A Test of Endurance

It’s a contest, a test, a test of endurance.

Chronic illness is the supreme test of what a human can stand, what they can endure and still live a life. There is nothing fancy about it, nothing heroic about it; it’s persevering through the awful, hanging in through the grim, being dogged in living, and ultimately enduring what life brings.

Years ago, one of our good friends’ fathers contracted cancer. Our friend, as he watched his father endure chemotherapy, said it was a contest between which would kill him sooner, the disease or the cure. It was a matter of enduring, out lasting the healing poison.

I watched Marty, I saw how she quietly endured all the pain and the indignities that came because of the strokes. I knew how much she wanted to find her old self, the one whose brain was amazing not broken by illness. I saw her resigned to endure.

I saw Marty who once thrived and reveled in autonomy, independence, and privacy; I saw Marty who was always a tad bit too controlling, who was intellectually curious, who strived to know more and do more. I saw her tirelessly endure the loss of those things she so loved about herself. I knew, that to Marty, losing the best part of herself was the absolute worst.

Marty endured. She endured the invasion of her privacy, she endured the fear of losing herself, she endured the pain in her head and in her hand, she endured the poking, prodding, pushing, rolling, and doctoring, she simply, quietly, resolutely endured.

Marty endured my incessant nagging to cough, to sit straight, to swallow, to look at this, to look at that, to respond. She endured me, my impatience, my micromanaging, my controlling nature, my short comings. She endured her own self-consciousness and the eyes of those outside our sphere; she endured her self-doubt, her fear, and her sorrow.

We both endured the restrictions, the monotony punctuated with the occasional crises. We both endured the loss of what once was, what might have been, what should have been. We endured, we endured together.

You don’t survive; you don’t endure because that’s what you choose. You survive because there are no other choices. Some things, some events leave you no other choice but to put your head down and take one more step. That’s the way it was at our house, there were no other choices, we were not capable of quitting, so enduring was the only other option.

I know the disease or caring for those with illness can eventually wear you down, I know there are times Marty felt she couldn’t continue the marathon. I remember feeling like if one more thing broke or one more infection came, or one more rash appeared both of us would throw our hands in the air and scream “I’m crying Uncle, I’m not running the race anymore; I quit.”

Quitting, giving up, crying uncle, it’s not human nature, it’s not what we as humans do. We endure; we take another step in a long line of steps.

Enduring, hanging in there, can, slowly, inexorably, over time, grind on you to the point you simply want the point of pain to go away, however it can. The constancy, every day, every week always there nature of a chronic illness can quietly invade and conquer any resolve you might have and start to infect you like a disease.  The repetition of the pain and angst can wear you down and make you someone you don’t recognize and don’t want to be.

You must resort to the whole concept of eating the elephant one bite at a time. All you can do is one more hour, then one more day. Endurance is not about seeing the end of the race; it’s about taking the next step, running to the next curve, topping the next hill.

One of the amazing parts of all this is that I remember how it was, I remember the fear, the anxiety, the stress of how our life evolved. That memory is there, that pain is still there. The feelings are now muted and what is left is knowing I, we did it and I, we did it as well as we could and that most of those memories, most of that marathon feels like victory today.

I was amazed by Marty, I was amazed by her capacity to live and smile and endure, every day. Her life was not what she planned, she did not have want to be in an endurance contest, she really hated sweating. But she was and that’s what she did, she endured with grace.