This is 43.

sometimes paralysis gets the better of me

I spent my 43rd birthday lying on the living room floor sobbing. It marked the end to a twenty-four day streak without paralysis, the longest I had gone in all of 2024. The stairs were insurmountable and the couch too far away as the inability to move took over my body. My dad was outside swapping out tires in anticipation of snow. The dogs kept him company. I was alone, unable to speak or even move my arms to alert him to my predicament via text.

So I cried.

There’s something about spending a day that’s supposed to be filled with festivities and cheer stuck motionless that feels like the ultimate gut punch. I’m not even one to put a great deal of stock in birthdays or celebrations. The proximity of mine to Thanksgiving has often meant it was overlooked. It was more that 43 wasn’t supposed to look like this. I’m not sure what exactly I envisioned, but it certainly wasn’t lying on the floor helpless.

Each time I have a setback, it feels like I’m failing.

On the days I’m not lying motionless and alone on the living room floor, I know that I’m not. My dad’s reprise of, “But you’re alive,” also serves as a solid reminder that there are and were other outcomes.

All that said, experiencing a sense of helplessness that I hope most people never know is harrowing. I’m at the age where I’m supposed to be supporting others and making my mark on the world. Instead I find myself bed bound more days than I care to count with my dad holding the straw for my water so that I can even drink. Humbling doesn’t even begin to cover it.

If a friend of mine were in this predicament, I would reminder that continuing to forge ahead is a show of strength. I would catalog all that she’s accomplished in the past six years despite having most of her abilities tied behind her back. I would tell her that she’s not alone in this even on the days she can’t even cry out for help. I would give her the biggest hug and tell her that it’s okay that no one knows how much she’s struggling. That’s not for them to carry.

Then I would reminder her that things are improving and that age is merely a number.

The waves of paralysis are blips compared to the eight to eleven hour days that consumed my life four years ago. The inability to speak passes within a few hours. My world has expanded beyond the second floor of the house where I was once marooned for months on end when I could no longer navigate stairs. I’m able to brush my teeth and shower. Those weren’t givens a few short years ago. There are days when they still aren’t.

Was this the way that I wanted to ring in the next year of life? Nope. But you know what? I still get to welcome another year, and that’s really something.

It’s not always sunshine and rainbows, but it is honest.