I’ve discussed how frustrating it is for me to ask for help, how the act of requesting help is a perceived admission of weakness. I’ve even highlighted the trouble I, we, sometimes have in the act of asking itself. To humble yourself before someone is humiliating, but this is for those without a chronic illness out there: having a chronic disease is humiliating.
Not being able to remember the details of a conversation I had five minutes prior is hugely frustrating, but typical for me. Having to cancel a social engagement because I am too exhausted causes more anxiety than if I went. Realizing that I am having an irrational reaction to a minor situation, but unable to control it causes a lot of shame.
These are the “in-the-moment,” examples of my MS humiliating me. I also have an unknown future ahead of me. While I try to be mindful and live in the moment, there are times where I must confront my future with the illness. I can’t be a grasshopper in my disease and live every day like it is summer. With a little one, I need to mentally and physically prepare for possibilities.
And these possibilities can be humiliating. The idea of asking for help if/when I reach one of these possibilities heightens my anxiety even if it’s all hypothetical right now.
Has something fallen from your grip, and you know it’s due to the disease and not carelessness? Have you used store-provided scooters to get your errands done? Used a mobility cane to help you walk during an exacerbation, or because of damage done by one?
In each of these cases, you may have dealt with strangers’ stares, rude comments, or well-meaning looks from close ones. Humiliation comes not just from the outward expression of the disease, but how the condition impacts our egos. Each time we must compromise to accommodate the disease, there comes a moment of humiliation where we recognize the deteroation.
Intensifying the humiliation are strangers commenting how we should leave the scooters for those who need it; how we need to get out of their way because we’re moving too slow*; or you don’t look sick, so stop faking.
*I had an elderly stranger get snippy at me when I moved too slowly through the aisles in the days after my hospital stay.
Admittedly, before I got my diagnosis, I did the same thing. While I kept my thoughts to myself, I often wondered if a person using a scooter or handicap placard needed them. Post-diagnosis, I am more sensitive to the fact that disability is invisible, and I shouldn’t judge strangers for using the tools available to them.
Most of us have experienced some negativity surrounding our illnesses by strangers. When these moments happen, like when the man got mad at me for being in his way at a store, it causes intense feelings of humiliation. It makes it hard to want to ask for help or take advantage of the support available to us.
Chronic Illness: the Humbler
A quick disclaimer: my MS/chronic illness looks different from others. It’s the nature of autoimmune/chronic disease: each case is distinctive. I do not have to deal with the same issues as others, and I may never have to experience the same problems, but there is no guarantee the direction my MS will take. I may get worse; I may stay the same; I may get better.
I see my neurologist every year. At this point, it’s a simple check-in with my health. They like to know if I am getting worse or staying stable with my MS. Right now, I am maintaining, so it’s always a quick session. But the questions the neurologist asks are the same, and each time I go in, I am afraid of the day I have to say “yes,” to some of them.
The question that scares me the most is: “do you have any issues controlling your urine?” My neurologist wants to know if I am incontinent, a symptom of progressing MS. I can continue to answer “no,” but there are moments in-between appointments where I am worried about my control. It might be symptomatic of my MS, or the fact I gave birth.
Being faced with that question each time I see my neurologist is embarrassing, but I must be honest in my response. With incontinence affecting 80% of MS patients, there’s an excellent chance I will start experiencing it in the future. The day I answer “yes,” is the day my neurologist and I know my disease is progressing.
Knowing that there’s a chance I will need to wear urine control aids is humiliating. Let’s be realistic: the day I realize I need to start doing so is the day I have an accident. Hopefully, not in public, but it could happen.
Don’t Be Alone
In our most intense moments of humiliation, there’s a desire to isolate ourselves. Please avoid doing that as much as possible. Ask others for help or find ways to adapt to your illness as much as possible. Reach out to others for comfort, so you don’t feel alone.
I’ve said it often before: the chronic illness is isolating enough, don’t allow yourself to become further isolated.
Help is Temporary (and That’s Good)
If it helps you, remember this: everything happens in cycles. Life is one big cycle. Our exacerbations occur in cycles. You may be in a period where you need a lot of help, but it might be temporary. You may not always need as much support. You’ll figure out a way to adapt and do things on your own.
Keep that in mind if you are afraid to ask for help: this may be a short cycle, and you may not need to keep asking for help. While it is humiliating to ask, it will be a blip.
Chronic illness is humbling. Asking for help is humbling. But remember, acknowledging both and not giving into the isolation shows your resilience. The disease takes so much, don’t let it take what makes you durable.
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