It's hard for me to think about my fatigue without seeing its friend and partner, grief. As far as I can remember, these two notions have been going hand in hand like old pals, inseparable, always together. I no longer know what it's like to live without fatigue, this limiting feeling, this manifestation that I didn't listen to my body, this proof that I have pushed myself beyond my limits. It has become a second nature to me. What is much more difficult to live with is the grief that accompanies it.

My mind, - as fast as a rabbit, now has to accept to live in the body of a turtle. It has to find its place in this "shell" that is becoming a prison for my activities, a vice to my imagination, a damper to my creativity and my willingness to surpass myself. I regularly cry all these losses. I grieve the person that is still alive and kicking inside me, but stiff and in pain on the outside. I have to accept, and grieve the fact that this long awaited trip to Paris, France had to be transformed into a weekend in Paris, Ontario. I also have to accept, and grieve the fact that most of the museums that I have visited in the last 10 years were through the Internet since my body no longer can wait in line or be crushed between excited tourists and zealous guides. Life is not the same when it's spelled with fatigue. "I'm so tired of being tired" is a recurrent thought in my mind.

My personality, - devoted and perfectionist - also grieves the limits imposed by my fatigue. I can no longer expect my house to be as clean and as orderly as it used to be. I can no longer volunteer to babysit my nieces and nephews, take care of my aging parents, help my friends, be part of the listening team of my local Distress Center or sew a garment in a day. Although I manage quite well most of the time, I sometimes wonder what will be the next activity my fatigue will force me to "let go" while I'm trying to remain true to myself. How can I not let this fatigue get the best of me, or let it profoundly change who I am?

Part of the answer came to me more than three years ago in the form of a physical activity. Major contradiction you would think. Quite the contrary: since then, my mental and physical sanity has depended on a few feet of water, two to three times a week. At the age of 43, I joined a group of aquafit for seniors. At first, I could hardly manage 10-minutes sessions, but now I can enjoy a 45-minute session with a "regular" group, most of the time. As a consequence, I have a very positive outlook on life, more stamina, more energy, less winter "blues" and a lot more pleasure in life. It allows me to socialize and to maintain a better sense of myself (self-confidence, self-esteem and self-worth). My warmest gratitude and thankfulness goes to the personnel of Good Life Fitness, Rideau Center for helping me achieve my goal and fulfil my dream.

As seen on a T-shirt recently: "Don't let things you cannot do stop you from doing the things you can do". I'm tempted to add: "Don't let CMT stop you from doing the things you really want and still can do".