Opportunity Missed

Today was "Cimzia" day. Injection day. It hurts.

It consists of two injections made of formulary that needs to be mixed on site right before it's given. What makes it such a painful shot is that rather than being mixed in a water base solution, it's oil. It's thick and viscous and sits like a lump in my stomach and thigh. Yes, it is given over two shots in two different locations because of the nature of the medicine.

The actual injection doesn't hurt... the pain starts about 1/2 hour later. Additionally it makes me feel ill and angry and very emotional. I certainly don't feel like doing much of anything or interacting with anyone, let alone leaving my home once it's done. Which brings me to the point of this post.
I'm angry. I was talking to a very close friend last night who's husband is on disability - short term - and refuses to get off of his behind and do anything for himself or the household. By all accounts, he is well enough to get up and get around and his doctor says that he should get out of the house. Despite all medical evidence saying that exercise promotes healing, he states that he's not moving because he will heal better sitting on his ass.
Meanwhile, I am on the opposite side of the country, having been on disability for years, and desperate to be productive and have my life mean something. I am slowly recovering from being so ill that all I could do is lay in my bed all day long, and maybe sit up long enough to take my pills. I couldn't cook for myself; I couldn't clean or walk the dogs. I couldn't go to exercise class and I certainly was not well enough to be productive in any way.
But as I slowly improved, I was able to sit up, first for just minutes at a time. I knew that my brain was not working correctly, so although I wanted to get back to making jewelry or spinning, knitting, or weaving, I would not be able to put out the creative spirit strong enough to make anything that I would be proud of. And so I learned to make basic "herringbone" stitch in beading (a brainless endeavour) from a book and spent hours making some straight bangle bracelets which I intended to embellish later.
A couple of weeks later and three of the blanks made, I found the creativity burried deep inside of me and was able to complete those projects. And I pulled out a beading book sitting on my shelf and learned a few other techniques out of it. Netting, spiral stitch...
The amount of time that I could sit up and be productive increased. I was able to sit up for an hour or more, and my output grew.
I am pushing hard to make as much jewelry as I can before the holiday season in hopes that I will be well enough to get out and show it to people and maybe sell a piece or three. There is the possibility, of course, that I will not make it in which I will hold onto the pieces and offer them just before Mother's Day.
Meanwhile for now , I am again knocked on my ass by an injection that I think (hope) may be helping my condition overall but certainly in the short term makes me too sick to do much of anything.
I think of this man on the opposite side of the country, and all the people who I have met over the years who actually can affect changes in their lives - who are not hampered by physical issues so great that truly keep them from doing anything - and how they squander the gift that they have been given.

I have friends who I mostly met through Richard's web site that deal with medical issues as serious as my own - their own illnesses and/or their families, physical or emotional; they do make the best they can out of their situations, and they are productive and inspirational. Watching them, I know that I am not alone in my attitude of doing the best that I can.

But then I look at those others... the ones who just sit on their asses and expect the world to cater to them. And I get so angry. At them. For them. For me. At me. For opportunities that others have and do not appreciate and the fact that I do not have the opportunity to do the same. For I certainly would not squander it if it existed.