Schrödinger’s Matt: FA makes me feel like I exist in multiple realities
My body is both capable and limited
One of my favorite podcasts had an episode titled “Quantum Refuge,” which made me think about Schrödinger’s cat.
I was never a physicist, but here’s how I understand it: Schrödinger imagined a cat sealed in a box with a tiny radioactive atom. If the atom decays, poison is released, and the cat dies. If it doesn’t, the cat lives. Until someone opens the box, the cat is considered both alive and dead simultaneously. This is called quantum superposition.
It’s bizarre, maybe ridiculous to many people, yet it’s uncomfortably familiar to me. And I know I’m not alone in that, because living with Friedreich’s ataxia (FA) often means occupying overlapping realities.
My body is both capable and limited.
My days are both empowering and exhausting.
My future is both promising and unpredictable.
I exist, like Schrödinger’s unfortunate cat, in multiple states at once. And I never quite know which version of me will emerge. Not just when I wake up in the morning, but at unexpected moments, like during doctor appointments, whenever symptoms shift, or when a new therapy update arrives. Life keeps opening boxes I didn’t even know I was living in.
Some days, the atom inside feels dormant. My body cooperates, balance behaves, hope is easy to access. On those days, life unfolds gently.
Other days, something shifts. Maybe subtly, maybe sharply. I’m reminded that my FA atom isn’t stable, and uncertainty becomes its own quiet companion.
Every doctor’s appointment, every symptom change, every hopeful therapy update is another unopened box.
Will things get worse? Stay the same? Or maybe even improve?
Like Schrödinger’s cat, I don’t get the answer until the box opens.
Honestly, on hard days, sometimes I’m jealous of my ignorant dream-self, since in that state, I’m temporarily suspended between “before FA” and “after.” In that darkness, ignorance isn’t always scary. Sometimes it’s gentle. Sometimes it’s merciful.
But here’s the difference: Schrödinger’s cat doesn’t get a choice.
But people like me — people like us — do.
Outside of my dreams, I get to keep hoping, even when results aren’t guaranteed. I get to keep showing up, even when the “state” I’m in isn’t the one I would’ve chosen. I get to float in the in-between spaces, not stuck, but waiting, learning, becoming.
Because in a big universal way, I am both scared and brave, exhausted and determined, limited and limitless.
I get to be all of it.
And if you listen closely inside this weird, hypothetical box I’m living in …
Meow.
Meow.
Meow.
(Translation: I’m still here.)
Note: Friedreich’s Ataxia 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 another 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 Friedreich’s Ataxia News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Friedreich’s ataxia.
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