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I have had a lot of weird medical issues my whole life, including pain and other difficulties that doctors never seemed to know to to fix. and they always went away. I assumed “if it’s bad, it will just get worse.” Yet, these issues seemed to get better eventually. Sometimes they would come back, and sometimes they would just be gone. I remember talking about the mindset in the medical community. “if you hear hooves, think horses not zebras.” when I talked to my mom about this, her comment stuck with me. I told her I felt like I was a zebra. To my surprise, she did not agree with me. She told me, “You’re a giraffe.” I still giggle inside when I think about it. it’s true. I kinda am a giraffe. I will never know if some of the random pains or difficulties I had when I was in my early twenties to early thirties were related to MS, which I now know I have. I try not to go back and think “what if,” because I love my life and where I am now. Yet, it is hard not to imagine if some of those seemingly random events were related to the autoimmune disease I now have been diagnosed with.
When I was in the hospital after being diagnosed, and having five days of IV steroids to treat my new diagnosis, my family was so kind. They came and visited me every day. Each of them brought multiple gifts for me. One of the memories, probably because of what happened with the gift, was a yellow giraffe my sister brought. I still am not sure if she knew about the conversation I had with my mom, and my mom calling me a giraffe. Also, because I was a fall risk, everything the hospital gave me was yellow. Yellow wristband, yellow socks. I tried to have a positive attitude about it, voicing how much I loved yellow. Honestly, I do love yellow. It’s a happy color. It’s possible my mom talked with my sister about these things… if I shared it with her, which I am still not sure I did. All of this makes the gift of a yellow giraffe even more special to me. My sister and I have had many unspoken connections. We even have a tattoo together that signifies this connection. At the time, and even now, the yellow giraffe felt like tangible evidence.
I remember feeling it in my hands. I was not sure what it was made of. It was not quite as hard as metal, it did not feel like plastic or silicone. It was smooth and nice to hold in my hands. My vision was still double, so looking at things for very long became pretty overwhelming. I handed it around the room to let everyone feel, and we talked about it. Then, I heard a loud breaking sound. I had to close one eye to try to see only one picture of what was in front of me. It looked like my mom dropped the giraffe, and it broke into two pieces. I could almost feel her disappointment and sadness. She apologized profusely. In my head, I remember feeling “it’s okay. it doesn’t break the connection. Nothing can.” Out loud I think I told her it was not big deal, and asked my sister where she got it. Either my sister didn’t remember, or I don’t remember now, but getting a new one did not seem like the solution. My husband looked at the break, and said, “We can glue that! no problem.” My husband, always, but especially when I was in the hospital, was the fixer of problems. He is a great problem solver, and he carried a lot of the weight of finding the solutions and making them reality. I love him for that, and I still hope it’s not too much. When he said he would glue it, he even talked about the glue he would use. That’s how I know he means it. I knew then he had a full plan. It felt very comforting.
The next day, or later that day… honestly, all the days kind of smooshed together into a big chaotic mess. We got out the yellow giraffe again, and this time I know I talked about the giraffe being a representation of me. I’m not a horse, or even a zebra, I am a giraffe. And I am yellow because I am a fall risk. We all laughed. I’m not sure if it was a sympathy laugh, or a genuine laugh, but we laughed. Then, it happened again. my brother, looking at the giraffe and trying to put the two pieces back together to look at, dropped the giraffe again.
It’s a little ironic. The yellow giraffe, a representation of me, the person who reluctantly went to the ER for double vision and ended up being admitted for 5 days with a new auto-immune disease, and now had to wear yellow non-slip socks because I was a fall risk, was dropped TWICE and now in three pieces on the hospital floor. It’s kind of funny. Not, like, “ha ha” funny… but ironic. My husband was able to glue “me” back together when we got home. The giraffe has just a small area that you can tell there was a crack. Just like me. Those closest to me know how much I struggle, and when I bring my cane in public maybe they also see my cracks. From a distance, though, maybe I just look like a little yellow giraffe sitting on a mantle. Maybe my secrets and stories are hidden.
