UNEXPECTED

Like many, I’ve lived personal experiences of the unexpected, but I never knew the expansive definition, until I worked at Choice In Aging senior center. The medical conditions amongst our frail clients schooled me with a sense of compassion that had been beyond my youthful comprehension.

I think about Linda, a former American nurse with strawberry blond hair whose clinical practice had been in Egypt and her boyfriend Miguel, with deep brown eyes and a quick wit. He had Parkinson’s with a charted history of schizophrenia, she was facing dementia and macular degeneration. In their first week of meeting, they sat outside under the sunshade laughing, enjoying each other’s friendship. She was one to espouse, “Life is tough, you have to stay strong”, more as encouragement than a command. With the help of her daughter, they forged a relationship that included evening strolls at Todos Santos Music concerts, where they could be without supervision, the shaky hand holding the steady one, his walker nowhere in sight. A year into their blossoming love, Linda’s dementia progressed quickly. She was transferred to the Alzhemier’s unit, all our hearts broke, as the visits together became much less frequent.

And then there were the traumas of my co-workers, most of whom with professional degrees, who had escaped war trauma in their home countries, pointed guns in an Afghanistan hospital, a policeman father killed by rebels, another pulmonary doctor and mother of twins, working a tuberculosis ridden prison, fearful whether this would be the day her kids would acquire TB through her own second hand exposure.

My co-workers offered me this most sage advice, spoken very seriously. Take care of yourself. If you don’t have your health you have nothing. I’d never seen the reality of this saying so truly as when I saw it through their eyes, listening to their stories.

Years later, my illness unexpectedly became chronic and at times debilitating. It’s not that I didn’t listen to my friends warning about preserving health. Things happen inside our bodies beyond our control and we are left to pick up the pieces and forge an existence, a task that seems monumental at times.

In times of doubt I take stock in the lived experiences of others that have opened my eyes. I think of my young co-workers, all former female doctors in other countries, how they were forced to re-invent their lives, working tirelessly for minimum wage in this country. I think of Linda and Miguel and their beautiful love affair that transcended class and social structure.

Author Suleika Jaouad coined the phrase, “Survival is an act of creativity”, a phrase that speaks to the aftermath of crisis, the one where you say goodbye to what or who you were and wedge your future existence. The flexibility and courage to go forward, because “Life is tough, you have to stay strong.”

In this last year, I have taken to writing- my hands now dancing across the keyboard, absent of the pen that is difficult for me to grip, I show up and sing Spanish songs at WC Peet’s Coffee Jam Session, still missing the silver rusted trumpet that spoke for me for decades, and on a good cloudy day I enjoy hiking with friends feeling beauty of the fresh air while working out the steps through a twisted leg and other bodily aches, convinced that my story matters to family, friends, and especially to someone else out there who has or is facing a crisis and wonders. “What do I do now?”

Sheli Cryderman is a proud mother, wife, and writer, living in Concord. A musician and disability rights advocate, she believes in being your authentic self, speaking your truth, and living your life to the best of your capabilities.