Does It Get Better? Lessons from My Personal Journey

Does it ever get better? This is a question I have asked myself over a million times during these six years. The thought pops up in my head when things are so tough I’m curled on my bed in pain or during the most random of times. It could be during a phone call when I’m talking to a friend and wish I could pay them a surprise visit, or when I’m out and about and long to reach places, my wheelchair can’t take me. These thoughts appear even on the quietest, most beautiful days.

Somehow, I think it’s a mix of unsaid fears of not knowing how to navigate these circumstances or just the hope that things will eventually improve.

The first time this question came to mind was when I started having weaknesses in my left leg. I would trip on the smallest of things and fall, scraping my knees. Then I would stand up, albeit slowly, and wipe the dust off my jeans. Silently, I would ask myself, “Will it get better?”

At these moments, a quiet and soft voice would fill my mind, caressing my thoughts and assuring me that it would get better. Then I would get back to my activities with a smile yet a sadness within.

Denial is a crazy phase during grief or unexpected, unplanned circumstances. You lie to yourself and convince your mind that you are okay. That you are imagining things, that just maybe it’s a bad day, and tomorrow you will wake up with a strong leg. That you won’t limp, that tomorrow you won’t fall, that you won’t need a friend to hold your hand as you walk home. And the next day would come, and it would be worse. You struggle with rib pains and backaches, you fall more, and you accumulate more scars. Yet, you continue to deny it.

See, I didn’t think I would go back to the operating room. Even in my wildest imagination, I couldn’t see myself using a wheelchair. I would hope, wish, and pray that this was just a phase, a bad dream, and it would go away in the morning. But it didn’t.

When I started using a walking frame, I thought to myself, “Yes, this I need for a month or two, and after that, I will walk again.” But I would use the frame for a while and still fall. Then I would ask myself, “Really, does it get better? Does the pain ever stop?” Hell, I even bargained with God. “Okay, I’ll use the frame, but don’t make it any worse than this.” It will get better, I promised myself, but even I could feel that it wasn’t getting any better.

When this reality hit, I became angry. I stopped believing and hoping. I lost it. I was so mad at my circumstances, my life, and everyone around me. I stopped praying and thought to myself, “There’s no need to hope, to believe, or to wish for better days.” Did it get better? No, it didn’t.

And when I got here, I became depressed. I no longer had the zeal to keep moving. I didn’t want better. I wanted an out, I wanted it to stop. I wanted it all to go away. I wanted nothing to do with life. I was tired. And during this moment, I realized that yes, it does get better.

I’m sure you are now wondering; how does it get better? Did the pain stop? Did the sadness go away? Did I walk? None of this happened. But I came to a realization after the second surgery. I started counting my blessings. I started looking at everything differently. I saw beauty in pain. I found solace in the darkest nights.

But most importantly, I realized that I was stressing over things I had no control over. I was carrying too many burdens that weren’t mine to carry. I was putting too many negative thoughts in my mind, and this took a toll on me. So, Lucy, what did you do? I let go and let God. I let go and let everything unfold naturally. I stopped worrying. Instead, I took it a day at a time.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t wake up one day and realize that it was better. Heck no, I just decided that enough was enough, and it was time to face life with all I had left in me. And after I did that, then it got better. It gets better each day. I still can’t walk, but I live, and I live life to the fullest. I use all I have to do all I can do. I laugh out loud at the silliest of jokes. I sing like my life depends on it. I dance in the rain, and I give thanks for everything.

Are there dark days? Days when I want to crawl into a hole and die? Yes, there are. More than I can count. I don’t ignore the feeling. I embrace the sadness and sulk for a day or two. But then, I wake up and dust myself off. No one can do it for you. You can only get yourself out of those depressing thoughts. Only you can look at the humor of being a paraplegic. Only you can look at how far you have come and clap for yourself.

Only you can make yourself happy. It is only you who can make it better for yourself. Yes, dear one, it gets better. Day by day, it gets better. Just give it a little bit more time. 😊