I no longer think about what pictures I used to see in my mind. I know hearing words to remember an object is the only capability I have to “see” memories. I no longer rub my eyes and try to get the darkness created by hemianopia to disappear. My eyesight will always be missing on the left side. Until I wake up and pain shoots through my cramped muscles or a stranger asks what happened to my leg, it is no longer a conscious thought that I limp. The limitations I am left with are part of me. I am not defined by my disabilities. I am very aware they shaped me into the person I am today.
My past complications evolved me into the person I have been fortunate enough to become. I accept this as my new normal. Normal is a word we use to define what everyday life delivers to us. It is normal to research information on a computer. It is normal to travel by car. It is normal to see green grass in the spring and feel heat in the summer. Normal is acceptable. Normal is fairly consistent. Yet, never forget that normal will also evolve. What we thought was normal for us and for society ten years ago will usually not be considered our normal today.
When we sail along pleasantly through life and are struck by a painful or even life-altering event the normal we are familiar with will be abruptly disrupted. This creates a troubled feeling. No one usually enjoys being taken from their routine. These very routines define our perception of normalcy. I will tell you an important life lesson I learned. Normal will eventually come back to your life. It may not be exactly the same. Those routines may change. You will probably change. Nonetheless, normal will return. You will adapt to your new normal as you gradually adapt to the changes in your life.
I hope your new, evolving normality will be accepted. It might be a hard adjustment. Give it time. I would like to read a magazine and not be confused by the content because I have missed seeing the left column. I would like my eyesight back. I would prefer not having to be concerned again if and when I would have another seizure – my Disease of Waiting. I want to feel various textures of clothing rubbing my left hand rather than only a rough, uncomfortable sensation as I fold clean clothes. I would like this a lot. Yet, I accept what I have now. I am grateful for the normal I have adjusted to experiencing. My senses from the past will not return. My normal is becoming a comfortable consistency I can now depend on. “Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That is why we call it the present.” – Unknown Yes, my normal has evolved. Yet, as my routines have changed, I am grateful for this new normal my life has delivered to me.