Remembering The Future

The philosopher Soren Kierkegaard once said ,”the most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly one you can never have”

I first heard this quote a long time ago but recently heard it again. I’ve been tossing it around in my mind ever since. How true a statement it is. 

When I developed a serious and nearly fatal infection following a routine knee operation, my future was forever changed. I remember waking up and feeling grateful to still be alive but I also remember staring at the hospital ceiling that night and realizing that life, as I’d known it and life as I thought I would know it in the future, was irrevocably changed. Little did I know then that far bigger and scarier changes were still to come.



At various points in my 11-year battle with infections in my knee and stump I’ve succumbed to bouts of anger, which is only natural. As my surgeon told me once, he’d be very concerned about me if I didn’t have anger and sadness about what was happening to my life. I couldn’t quite put into words, however, what it was that I was so angry about. I knew I was angry that these things were happening to me and I knew I was angry with God for allowing them to continue to happen. I knew that I was angry that my life had to be put on hold and that I was hours away from my best friend and second family. I have never regretted my decision to amputate my leg but I was angry that it had ever gotten that far and that I'd ever found myself in the position to have to make such a choice. What I didn’t realize I was angry about until just the other night, though, is just what Kierkegaard said. I was angry because the future I thought I would have, the future we all thought I would have, was out of my reach. It was over. I knew I’d get back on my feet [no pun intended] and get back to life eventually but I knew that life was never going to be the same as it had been and that the train of my life had been completely derailed by something so tiny yet so incredibly vicious. Bacteria.



I was remembering where I was supposed to be and what I was supposed to be doing. When the infections started, I was supposed to be in college. I was supposed to be moving out of the house and creating a life of my own. I was supposed to be having the time of my life and was supposed to be on the same general path as my peers. I was supposed to be graduating college at the age of 22 or 23. I was supposed to land a great job and be fully independent. All of those things and more were supposed to be happening to me but instead I was in and out of the hospital so much I should have been getting frequent stay points.

That is the future that I was supposed to have. That is the future I will never have. Life has changed for me and there is no going back. I will never be the same person I was before this fight for my life began. There is no reset button to push. I have changed. The changes have been mental, emotional and physical.

On September 4^th 2014 the biggest hit came that changed everything. My oldest sister was diagnosed with the most aggressive and 100% fatal form of brain cancer. On November 2^nd 2014, she passed away. My amazing, brilliant, beautiful, loving, quick-witted, funny big sister was taken from us by another monster. My monster is bacteria; hers was cancer.

I remember sitting in the hospital with her that last week before she entered hospice care at home. I’d known from the day she was diagnosed that she was going to die but I still couldn’t wrap my head around it. How could there be life without my oldest sister? How could we, as a family, continue? The sun comes up every morning and every morning it takes a moment for me to remember that my big sister isn’t here and every morning it crushes me. I go about my day doing the things I should be doing and have always done but sometimes I look around me and wonder how this is possible. How is it that life is continuing and how is it that the rest of the world goes about their day? How can there possibly be a future without my sister in it?

We are supposed to watch her receive her PhD and become Dr. Jones. We are supposed to watch her get married. We are supposed to watch her have the children she always wanted. We are supposed to grow old together. That is the future we are supposed to have and the future we can never have.

I remember realizing about a year into this battle that I had matured in many ways far beyond the maturity level of my peers. Getting drunk and living a fairly carefree existence was no longer what my future held. Graduating, landing a great job and becoming fully independent were no longer in my cards. Progressing one step at a time had ended for me and instead I had progressed in a series of gigantic leaps bypassing the typical milestones in the average person’s life experience and I was angry.

It took me a long time to realize, though, that just because life had drastically changed for me it didn’t mean that the bright incredible future my high school history teacher had seen for me wasn’t still there. It wasn’t going to be the same future it had been but a future nonetheless and one I am most grateful for. The reality is that I could have, and more than once should have, died years ago which would have meant no future for me at all. It is a new future with new goals and new passions and new hopes and new dreams. 

I don't know if it's true that everything happens for a reason and that everything happens as it is meant to happen. I do know, however, that my future was meant to change. It was meant to head off in an entirely new direction. I was meant to be derailed in order to make it possible for me to jump onto this new train of life. Do I still think about the future I should have had, the future I know I will never completely have? Yes, and I am certain that there will be times throughout my life when I will think back on that future. I don’t think one can ever forget a serious life changing event that took place in their life nor the drastic ways in which life changed because of it. I think that all becomes just one part of the whole person, the whole life.



