On Selfishness

My cousin is getting married in 6 hours.  The rest of the bridesmaids are getting their hair and make-up done and I'm snuggled in bed, elevating the lower half of my body and mentally preparing for the walk down the aisle, the 30-odd minutes of standing in front of a congregation and the reception to follow.  It goes against my nature to say no, especially to family.

  In the last couple of days I've had to say no.  No, to my cousin's daughter who wanted to play our old (physically draining) games.  No, to the girls at the bachelorette party when I turned down drinks and spending New Year's Eve partying on the town.  No, to standing up through the rehearsal and going to get made up by professionals.  Instead, I'm saving spoons, rationing out energy so I can sparkle through the ceremony and reception.   It is far from easy.  I cry, not because I wish I could do all of those things and know I ought to rest instead, but because I am, at my deepest core, a people-pleaser, or at least a family-pleaser.  I wish I could save my family the heartache of watching my body slowly deteriorate, of watching me stagger like a drunk because, despite the excess fluid chilling out around my ankles,  I'm dehydrated and dizzy.    But I can't.  Because this is who I am, at least for now.  

  It feel selfish to take care of myself instead of sitting at the salon with my cousin, teasing her and calming her nerves.  I just have to constantly remind myself that it would be far more selfish to ruin the wedding by a display of weakness that could have been easily avoided if only I had rested, doing my own hair and makeup in a fraction of the time and spending the other hours calmly preparing myself.   Selfishly, I'll show up, sing my song,  do the bridesmaid bit,  kiss my cousin's cheek as she heads off for her honeymoon, hold nothing back once I begin, and then return to California to start treatment. 

Saving

I'm an obsessive saver.  I always have been.  Back in 4-H days when I received my goldmine of a couple hundred dollars for a few months work, I would squirrel away the majority in hopes of buying an aquarium, a goat, or a hypothetical trip to Canada.  (Seriously, when I was 10, I bought an aquarium  and stand, and when I was 14 I bought a baby goat---no trip to Canada though)

Not working for months ought to have changed the way I save.  I had a difficult time pulling cash out of my savings account to buy my Wii last spring (great investment) and my first impulse as I deposit checks from my minimal tutoring jobs is to replenish my savings account.

I know that, because I have incredibly supportive parents, I'm experiencing illness and my early 20's through different eyes than most. I know that the majority of the nation  is having a hard time meeting basic needs, much less thinking about  saving, but my compulsive saving habit has been eating away at me, urging me to save...

So, I thought of what I can save.  Spoons, obviously. (The spoon theory? ringing  any bells? no? ok) But really, I can store up memories. 

Saving memories?  How lame is that!

No, really.  When I have the energy, I'm saving up memories and stories. When I was sick, my poor parents heard me tell the same story over and over again.  "Did I tell you that _____ called?  She's doing ______ now.  Yeah." (insert bored grunts of agreement here)

  Life outside my bedroom is full of interesting stories---good memories like having a delicious dinner out with my mom and not-so-good memories like the student who was just not into tutoring today.   I want to have good stories to share about this very strange period in my life.

I don't have the energy for my old crazy adventures, and I don't have oodles of money to replenish my savings account or splurge for Christmas, but I can store up memories, saving them for a rainy day or perhaps a "splurge" of a book or paper down the road.

Tutoring

I've talked about writing a book about my experiences tutoring incredibly spoiled children and children who live in situations that make me cry.  Like most Americans, I will talk about writing a book, but never actually accomplish it. I will go into detail, but never sit down and outline it.  But maybe I should start.  I think I need a place to vent about the ridiculousness that I see and feel whenever I walk into a new house.  

I'm assuming that it's my health that's keeping me from being the whirlwind I once was, but a part of me is worried that I'll never be strong enough to be back in a full classroom again.  I enjoy tutoring, not just for the social perspective, but also because it's invigorating to watch a kid "get it." 

Taking classes, tutoring a bit, and not student teaching is the right choice.  The correct choice.  The smart choice.  It doesn't matter how I or anyone else express it---it was a really hard choice.  I want to be as energetic and strong as I was  before---I want to be an amazing teacher, not only a tutor.

Electric Blankets

I love that it's cold enough for an electric blanket.  Southern California is not known for cool weather, but man do I love it when I can pretend that it really is autumn.

