing. I finally said straight to her, “Ma’am, don’t judge me. I’ve been fighting this for over three years, you have no idea of the toll its taken on me, and I’m doing everything in my power to stay strong and alive.” Dear me – she certainly didn’t mean to come across as judgemental! She was horrified that I was taking it that way. But if I just put my foot down and fought a little harder, then I was sure to beat this, and I was NOT going to die from it. I just needed to get some miso and green juice.

Aggravating, to say the least. Why do some people feel this license to get in others’ business and tell them what they should do to be well? Does she think I don’t spend every single day fighting this?

The very next morning, we went to the farmers market, and I noticed a woman walking around with a single forearm crutch. She wound up at the same booth at the same time as us, and we let her cut ahead since we were having a hard time making up our minds. She was joking around, and said something about my snazzy orange wheelchair, then asked if I was able to get out and be very active in it. I said I hadn’t done much yet, but I’m hoping to walk a half-marathon in July.

And she just smiled, and said that’s terrific. She told me that she’d been able to participate in some triathlons with friends, and it makes such a difference to get out and feel strong and empowered. Then she started sharing some of her story with me. She’s about 50 now, but she’d been attacked on the job when she was 26, and became a paraplegic. Doctors told her she’d never walk again. She spent five or six years in a wheelchair, and then things started to come back. With her husband’s help, she’s been on just the one forearm crutch for the last five years. It took over twenty years, but she learned to walk again.

And she shone with this inner joy and peace as she talked about it. I can only imagine the dark times she experienced, when every movement was a struggle, and her life seemed taken away from her in the blink of an eye. And yet now she exudes this warmth and encouragement. She even offered to let me borrow a spare pair of forearm crutches just so I can try them out.

I yearn for that. Not the aggressive “I’ve been through hell and now I’m going to tell you how to survive it as well.” But the peaceful “everyone has their own journey, but let me bring a little encouragement to you.” I want to exude that, too. That beautiful, hard-won joy and contentment. Light-bringers such as her are precious and rare.

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