Here’s a thought…
What if Kierkegaard was only half right? The most painful state of being is remembering the future, but what if that is a future you were never meant to have in the first place?

I'm Still Me

I recently watched the movie “Still Alice.” For those who don’t know, it’s about a woman who develops Familial Early Onset Alzheimer’s disease. It’s the story of her decline and the struggles of her family and more importantly the struggles she faces.  In it she quotes Elizabeth Bishoponce who said: 

"the Art of Losing isn't hard to master: so many things seem filled with    the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster” 

and continues on to say that as a person with Early Onset Alzheimer’s she masters the art of losing every day. As a person living with Multiple Sclerosis, PTSD, chronic infections, an unexpected death in the family and as an amputee I too master the art of losing. Losing control of my body. Losing control of my mind and myself when the flashbacks strike. Losing the future I thought I’d had. Losing my big sister, my hero, to brain cancer. And of course, the obvious, losing my right leg.

In that same speech she goes on to say that for now she’s still alive and has things she wants to do with her life and though she has bad days she also has times of complete happiness. She makes it clear that there’s a distinction between suffering and struggling and that she is struggling to remain connected. She’s learned to live in the moment and to master the art of losing. Her speech has stuck with me. It grabbed me as it was supposed to do.

Earlier that very day that I watched the movie, I’d been in a bad place mentally and emotionally. I’d gone to my PTSD therapy session depressed, exhausted, and feeling that I had nothing left. I had no more to give to myself or to others. I sat with my hat pulled down to cover my eyes and refused to look at my therapist who is an incredible therapist as well as an incredible human being. He made me look at him and asked a simple question. “Are you saying goodbye?” I’ll be perfectly honest that I’d gone into that session believing I would be saying goodbye because as I said I was done, I had nothing left. Instead, as he put a hand on my arm and looked me in the eye I realized I wasn’t quite as done as I thought I was and that I couldn’t say goodbye. During that session I discovered that I still have the ability to make jokes (sometimes morbid ones in relation to my struggles). I still have the ability to smile and laugh. I’m still here. What makes me the person I am is still inside me. I’m still here. I’m Still Meg.

I’ve changed. Who wouldn’t while facing the obstacles life has put in my path? I’m not the same person I was when this all began. I can’t be. I’m a new and different version of myself but I’m still here and I’m still me. I walk on crutches or use a wheelchair to get around and do what I need to do. I struggle with the symptoms of PTSD – the flashes of anger, reliving the events as though they’re happening in the here and now, the anxiety and fear, the hyper-vigilance, the nightmares, the times where I’m just numb and feel nothing at all, the intense and scary reactions to triggers. I struggle with having just lost my sister to cancer and all of the feelings such as anger, disbelief, and immense sadness connected to that. I miss her dearly and would give my other leg to have her back. I wear her thumbprint around my neck every day and find myself touching it and fiddling with it often because that talisman helps me feel her close to me even though she’s gone. Her cancer and death was a fast moving train that we never saw coming as we stood oblivious on the tracks.

She would implore me to continue the fight I’m in and to remember to live in the moment instead of being three steps ahead and worrying. I think that she would be proud of me for so many things but definitely for learning to master the art of losing. With everything I’ve lost I’ve continued on and seen every event as a speed bump on my journey through life. She’d want me to continue to do that so I will.

I have lost a lot in my short time here on earth. Many would say that I’ve lost more than any one person should have to endure. Many would say I have suffered more than any one person should. Perhaps they are right; often I’m pretty sure they are right. However, those were the cards I was dealt and I can’t reshuffle the deck. Instead, like Alice, I will appreciate the moments of complete and overwhelming happiness and continue to struggle to remain connected to this world and those who are important to me.

I’m a different version of the person we all thought I might become but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m still here and I’m still me and I plan to continue to not allow my struggles to steal my essence. The journey through life can be tough and events and people will no doubt change you, as that is what life constantly does. Remember who you are and no matter what remember that you’re still here. You’re still you. Just as I am still me.  

