Mastering the Art of the Excuse

Mastering the Excuse: When Your Body Starts Whispering (and Others Start Noticing)

Looking back, the holiday season of 2009 was a blur, not because of festive cheer, but because it was the precise moment my denial went into overdrive. Thanksgiving 2009 quickly melted into Christmas, and before I knew it, the calendar flipped to the New Year: 2010.

I spent those crucial few months, right after my very first stumble, desperately mastering the art of the excuse.

At the time, I was an avid marijuana smoker. For me, that habit was the ultimate built-in alibi. It was my go-to scapegoat, the universal blanket statement I threw over every strange physical quirk. Feeling a little uncoordinated? Must be the weed. Slurring a word? Too relaxed. Writing off those off-balance stumbles was easy when I had a convenient, socially accepted vice to take the blame.

Except, the smoke screen was starting to clear for everyone except me.

The Gathering Storm of Questions

Holiday gatherings are supposed to be warm, familiar, and comforting. You’re surrounded by family and friends who have known you your whole life. They know your cadence, your walk, your energy, and your quirks. Because they knew me so well, they started noticing the subtle shifts in my body long before I was willing to admit anything was wrong.

I thought I was doing a masterclass in hiding my declining mobility. But reality has a funny way of crashing through your defenses.

It started with casual observations from people who loved me. "Are you tired?" someone would ask, looking at me with a furrowed brow as I leaned slightly against the kitchen counter.

Then came the question that really caught me off guard: "Why are you mumbling?"

Mumbling? I wasn’t mumbling. At least, I didn't think I was. Inside my head, my thoughts were clear, even if my tongue felt a little sluggish on certain syllables.

Looking back, I was dealing with a compound fracture of my denial. I recognized that I was struggling with my balance, that much was undeniable when my feet refused to cooperate on flat surfaces. But the fatigue? The subtle speech changes? Those were blind spots. I didn't recognize them at the time, brushing them off as late-night exhaustion or the byproduct of a busy holiday season.

As it became harder and harder to hide my condition, a quiet, nagging fear began to take root. I started to seriously wonder: What the hell is actually happening to me?

The Anti-Doctor Philosophy

Now, you need to understand something about my background, because it adds a whole layer of stubbornness to this story. As a footnote to my entire existence: I am the guy who avoids the doctor like the plague.

I was born and raised in an area where Amish remedies practically fixed everything. Got a cold? There’s a tea for that. Sprained wrist? Herbal wrap. Hell, I grew up with the mindset that even a broken finger was nothing some cardboard and duct tape couldn't fix.

Medical professionals weren't part of my life's ecosystem. You tough it out. You walk it off. You find a natural remedy, or you simply ignore it until it goes away.

So, checking myself into a clinic or booking an appointment to talk about a little clumsiness and fatigue? Absolutely not on the table. In my mind, going to a doctor was an admission of defeat. It meant acknowledging that duct tape and positive thinking weren't going to save me this time.

The Limits of Rationalization

When you're mastering the art of the excuse, you become an Olympic-level mental gymnast.

My shoe grip must be worn out.
The flooring in this house is uneven.
I just didn't sleep well last night.
My allergies are messing with my throat.

I had an excuse locked and loaded for every single physical failure. But excuses have an expiration date. They require energy to maintain, and eventually, the physical reality of what was happening in my body outpaced my creative explanations.

The stumbles weren't stopping. The fatigue was deepening. The questions from family members stopped sounding like casual observations and started sounding like genuine concern.

The denial was comfortable, but it was shrinking by the day. I was running out of excuses, running out of scapegoats, and running out of time to pretend everything was fine.

Something was fundamentally changing beneath my feet, and I could no longer ignore the tremors.

What Comes Next?

January 2010 rolled in cold and unforgiving. The holidays were over, the festive distractions were gone, and I was left staring at a body that simply wasn't following my commands the way it used to.

My anti-doctor policy was running headfirst into an immovable wall. The duct tape was peeling, and the homemade remedies weren't touching whatever was taking over my nervous system.

I was standing on the precipice of a reality I had spent months avoiding. I just didn't know how far down the rabbit hole was about to go... or how drastically my life was about to change.

Stay tuned for the next post to find out what happened when the excuses finally ran out.