Reflections on Coping

November 1995

The end of the year is often a time of reflection for me. As Thanksgiving and Christmas come, all of us tend to remember special holidays of the past. I've noticed, though, that since post-polio syndrome came to live with me, year's end brings original polio memories to mind more frequently. Memories including my dad's carrying me to the hospital in a snow storm. "Hurry, Daddy. I can't breathe." It was Jan. 6, 1952. I was barely five. Like it was yesterday - no, like it was today - I remember with tears the great sadness I felt when I first realized I could never wear the shiny red shoes I had asked for, for my birthday. That was a big loss to a five-year old. Those red shoes still symbolize the polio losses.

This year my reflections started earlier. August 17th is Indonesia's Independence day. That's kind of ironic for me, because it was on that day that I left my profession as a missionary in Indonesia to come back to the States to find out what was wrong with my knees. I discovered it was far more than my knees, and I wouldn't be able to return to my much-loved adopted culture and people. I was rapidly losing my hard-won independence.

Nevertheless, that day also symbolizes much that is happy. Many, many happy memories, including the trip back. It had been arranged that I would travel back with a family returning to Calgary, Alberta. There was no way I could travel alone. Typically (if you've traveled in the "third world," you know what I mean), when our plane came from Jakarta to pick us up in Irian Jaya, they had failed to reserve the right number of seats. Instead of six, there were only two. It was decided that I would get one and 18-year old Don would get the other. He was as experienced an international traveler as any of us, and strong enough to handle luggage for both of us.

My legs had gone, but my arms hadn't lost their strength yet. No wheelchairs being available anywhere in that province, I used some home-made wooden crutches to which I tied a little red-and-white Indonesian flag. Friends carried me across the tarmac and up the steps of the plane, and Don and I were off.

Don called me "Aunt Elinor" and couldn't have been more kind, considerate and helpful if I had been his mother. I had a letter from a doctor, requesting wheelchair support along the way, but it wasn't until we hit L.A. that such was available. We landed in Spokane 35 hours after leaving Irian Jaya. My red-and-white Indonesian flag was still flying from my jungle crutches.

That was four years ago. For the encouragement of those of you who are new to this post-polio thing, let me tell you that you WILL learn how to cope with it all. It has only been in this past year that things have gotten better for me. It took me three years to get to this point. I don't mean I have regained strength or have become free from other symptoms. But I have handled the major emotional hurdles and am intact and thriving. Most days.

You know the kind of hurdles I mean. The emotional trauma and depression of my body's betrayal and of losing my independence and professional identity. The loss of contact with friends I left behind. The unique hurdle of cultural re-entry; I looked and talked like an American, but the resemblance ended there. Then there was the stress we all face of researching and pressing the medical community to get appropriate treatment and equipment.

Now I have a management program that is keeping the PPS controlled as much as possible, and I can think of my years in Irian Jaya, Indonesia, with a grateful smile. God gave me a very, very special gift in helping me to do what I did. Not many people get to even visit such a place, let alone live there, learn the language and make friends. Sometimes the tears of grief at the losses still come, but quickly behind comes the joy of the wonderful memories. Kind of like that red-and-white flag; the loss and the joy are side-by-side.

During the difficult first three years I kept telling myself, "Be patient with yourself. Give it time. You'll learn. You'll work out how to handle this." I knew all along that the Lord was with me; that he would help and I would come out of the woods, but it would take awhile. I was right.

So, you who are newly facing the process, give it time. Use your tenacity to get the help you need. Use your head. Pay attention to what your body says is best. Have the courage to realistically face the truth about the needed changes, and make them. You'll be OK.