Fine Line Between Denial and Hope

Me: Sometimes I wonder where denial and hope overlap.
Rob: They don’t. But they often run parallel to one another.

This is the niggling doubt that runs in the back of the mind of anyone with a chronic condition. What if the doctors are wrong? What if medical science will make some new discovery? What if tomorrow it goes away just like that? *snap*

It could happen.

For me, that is how it hit. One day I woke up with an equilibrium day. Not unusual. I would bump into things, knock things over, my depth perception miscuing my movements.

The next day I walked into a wall. No longer bumping off edges, my eyes were the only thing bouncing around as I tried to navigate the short distance between bed and bathroom.

Nearly two years later, I still hold onto the hope that I will wake up and be fine. Or maybe one of my many doctors’ office will call and say, “You know, we just realized we didn’t try something.” Or that there will be an article in some medical journal that will reveal some new research that can take me back to three years ago.

It could happen.

I’m not sure where I am along the fault line of denial and hope. Maybe Rob is right and instead of their being a point at which I cross over from one to the other. Maybe I’m just walking parallel paths, one foot in denial and the other landing in hope.

It’s okay either way. From where I’m standing, swaying on my feet, it beats having one foot in despair.

The Bridge of a Smile

The other day I was walking through the neighborhood as I have been trying to do more often. A chance to get outside, get some fresh air, some exercise, etc. I passed one of our neighbors who lives around the corner.

Now, I had passed him just the day before on a previous walk. He was working on the truck and was underneath it, only his legs sticking out from underneath. I said "good morning" as I approached the truck to be polite, not wanting to sneak up on him or something that might startle him in any way. He slid himself out from underneath and looked at me with absolutely no expression whatsoever, as if he did not recognize me or could not comprehend why I would say good morning to him.

I continued on my walk unperturbed that day and here I was once again approaching him although this time he was not underneath his truck but beside it. When I approached he turned and looked at me with that same lack of recognition. But he had seen me just the day before and while I can understand someone not recognizing me after a week or so, I would think that upon seeing me within the same context I might merit at least a smile in response to the smile I gave to him as I passed.

But he did not smile nor did he say a word. He watched me walk by and I can only assume returned to working on his truck. As I continued my walk around the neighborhood I didn’t think further about it but when I it came time to decide whether to extend my walk so as to take my usual route which would cross that same intersection again or avoid it, and my unsmiling neighbor, altogether, I actually decided to cut my walk short because I felt uncomfortable walking past him again.

Once home I pondered this discomfort and I realized that had he smiled or even muttered a "hello" or "good morning" to me, I would have happily completed my full circuit. A simple gesture would have made the difference between my feeling safe in my own neighborhood and my feeling uncomfortable and unwelcome.

Who knew a simple smile could reach so far?