Image provided by: University of Oregon Libraries; Eugene, OR
About The daily Astorian. (Astoria, Or.) 1961-current | View Entire Issue (May 19, 2017)
1C THE DAILY ASTORIAN • FRIDAY, MAY 19, 2017 CONTACT US Erick Bengel | Weekend Editor ebengel@dailyastorian.com WEEKEND BREAK FOLLOW US facebook.com/ DailyAstorian A struggle for self-acceptance in a body with limitations By JOAN HERMAN For EO Media Group R ecently, Facebook popped up a photo of me from 22 years ago for its pop- ular “On This Day” feature. In the picture, I am riding my Italian racing bike “Bella” through the scorching-hot wheat fi elds near Athena in eastern Oregon. Decked out in my black Lycra shorts and traditional cycling jer- sey bearing the name of the bike shop I once co-owned, I am lean, strong and extremely fi t. I miss that body. My struggle today, as I sit in a wheelchair 19 years out from a diagnosis of multiple scle- rosis, or MS, is not to despise the body I now have. I fi ght to accept it for all its limitations — and there are many. Self-acceptance eludes me. In fact, as I study the picture and others of myself a few years back — on horse- back at the beach at Fort Stevens, hiking up South Sister in the Central Oregon Cascades, even “just” gardening at my former Longview home — I marvel at what I once could do, to the point of questioning whether the self I see in the photos ever really existed. I know, of course, that all of us, as we age and lose ability, mourn for the youthful bodies we once had. Yet more and more, I fi nd myself envying those who are elderly and still mobile, such as the woman, easily in her 80s, whom I observed using a walker to navigate, albeit slowly, inside the doctor’s offi ce last week. “At least she is walking,” I think to myself. Indeed, that has become a mantra of mine: “At least he/she is walking.” I am 58, and although I am fortunate that I can still concentrate and follow a complex plot, skills that many with MS lose, in pretty much all other regards, my body feels like a depleted husk of its former powerful self. At the Providence MS Center in Portland, my neurologist looks at me pointedly and asks whether I am depressed after reading my answers to questions about my emotional state on a form I completed before the appointment. Depressed? Believe it or not, no, I am not. Instead I harbor just below the surface of my public face a despair about my physical con- dition and my future. But I am not depressed. I can put on a smile and feel genuinely happy much of the time; I have quite a few friends, and I’m active in my community, vol- unteering for several organizations I love. But that sense of unease rarely leaves me. When I am alone and quiet, I think in disbe- lief about the body I now have, and I still can’t wrap my brain around my condition. “When did this happen?” I ask myself, even though I know all too well. I question whether I did anything to bring on the disease, one for which scientists have not been able to pinpoint a defi nitive cause, but nevertheless, in my moments of magical think- ing, I imagine there must be something I did. I realize I am not alone, and all who face a serious diagnosis feel a sense despair, at least sometimes. And yet … I am alive. As hard and as compromised as my life is in some ways, I know that I’m far from alone in my suf- fering on this planet. It comes with the territory of being human. My dear friend Laura Snyder, who is liv- ing with a Stage 4 cancer diagnosis, and I joke that we “got grit.” We have to in order to get through the day. But don’t call me inspiring or special because I feel this way. Just as in other species, in humans the will to survive is pretty hard to tamp down for long. So I do my volunteer thing to keep the despair at bay — for at least as long as I am preoccupied. On a recent May morning, with tempera- tures hovering in the high 40s and rain fall- ing in squall-like fashion, I’m out on the Asto- ria Riverwalk in my purple waterproof garb to greet passengers off the cruise ship Ocea- nia Regatta. It’s hard not to feel alive in the elements. The ship is heading north to Alaska, and I am acutely aware that I almost surely will never take such a trip. Even if I had the money, traveling is too complicated for someone in my condition. Instead, I will give them a warm welcome to town and wish them well on their journey. Life Writer’s note: The column’s title comes from the poem “The Summer Day” by American poet Mary Oliver: “Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Submitted Photos TOP: Joan Herman climbing South Sister in the 1990s. MIDDLE: Joan Herman on her bike in the mid-1990s as a Cycle Oregon participant. BOTTOM: Joan Herman, an Astoria resident, outside Street 14 Cafe in summer 2016. I am alive. As hard and as compromised as my life is in some ways, I know that I’m far from alone in my suffering on this planet. It comes with the territory of being human.
