It was an old familiar voice that spoke to me as I put the polishing touches on my attire for the evening. “Why not just rest? You know you’ll be tired in the morning if you go out. Watch TV. Keep your feet up.”
I recognized that voice as what I refer to as my basic self; the inner child in me that loves the security of familiar habits and patterns. Imagine if you will, an adamant little five year-old clutching at your skirt with her thumb in her mouth. She’s shaking her head and whining, “No. No. I don’t want to go. Let’s make popcorn and watch a movie. We always do that.”
That’s the basic self, in my case trying not to change ... To not go out and have fun. For a moment, I placed myself in her “shoes,” so to speak. By doing so, I realized it has been over six years since I’ve worn anything resembling “sexy,” and she’s worried about me. How sweet.
“This is the first time I’ve seen you wear that outfit without a scarf,” she spoke anxiously. “Your earrings are going to fall off, you know. It’s been a while, but I remember. Once you get dancing, you’ll loose one.”
“Yes, yes. I hear you,” I silently responded. To reassure her, in my
mind, I knelt down and took her little hands. “It’ll be OK,” I
spoke to her gently. “We took a nap earlier so we can stay up late. We
were invited to go out dancing, and we can now. After all these years,
we’re strong enough to stand, hold on to something (or somebody) and
dance! It’s exciting, isn’t it?”
Her doubtful chatter stopped and I could feel her relax into the idea a little. Just then Danielle arrived to help me in whatever way I needed. She’s half my age and had on sneakers that squeaked when she walked. “Will you stop bouncing around?,” I complained, waving as I brushed past her in my wheelchair. She did a little jump and followed me quickly down the hall and into the bathroom.
While I put makeup on, Danielle danced to an imaginary tune and chose scents to sample. As she swayed, she sniffed each one and studied me, smiling. “You are a striking woman, you know. Pretty damn good looking for an old lady,” she added.
Her comment reflected how I was feeling inside. After six years of being immobilized, overweight and sick, I felt thin, stronger, and could even walk with forearm canes for balance. I wanted to go out dancing because if I don’t test my limits, then how can I know where they are?
Danielle’s vibrant youthful energy was reminding me of not wanting to go earlier. “What am I thinking? Like I’m going to get out on the dance floor. What if it’s really crowded?”
I put on lipstick and went to blot it. Finishing, I spun around to face Danielle directly. “I was having second thoughts about going. This is exciting, but it’s also really scary.” Danielle stopped playing with the perfumes and stood and faced me directly. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Well” I answered slowly, looking at the floor. “I wanted to go, then I started thinking about how it’s going to be really crowded.” Danielle said nothing, so I continued, feeling a little silly, yet justified in my hesitations. “I started thinking about what if I get tired? Then I thought ‘What if I run into somebody that I know?’”
Danielle sat down on the toilet, put her elbows on her knees, rested her head on her hands and stared at the floor. After a moment, she looked at me and smiled, then looked down at the floor again. Suddenly she sat straight up, slapped both knees and stated, “You know Debra, I haven’t known you very long, but I know that you’ve got a lot of spirit.” Her assuring voice got louder as she spoke, “We can leave anytime you want to. I’ll help you get onto the dance floor, and you’re bound to run into somebody that you know!”
“Why do you say that” I asked, caught by surprise at the strength of her statement.
She shrugged her shoulders and said, “Because everywhere we go you run into someone you know, or someone knows who you are. You’re famous!”
Embarrassed, I quickly added, “No Danielle, I’m not famous, I’m infamous. Know the difference?” She shook her head and waited patiently for me to explain.
“I’m known for starting a school, but I’ve been in hiding for ten years. I have this image, you know? Not too many people have seen me in a wheelchair, let alone know I have MS.” In a small way, I felt better having said just that much.
Danielle rose abruptly and walked past me down the hall. I followed her this time, wondering what on earth she had going on in her head. She sat down at the kitchen table and said, “Tell you what. We’ll go, and if at any point in time you feel like you want to leave, I promise I’ll leave, OK? I’m your friend, Debra. I want you to have a great time.”
All of a sudden my basic self started a “run-of-the-mouth” critique about the outfit I was wearing, the little fat that I had left on my body and how my breasts were saggy. As if that wasn’t enough, she pushed it even farther, literally yelling in my head about “Sure your face is pretty, but it’s always been pretty. Even when you weighed 265 pounds it was pretty and I used to be angry about that too!”
Having held that entire conversation in silence with myself, I was oblivious to the fact that Danielle had moved and was sitting on the couch in the livingroom. When I noticed, I went to her and asked, “What’s up?”
“Well,” she said mischievously.. “At least we’re a little closer to the door. This is our first time going out to dance, and I don’t want it to be the last.” She paused, then exclaimed, “You haven’t said anything about your dancing yet. What’s wrong with your dancing?”
Realizing she’d caught on to the push-pull dynamics of my basic self, I started to laugh. “All right, I’ll just get it over with. When I dance, I can’t get my feet to move the way I want them to. My upper body is OK, but I wish I could dance like I used to.” Remembering how much fun I had dancing, I became passionate. “I want to dance like Ginger. I want to get down and rock out and go at it all night like I used to, but I can’t!” I could feel tears surfacing and added, “Now I’m feeling sorry for myself and I feel stupid, so ... let’s just go.”
“That felt good!” I said as Danielle opened the front door. I stood, put on my forearm canes, took a couple of deep breaths, looked at her and said “Let’s do it,” and we walked out the door.
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