Thinking

WARNING: This post is likely to be more philosophical and sentimental than those preceding it, and will also include a lot less bad puns.
Lately I've been contemplating my illness, the complications it has created in my life, and how I handle them. Given I've been suffering the effects in one form or another for over 10 years now, I've come to the realisation that I've been very poor at seeking and accepting help. I think some of this is tied to being a young man (renowned for their reluctance to visit doctors), but also to my very masculinity - the crazy idea that you're "weak" for accepting or asking for help. I think it's a little silly that in this modern age I feel diminished by having someone (especially my girlfriend) carry something heavy for me or help me with a task that requires some dexterity (I haven't been able to do up my own top button for about 5 years now. No ties at work!). Yet, despite logic telling me I should be OK with it, I still feel embarrassed, frustrated and even emasculated when accepting help from others.
So what's the cause? Australian culture? Male culture? The idiosyncrasies of my particular personality?
Treading this line of thought further, I start playing what-if, a perilous game indeed. What if I'd sought help earlier? Would my hand function be better? What if I'd sought second opinions along the way? What if I'd asked about alternatives treatments? The what-if game then leads to the future: Will my hand function continue to deteriorate? What will my health be like in 10 years? 20? If I have kids, how effective will I be in caring for them?

I have a tendency to over-think things, and often have troubles getting to sleep because I can't switch off the flow of thought. This one has been keeping me awake lately - hopefully by writing down some of my thoughts they'll clear my mind.