A bit potty

I think the hardest part of this is the mental deterioration.

I can deal alright with the physical stuff. It’s not any fun, but it can be managed. I can get walking aids; housework isn’t that important; I sleep through most of the tiredness.

No, the hard part is losing my memory and my cognitive function. I have pretty bad working memory now – looking for scissors has evolved from Jan Hankl’s Patented Scissor-Finding System to repeating to myself what it is that I’m trying to find, as I look for it. I use a diary and write down what I need to remember straight away; it’s manageable and I know it could be (and may get) a lot worse. I can still follow what’s happening in a book, which I know a lot of people stop being able to do.

The general smarts is difficult too. I can’t think quickly (which results in terrible phone calls), recall words properly, and my coordination is gone (interesting fact: this is called proprioception, and I can tell it’s bad because I can’t touch my nose with my eyes shut). I do interesting things like type ‘bbb.biblegateway.com’ because I know it starts with b, and repeatedly click the same things over and over because I forgot that I checked them 5 minutes ago.

Oh no, I’ve just remembered that I wrote a post about this a month ago.

I’ll skip repeating myself about intelligence and my new lack thereof, then: what’s important is that it actually isn’t important, and isn’t a measure of who a person is. Today I was thinking about Romans 9:21. Not contextually to do with this, but applicable all the same:

Or has the potter no right over the clay, to make from the same lump one piece of pottery for honor and another for dishonor?

What I worry about is that somehow in all this, I will lose who I am. That somewhere there’s this feeling that my memory and intelligence are what define me, or important parts of what defines me anyway. But this reminds me that actually God is the potter and I’m the clay in His hands – what He moulds me to is who I am, not the things of this world that I cling onto because somewhere along the way I decided they were who I was.

God’s the potter, and I’m a bit potty. Heeheehee.

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