Sympathy for a Broken Umbrella

When I was a little girl of about six years old I had this beautiful red umbrella. I loved it so. I looked forward to rain showers just so I could carry it with me. And why shouldn't I have loved it? It gave me protection and a feeling of safety. It was my portable shelter in storms. But of course there comes a day when our favorite things are no longer useful anymore. My umbrella had weathered one too many wet and windy days. Over time the wires became bent and the once perfectly symmetrical red dome was now lopsided.

Of course my love for my umbrella over ruled any need for usefulness. I would carry it out with me, broken or not. But my mother did notice and told me it was time for my beloved umbrella to be thrown into the trash. I watched her, heartbroken, as she carried it outside for the garbage men to pick up the next morning. I felt such sympathy for this inanimate object. How would I feel if I were taken out to the trash after being so loved for so long? I imagined the sorrow of feeling alone and unnecessary, and it was then that I decided to rescue my umbrella from certain demise. I did go out and retrieve it, hiding it into the back of my closet. Although it would never shield me from one more raindrop, I was glad to have my umbrella back with me.

Decades later I still feel a particular empathy for broken objects mainly because I feel broken too. For years upon years I have not had any major health problems. I have never had a broken bone, not even a sprain. I had rarely experienced the inside of a hospital except to give birth to my two boys. I never worried about my health and it was something I took for granted. But now things are different. I have been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, this mysterious disease which causes ghostly symptoms to come and go. One day I may not be able to walk well. On another I may feel weakness in my hand. On yet another day I may not be able to speak coherently or keep my balance while standing. The course of my disease is unpredictable and therefore frightening.

What does it feel like to have MS?

I have to say that one of the first images to come to mind is my broken umbrella from so many years ago. There are days I feel broken. This is something I do not like to admit to myself. There are things which may not be fixable. But it is more than a physical phenomena, this "broken" feeling is quite emotional. Everyone has a way of thinking about themselves which does involve this flesh and blood house we inhabit. I read something recently about someone saying that we are not our bodies. The article I was reading was about weight and body image. But if you extend this philosophy you could include overall bodily health. I thought about this for awhile and then concluded that this statement is only partially true. Yes we are greater than this body we must dwell within, yet there is no escaping the fact that we are biological creatures. Everyone, regardless of who you are, will experience a decline in physical functioning. Even our brain, which acts as guardian of memory, intellect, and emotion, will someday enter a phase of gradual demise. Age is the great causal factor here, but for some who happen to have neurological disorder such as Multiple Sclerosis, loss of some functioning is going to happen a lot sooner. In many respects we are our bodies.

After some time has passed since my diagnosis last October I have had a lot of time to think about such things. I wonder about my usefulness. I am not the same as I was. There is an undeniable emotional loss to this fact. I can no longer do all the things I used to do with ease. I must think beforehand. I must plan. Spontaneity has been replaced with trying to determine the exact point when my body may rebel and begin to collapse. I must think about weather now and particularly heat. I must think about adaptations should I be unable to walk or talk. I worry about my children and if I will be able to keep up with them. I worry about the future and if I will recognize myself in years to come.

Despite all of this, I do feel I can handle whatever comes to me. I can adapt. I have no choice really. The physical part of this I can endure. It is the emotional aspect of having this disease which seems harder to bear. I am a little broken. I feel if I tell myself the facts with no denial, that I will be better able to accept this. I am worthy despite my limitations. I am not about to throw my life into the garbage because of this disease. Unlike my childhood umbrella, I am not a disposable object to be tossed aside when my body fails me. Broken or not, we all deserve to be loved for who we are despite our perceived usefulness. Pity and sympathy have no place here. I have left mine in the closet with my umbrella.