![]() ![]() He observes the lumbering movements, the wincing, the shrinking of my world to the walls around my bed, the inability to devote energy to my passions to the extent I once did (art, gardening, walking in nature). When should we tell our loved ones we are unwell?įrom my husband, I cannot hide. ![]() I’ve often heard ailing persons described as “brave” or “never complaining” for keeping their unwellness secret, as if this is a virtue. I wonder what it says about our individualistic society that we are compelled to keep such frailties secret. People knew when others in their family group or community struggled physically and mentally. What is this need we have to keep to ourselves the fact that we are suffering? In former times, when people lived in close quarters and in community, there was no such hiding. When we send notes throughout the week, I never mention that I feel lousy, though often I do. ![]() She was concerned, but I allowed us to laugh it off, making our macabre jokes. She knows me too well and could see the difficultly I had standing up or walking up and down stairs because of severe joint point, the amount of rest I required. ![]() But when I spent prolonged one-on-one time with my daughter, I could not hide. ![]()
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