Attitude

Today, I'm an odd mix between optimistic and down about the not-so-fun parts of MCD.   Mostly, it's the fear that even though I feel good today, I might not tomorrow.  I'm glad I'm feeling better, dropping weight rapidly and all of that, but I'm worried about registering for next semester.  Can I handle teaching 5 days a week and going to class Tuesday and Wednesday?  Should I just take the classes?  Just teach?  This time last year, being sick was the farthest thing from my mind...a big part of me is just scared about starting and not being able to finish.  Or starting and finishing poorly....

Today, I threw a party

 My nephrologist gave me hope a few months ago.  He said that if I could make it to November without relapsing, I would be in "good shape." So I planned a party on facebook.  It was originally going to be a virtual party, but I succumbed to the peer pressure and, with an encouraging doctor's visit, planned a real life party. 

  I don't know how I'll remember today.  I doubt that I'll remember the bouts of tiredness that threatened to knock me down or my frustration over not being able to cut the celery perfectly even.  Instead, I'll remember Stephen playing our out-of-tune piano with a mastery that made me cry, and Dave having the courage to follow his performance and lead the group in a few of my favorite hymns.  Will I remember watching my dog think about attacking Josh's pit bull or giggling over old pictures in my high school scrapbook? I hope I never forget the image of my niece in her "Yo-Ho" Pirate costume or my Dad and Dale setting out a spread of delicious food.  I doubt that I'll remember the taste of real ice cream with real whipped cream, but I will remember the hugs and kind words, the sweet notes written for my scrapbook to encourage me on tough days and remind me where I've been.  

It was an eclectic group, some new friends, many old.  Friends with stories to swap and friends with new stories to write.  Friends that walked with me through the hardest moments of the past year.  Erin, who took care of me when some punk kid hit my car; Kristin, who drove over 3 hours to come and drive away the fear when I was in the hospital; Rita, who sat with me for hours when I didn't have the strength to stand; Annajoy, who visited and called faithfully;  All the rest,  who called, texted, sent encouraging notes or facebook messages, and seemed happy to see me, even when I was grumpy or tired beyond belief. 

I say that "I" threw a party, but it's really not true.  My family threw this party--partly to celebrate that I had something to look forward to these long months, but also to celebrate that I lived. And I live because of them---because they fed me, and helped me with everything, and because, even when it was scariest, they helped me remember who really brings us through the darkest times.  My parents, my sister,  and my dear brother-in-law have gone above and beyond what I would have expected,  but they gave freely even when I had nothing to offer.  Their love mirrors the grace I find in Christ Jesus--who gave me my life and everything in it and asks for nothing in return.

Every so often, I'm reminded that there were moments in the last year, health problems, that could have killed me.  I'm glad my friends all met to celebrate me at something other than a funeral. I hope that someday (A long, long way down the road) my funeral will have the same feeling of celebration.

Minimal Changes

See!  It's funny because it's a pun!  It's what I'm doing with my life and it's the name of my disease! Get it?....Um... I thought it was funny.....

I'm not going anywhere on Halloween.  *GASP*  Wait, no.  I'm the same person who, at 21 and 22, chose to stay home and watch the Disney Channel instead of partying on New Year's.  Skipping a party is really a minimal, a small, an easy change.

I drink water all the time now.  Not only are the kids who collect bottles for recycling making a mint off of me, but the makers of Smart Water ought to be thrilled that my doctor recommend I drink distilled water with electrolytes...I'm helping keep them in business.  I've practically renounced caffeine and don't see the point in alcohol anymore.  Once again, these small changes aren't really a big deal to me. I enjoy the rare cup of coffee or cocoa and I think I'll always love a cup of tea on a good day, but my life is a far cry from having 64 oz of caffeinated beverages before noon.  I can easily join the ranks of teetotalers who have good reasons for abstaining from the deliciousness of Guinness or Bailey's shakes. Too many people on my message board bemoan brief relapses after a few drinks, and the alcoholism in my family makes me unsure I'd be able to keep from indulging.  So, now I can pull the kidney disease card.

I don't know why today  I'm focusing on the "minimal" instead of the "change." Maybe it's because the last 8 months I've spent a lot of time wishing the changes didn't have to happen.  I've never really liked change.  But there are a million little changes I'm making, and most of them are healthy lifestyle choices that I should have made years ago (Can anyone say sleeping at least 8 hours a night?).  The changes to my life and personality have been hard on my family and friends, but I hope that even they can see that these 'minimal changes' (I know, I'm killing the already bad pun) aren't all that bad