It's Christmas Eve. In previous years, I might have been rushing through a festive market in Berlin, catching a late flight to a warmer climate, or navigating the winter crowds in a historic city. This year, my adventure is much quieter: it’s the view from my living room window, punctuated by the soft chime of the clock.
This is the first Christmas I've spent entirely housebound, managing LVSD 20% and NYHA Stage IV. While there is a quiet sadness for the adventures missed, there is an immense, unexpected comfort in the stillness.
The True Meaning of 'Home'
For the nomadic traveler, 'home' is often a temporary concept—a safe harbor between destinations. You rely on strong routines, but they are routines of movement.
Now that I am permanently grounded, confined by the severity of my condition, 'home' has been redefined. It is no longer just a stopping point; it is the epicenter of my survival and my well-being.
This Christmas Eve, I am immensely grateful for the stability of this place.
Security: Home means I have immediate access to my medications, my monitoring tools (my pulse oximeter, my scales), and my phone—the direct line to help if my EF 20% heart struggles.
Comfort: It's a place perfectly adapted to conserve my energy, where lifting a coffee cup (my daily military mission) requires the least amount of effort.
A Sanctuary of Care: It is where the kindness of the Community Care Team manifests daily, ensuring I remain stable and safe during this festive time when others are distracted.
The Quiet Gifts of Christmas Eve
When you strip away the frantic travel, the crowded parties, and the pressure of expensive gifts, what remains are the genuine gifts of this season—which, thankfully, are all low-energy and perfectly suited for a housebound life:
Warmth: Not just the heat of the fire or radiator, but the inner warmth derived from stable health. My goal for today is simply comfort and stability.
Memory: The stillness allows me to mentally "travel" without moving. I am revisiting my favourite Christmas memories from around the world—the smells, the sounds, the quiet moments. This is travel fueled by the mind, which costs no physical energy.
Connection (The Digital Toast): Though I cannot share a physical glass of low-fluid-limit eggnog with friends, I will be making video calls. My toast this Christmas will be virtual, heartfelt, and entirely focused on celebrating the people who keep me going.
If you are reading this and find yourself grounded, isolated, or dealing with illness this holiday season, please know you are not alone. Let the world rush by outside. For us, the greatest gift is the stability we have found, the care we receive, and the quiet, profound comfort of our own home base.
I wish you all a peaceful and restorative Christmas Eve.
What is one peaceful Christmas memory or tradition you can enjoy right now, regardless of your physical location?
Comments
Post a Comment