Hello, I’m Sara, and I’m an affectionate, but shy, 3-year-old grey tabby. I like pillow forts, spying out the window and perching on your shoulder when you sleep.
Just over a year ago, we adopted a cat named Sara who is an affectionate, but shy, two-year-old grey tabby. Adopting a pet is good for your well-being. Pets enrich our lives and the benefits can be measured in health improvements: “According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, pets… can help lower blood pressure, cholesterol levels, triglyceride levels, and feelings of loneliness. They can also increase opportunities for getting exercise and engaging in outdoor activities, as well as provide more opportunities for socializing with others” (Confronting Chronic Pain).
In particular, contact with animals has been found to benefit people living with chronic pain. For example, visits with therapy dogs at a pain management clinic were found to reduce pain and emotional distress in patients, as well as improve the emotional well-being of friends and family members who were there with them (Confronting Chronic Pain). Pets help reduce pain and stress, as well as give their humans companionship and a sense of purpose.
One of the things I’ve learned from living with cats and dogs is that they wake up each morning optimistic about what the day ahead will bring. We see that in their excitement to play, their contentment snoozing in the sun, and in their demonstrations of affection. They live fully an hour to hour. When we share in those moments with them, some of that optimism inevitably wears off on us too. We love our pets and take care of them, as they take care of us.
Lily was our 18-year-old tuxedo cat. She loved playing goalie with tossed toys, petting sessions, and sleeping on clean laundry.
Before we adopted Sara, we had a lovely 18-year-old black and white ‘tuxedo’ cat named Lily who lived to eighteen. She was originally my husband’s cat and initially treated me like an interloper. But since fibromyalgia kept me at home, I became her constant daytime companion, the giver of treats, and the nearest available warm lap. We became friends and, eventually, family. She was always there for me on the hardest days when I felt unwell, and it meant a lot to me that I was able to be there for her in her golden years. The companionship and affection of a pet are invaluable comfort during a fibromyalgia flare.
Our newest addition to the family, Sara, was abused in her first home and then went to a high-kill shelter. She was fostered by an animal rescue organization until we adopter her. The agency wanted to place her in a peaceful and quiet environment. That describes life at home with fibromyalgia to a tee. Living with a chronic illness necessitates a slow pace of life. I sleep late, wake up slowly with breakfast, coffee, and the news; stretch and meditate; spend the afternoon writing and on the computer, with nap breaks in between; then I go for a walk when my husband comes from work, and we spend the evening together catching up on our favorite shows. Sara has lots of company, plenty of time for cuddles, and no one interrupts her cat naps. I gain companionship, the endless amusement that cats can provide (like watching non-stop cat videos), and the enjoyment of taking care of something other than my health.
As a person with chronic illness, living in a society obsessed with productivity, I often feel like a round peg in a square hole. My goals include learning to savor the small moments, staying present more of the time, and learning to take more time off and push myself less. The goals of my friends include career success, homeownership, and completing their first triathlon next year. For them, life is busy busy busy and for me, it’s the opposite. There’s something wonderful about the fact that Sara fits into my lifestyle like a round peg in a round hole. My slow pace of life at home has been the exact right safe and healing environment she needed. Watching her learn to trust us and become confident enough to cuddle, sleep on our clean laundry, get into trouble, and generally boss us around is such a bright spot in each day.
When you live with a health condition that’s lifelong, it’s easy to become habitually cautious about anything new – after losing many of my abilities, I have a lot of self-doubt about what I’m capable of. When we saw Sara’s picture and read her story online, I was torn between hoping we could provide her with the right home and the creeping doubt of trying anything new that people who live with chronic illness develop over time. I worried about the differences between looking after a geriatric cat you know well and an energetic two-year-old cat you’ve just met. Writing the animal rescue coordinator to start the adoption process was a spontaneous act of bravery and optimism.
Of course, there are things that I reasonably should not attempt to do because they will leave me feeling awful, such as working full time or attempting a triathlon. But there are other things that I reasonably could attempt to do, but worry or a lack of confidence sometimes makes me hesitate. I’m glad I didn’t listen to that voice of doubt when it came to adopting Sara. In a strange way, taking care of her has been an act of self-care for me. She has become a part of our family and, besides all of the health benefits of adopting her, I think it’s the healing power of companionship and optimism that pets like Sara offer us most.
How do you cope when the usual treatments for your chronic pain or illness stop working? Here’s how I prioritize the dizzying number of options online. Even at a dead end, we still have the ability to take care of ourselves in the present moment. Ask yourself “What’s the next, best thing I can do to help myself right now?”
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