Embrace The Suck

"Embrace The Suck" is one of my favorite military terms. I, myself, am not a member of the military though I would have liked to have been had my health not prohibited it. I do, however, know many of our brave men and women who fight for this country and our freedoms. My brother (remember that you do not have to be blood to be family) is a member of the United States Army. My dear friend Heather was a member of the United States Air Force. A good friend who I crossed paths with quite accidentally is a Marjah Marine and wounded warrior. "Embrace the suck" is a phrase I have heard repeatedly and is a motto drilled into me. 

To embrace the suck is to to accept that whatever it is that you're doing may very well suck and may very well hurt and be something terrifically hard to get through and holding on to the knowledge that failure will suck so much more. Everybody falls down during their lives and scrapes their knees and bloodies their hands. We're all the victims of disappointment and frustration when plans we put in motion and are looking forward to are suddenly and forever derailed. There is no doubt about it: life is going to put you in the trenches at various times and when that happens there's only one thing that the strong person can do and that is to embrace the suck. Please do not misunderstand. Being strong does not mean that you don't struggle or that you're always happy or getting through it all with your head held high. In actuality, being strong is more about knowing that it's OK to not be OK and that to have the courage to let others know that you're not OK.

So how does one go about fully embracing the suck? First you must identify the suck which can be a painful process because we often don't want to delve that deeply into our pain and trying experiences but we must. You must discover what it is exactly that is hurting, why it's hurting and how long it has been hurting. Those who say that they can't identify the suck are those who are afraid to look deep inside themselves and really know themselves.

Once you have identified said suck, you must tend to it as a medical professional tends to a broken bone or deep laceration in the skin. They disinfect a wound with things such as iodine, silver nitrate and surgery. The disinfectant you need once you've discovered and named your suck is knowledge. Read the self-help books. Scour the internet for chat rooms or blogs where you find others who can relate. Laugh. Cry. Shout. Be angry. Write the difficulties you're facing, your sucks, on old pottery and then smash them one by one. One of the most therapeutic disinfectants I have found in regards to my own moments of suck is to find an open field or an empty parking lot where no one is anywhere near you and start screaming. The only way you can truly do that is once you've discovered, dissected and named your suck. You'll know because in that moment of screaming you'll feel a release and begin to feel that you're taking control by letting all of the emotions tangled up inside of you out.

Once your suck has been identified and once you've begun to face it and disinfect it you must then find the right tools for bandaging yourself. Instead of gauze and steri-strips and stitches you bandage it by being honest with yourself and with those around you who care about you. You tell the truth. You turn to someone you trust be it a friend, relative or therapist and you talk openly and honestly. Do not be afraid to admit that you've thought of throwing in the towel. Do not be afraid to let them know just how low your suck has brought you but at the same time show them that despite it all you are determined to go down swinging. Go for long walks. Eat junk food now and then. Read sappy novels with no real content. Go out to that gathering you've been invited to. Go out to dinner or to have a coffee or drink with a friend. Remember what it is to smile a truly genuine smile. Get out there and do the things you've always loved and enjoyed. Though they might seem like little things, and they may well be, they carry the promise of removing some of the sting from what you're going through.

Finding yourself stuck in the trenches can be scary and quite painful at times. What you'll quickly realize, though if you are open to it, is that you're not alone and you've never truly been alone. We all, throughout the course of our lives, must learn to embrace the suck whether we consciously recognize it or not. One of my favorite scenes from the TV series The West Wing is when one character who has been a lifelong alcoholic takes another character who is suffering from PTSD aside and tells him the following story:

"This guy's walking down the street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep he can't get out.

"A doctor passes by and the guy shouts up, 'Hey you. Can you help me out?' The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on.

"Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts up, 'Father, I'm down in this hole can you help me out?' The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on

"Then a friend walks by, 'Hey, Joe, it's me can you help me out?' And the friend jumps in the hole. 

Our guy says, 'Are you stupid? Now we're both down here.' The friend says, 'Yeah, but I've been down here before and I know the way out.'"

Everyone in this world is fighting a secret battle within themselves that we just don't know about. We each have hurdles and we each hit potholes as we journey through this life. The day WILL come when we all die but I, for one, won't go easy. When it's my turn I will die kicking and screaming. I will rant and rave. My fingernails will be dug deep into the framework of death's door. I fully intend to go down swinging and embracing the suck the whole way.