I bit back the words, knowing it wouldn’t matter what I said. Sometimes people believe in something more than you do. It gets awkward when those people are believing in something to do with you and you can’t seem to find the same faith in yourself. These past few weeks I’ve found myself in this situation far more than I’d like.
Sitting in his cold office, biting my tongue to prevent the words “I can’t” from coming out was not exactly how I had planned this visit going. I had planned on breezing into his office, reviewing my labs and breezing back out. So where did it all go wrong?
Well it started with getting when I got out of bed and discovered someone had placed ground glass in all my joints. And not just any ground glass, but the kind that multiples all the time. Which means by the time my appointment came around there was no breezing or even gliding into his office. What there was, however, was an amazing shuffle.
On top of the stiff, painful joints was bone weary exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that can’t be slept away. The kind of exhaustion that reminds that sucks away any energy you may have had. The kind of exhaustion that when you blink your eyes you wish you could just get an IV to capture that energy back. Which means it was a slow shuffle, amazingly slow shuffle into his office.
When he suggested that I could make it down to redo my labs if I hurried I had to bite back those words. Those words that said I can’t do this any more. Those words that wondered what he had medicated himself with and why wasn’t he sharing. Instead I painfully slide off the sharing, did a fast shuffle down to the lab, let them take my blood and then did a fast shuffle back.
Because I could do it, I didn’t want to because I knew it would hurt. But I could do it and I did do it. Pay for it? Oh yes indeed and he knew it. But he felt the labs needed to be redone so we could avoid the whole ground glass in joints thing. And I agree because it’s no fun at all. But oh good heavens the pain in the short-term! I can’t would have been easier, for the moment.
I can’t even tell you how many I can’t moments I’ve had, not in total in my life. What I can’t tell you is that I can’t is something I try to not say because those words, in a way, become a prison or a gate that hold you back. They seem to gain strength in a negative way, if you have a person who believes you can standing beside telling you that you can. The minute you say I can’t it’s like you give it double the strength!