I had a dream a couple of nights ago – a dream I’ve had before. I was still in a wheelchair but could easily walk when I felt it necessary. For instance, I would wheel up to a staircase, proceed to stand and walk up or down the stairs and then continue on in my wheelchair. I’ve said before, the inability to walk is the easiest part of dealing with a spinal cord injury (it really is!). However, the sense of relief I feel in those dreams is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It’s like realizing you can breathe just when you thought the oxygen had run out. And for a few moments, while I convince myself that I am not dreaming, life becomes easier.
I have always been a vivid dreamer. Nightmares can be inexplicably terrifying and occasionally my poor husband ends up enduring a day or two of misdirected annoyance after he dream-cheats on me. And my walking dream, like so many, is one that feels authentic and possible but, alas, is only just a dream. It’s as though I am aware and skeptical of what is unfolding while also feeling confident that the dream reflected my reality.
My dream removes every day barriers I encounter: stairs, narrow doorways, impossible inclines. Activities I no longer participate in become accessible to me once again. I can picture myself in that dream looking peaceful with a genuine smile; a smile that doesn’t come quite as easily anymore. And with the spinal cord injury life seemingly behind me, my dream world gives me permission to admit to its true difficulty. A truth I do my best to sugar-coat because it is the only reality I have and – in an attempt to make the best of it – I have to think the best of it. However, when it looks like my reality has shifted I can finally and fully confess to the constant struggles that I’m up against and feel relief that I don’t have to face them any longer.
But dreams inevitably end. There is that place between sleep and consciousness where the lines of reality are blurred and there are a few brief moments of uncertainty and hope. Within seconds you begin to realize that it was, in fact, just a dream. I always wish I could forget my dreams: the good and the bad. The good ones make you long for something you don’t have and the bad ones evoke a range of emotions from fear to jealousy to misery.
This particular version of the walking dream has stuck with me and emphasized those moments where having the full use of my body would be easier and, in some cases, necessary. This past weekend I was completely thrown off my brave-game when I wandered out into the kitchen just in time to witness everyone running outside to play soccer. This certainly isn’t the first time something like this has happened, but it caught me off guard for some reason. I think it has something to do with the beautiful weather we’ve had – that perfect fall sunshine that makes everything crisp and cool but still feels warm on your face. I have thought many times about joining them outside but that is one of the things that still feels too different – it’s still too hard. And so I only do it when I feel I have the nerve.
My son was about to run out the door but quickly turned around when he noticed my fallen expression (he’s quite perceptive for 6 years old). He ran over to give me a hug and asked me what was wrong. With tears starting to burn my eyes, I smiled and told him to go have fun. I quickly headed to my bedroom. Soon after, my husband appeared after our son had told him that I was crying. He wrapped his arms around me and let me feel all of those feelings. The children came in one by one and, without words, just joined in to what became our group-hug. I have never attempted to prove to my children that I am perfect. I want them to see my flaws and my emotions and know that it is okay to feel however it is you feel. And so again, I told them that I was sad. I wanted to run and play soccer, as I would have if this injury weren’t a part of me. I wanted that dream of “pick and choose when you have a spinal cord injury” to be real.
Here I am, doing my best to heal while also giving everyone else my permission to heal as well. The process takes a lot of hits when I encourage them to partake in something that I am not able. But the grief is not mine alone and we all need to come through it together – even if it takes longer that way.
When I was young, my own mother (like so many mothers) never let on when she was sick or hurting for fear of how I might handle the realization that she isn’t super-woman. I actually don’t think I have the capacity to hide away those parts of me from my children because they are a part of me and I want them to know the real me. I want them to see the fight and discover that most of the lessons – at least the good ones – are in the fight.
So where does that leave me now? Honestly, I’m not sure. I know I have an amazing, empathetic and loving family and I know that this journey is all of ours – not just mine. I know that, in my heart (in my dreams) I would love to still be the able-bodied version of myself that can walk up a staircase and run outside to play soccer. I also know that my physical abilities did not make me a whole person. I can still be a strong and capable woman as this version of myself – the version with a spinal cord injury. But as I write this, I feel a bit lost. I’m lost somewhere in-between the woman I was and the woman I am becoming. I’m stuck wishing for dreams to come true while trying to be mindful and realistic about my future. I’m complicated. But, then again, I’ve always been complicated so I guess that will have to do.
awww….. my heart melts for you Codi!!! That was beautiful!
Dreams come true
I admire your honesty, and understand your frustration and sadness at being unable to do things you want to do. Every day is different.
My family have just returned from my childhood dream of a trip to the UK where we got to meet my Dad’s family for the very first time. (it was amazing to know that I have generations of family from this beautiful wee corner of the Earth – something I’ve never had growing up here in NZ). One thing this fairly long trip highlighted was that my husband – who has muscular dystrophy, is in rapid decline. In London where you can’t really drive yourself, (the traffic is horrendous) we Ubered or cabbed places because to use public transport would have been too hard on my husband. We were also fairly limited by where we could go – he couldn’t endure too much walking. The UK is not a great place for people with disabilities. So many of the places we stayed were several stories high and we weren’t on ground floor. Most didn’t have lifts.
I have kind of always known in my head that we wouldn’t be the elderly couple strolling arm in arm along the beach – but I guess I didn’t realise that we may not be the elderly couple simply sitting in cafe’s whenever we feel like it either. He will be in a wheelchair and he won’t be able to get himself in and out of it. At some stage unless we have a special vehicle, he won’t be able to drive. I certainly won’t be able to lift him – especially once his legs no longer have any strength in them. I suppose like you, I have to face a different future to the one I always assumed I would have. Unlike you I have time to consider how this will work – we won’t just be thrown into the deep end. I love my husband and made a vow to stick with him regardless – and I will. But I guess I’m just realising now that things really will change – and possibly in the not too distant future. We really are going to have to figure out and plan for what is to come. Thank you very much for your candid blog – I think we are presented too often with the ‘superman/woman’ persona which in reality actually doesn’t exist. We’re all human and we will all mourn for loss – whichever way it may come. xxxx
Yay i found your blog!! I love your honesty. You have been dealt a rough card yet always look so upbeat in your pics. You are a beautiful lady with a great family..im so glad i discovered you on insta. #yourock
Thank you for sharing your story! My partner is a blind man, and I see the constant change in societies treatment beacuse of just one thing about them. From this I just smile and make us look so sickeningly happy that most people just get confused. But, it is a start, and we are on the mission to promote accessability and understanding everyday by just being ourselves! I write poetry in order to process all of this and more. If you’d like check out my poetry and follow for more! I look forward to your future posts 🙂 caelidotblog.wordpress.com/2018/01/23/paint-so-perfect/
I love your writing…as difficult as your blogs may be in dealing with the real lifeness of living with SCI I feel like I’m sitting down with a friend over a cup of coffee or a goblet of wine or even a glass of Koolaid…and listening to a friend’s heart
Thank you so much! I love that you can connect with it in that way. It really warms my heart