Small victories offer hope amid the relentless struggle with MG
Even little wins are significant, as they remind us of what's worth fighting for
Living with myasthenia gravis (MG) doesn’t always involve big, cinematic moments of triumph. Instead, progress often comes in small victories. Some days, just finishing the laundry or making a grocery run that doesn’t necessitate a nap constitutes a major achievement. Once upon a time, I wouldn’t have considered such seemingly mundane tasks to be significant. Now, they are quiet triumphs and noteworthy achievements.
In life, we often overlook what is considered small. The history taught to us during our school days, which forms the narrative through which we view our society, reinforces the belief that big events matter most. But a deeper examination of history, one that probes beneath the usual tales, offers examples of quiet triumph.
Individually, these events may not have changed the world or been noticed by many. But they mattered to those who lived them, and when coupled with other small events, they altered the course of history.
Once again, I turn to the past in seeking to understand life with a rare disease.
Lessons from the past
In November 1864, President Abraham Lincoln wrote a brief, heartfelt letter to Lydia Bixby, a Boston widow who, at the time, was believed to have lost five sons during the Civil War. The note read, “I feel how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming.”
The letter was a moral and emotional victory: Lincoln reminded us that dignity and compassion can endure even in the shadow of great loss.
Quiet acts like this matter in the same way that a good day with MG matters. They may not change the situation, but they keep hope alive. The winter of 1914 offers another such example.
On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, three months into the cataclysm that was World War I, soldiers from Great Britain and Germany sat in trenches that were unsanitary, uncomfortable, and incomprehensible to our sensibilities. The soldiers faced each other, separated by turf known as No Man’s Land. Emotionally, they were as far removed from the previous year’s Yuletide as was possible.
As they sat in those god-awful trenches, they must have thought of the warm homes and family dinners from the previous Christmas. Now, instead of anticipating family gatherings and gift giving, they faced another day when death would nip at their heels. Their lives had changed irrevocably.
Against the commanders’ wishes, in several places along the Western Front, soldiers from opposing sides emerged from the trenches and walked into the so-called No Man’s Land. As soldiers from the two opposing sides met, they sang carols, exchanged gifts, and even played soccer in the shell-pocked mud. The men realized their common humanity. I suppose many of them questioned why they were engaged in mutual destruction.
The unofficial truce didn’t last. Military leaders on both sides were angered and frightened. Systems were put in place to ensure such an event didn’t happen again, and the war ground on for almost four more years. Historians disagree on the exact numbers, but it’s estimated that about 14 million soldiers and civilians died in the conflict. The carnage was on a scale unknown up to that point.
Despite all this, the truce gave the soldiers something rare: In the middle of terrible devastation, they achieved a shared memory when humanity triumphed over brutality.
For those of us living with MG, the battles we fight are often invisible. No one else may have noticed that you made it through the morning without double vision or that you climbed the stairs without stopping halfway — but you did. You also notice the days when you can eat a meal without choking or when you sleep through the night without waking from muscle weakness. These are temporary reprieves in an otherwise relentless struggle.
After all, these sorts of struggles form the fabric of human existence. It’s the same with or without illnesses. We remember the Bixby letter and the Christmas truce not because they ended wars, but because they remind us of what’s worth fighting for. Our own small victories do the same.
The ancient Greek historian Plutarch is often attributed as stating that “the measure of a man is the way he bears up under misfortune.” No matter the situation, our small victories are proof that misfortune need not have the last word.
Note: Myasthenia Gravis News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Myasthenia Gravis News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to myasthenia gravis.
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