Margins

I've been thinking a lot about margins lately.  As an AVID coordinator, part of my job is to tell kids to leave wide margins on their notes.  The actual methodology is called "Cornell Notes" and the goal is to return to their notes at a later date and add potential test questions in the left margin and a summary at the bottom.

They hate it.

It's hard to blame them because I understand their desire to just fill the page and be done.  As a child I hated those blue guidelines that whispered "don't write here" and I felt like the margins of my books were wasted space meant only to slow me down as I sped through yet another novel.  When teachers and professors allowed me to bring a 3x5 card full of notes to use on a test, you can bet I didn't include any margins.  Every centimeter was filled with formulas, facts, definitions, and clues to remind me of all those bits of information that I might possibly need.  To anyone else, my cramped writing looked like gibberish, but on the day of the test, that card was gold.

Before I got sick, I wrote in the margins of my days.  You can bet every line had a bulleted list, and every list had a footnote, and every footnote had a corresponding flow-chart. Looking back, through the 20-20 lens that is hindsight, I see that my combination of activities looked like gibberish to the outside world.  I had taken all the bits that I thought mattered and crammed it into a single page. 

Getting sick taught me margins.  Just like my students have to take time to pause and reflect, I was given years "on pause" and so many minutes and hours of reflection that I had time to choose bitterness or beauty.  Many days, I chose bitterness. I chose to fill my margins with commentary on the pain, loneliness and boredom.  By the grace of God, some of those margins are filled with the beauty of content, patience, and joy.  I tried to figure out what the potential test questions of the day were, and I came to a conclusion that I was put into the world, like Esther, "for such a time as this."  My pain had meaning--maybe not at that moment, but one day it would be redeemed so that I could love others.  My suffering was not a freak incident--instead of weeping "why me?" I was able to say in the brokenness of our world, "why not me?  My loneliness and boredom taught me to ask the One I said was always with me to comfort me.

Having margins lets us stop and summarize, make connections to others, and simply see the world more clearly.  So why do I fall back into the habit of crafting a life without margins? My September calendar is daunting--in addition to teaching, I have duties as the class of 2016 advisor,  professional development coursework and conferences,  a bible study I'm helping lead, a new dog to train, a crossfit groupon to use,  an FCA fundraiser at my house to host and plan, a neighborhood fundraiser to attend, back-to-school night, Homecoming, and my typical variety of medical appointments.  I have filled this month to the margins, and left no time for casual time with friends,  or moments sitting on the patio over coffee.  I'd like to have a margin like Abraham who, because he was resting in the heat of the day, was able to take the time to serve the visitors who brought such life-changing news.  I'd like to leave margins like Jesus who kept pestering the disciples to take time away and pray.  I'd like to leave margins like I once was forced to---but I'd like to do it voluntarily this time.

Chronicles of a Chronic Control-Freak Vol 1

Once upon a time there was a type-A, over-acheiving, perfectionist, control-freak who lived in sunny Southern California and had decided to complete a Master's Degree in Education with a Teaching Credential in one year whilst simultaneously tutoring, mentoring a group of high school girls, and remaining involved with church and friends.

Her kidneys failed one moderately cool day in February 2008, and her life hasn't been the same since.

After two hospitalizations, dozens of blood tests, physical therapy, and a variety of diets, the control-freak still wondered why she wasn't back to her previous state of perfection. Thanks to her wonderful parents and sister, the control-freak had made it through all of her coursework for her Master's degree, sometimes pushing her in a wheelchair, often driving her to and from class, and always helping her rely on Jesus for strength and encouragement.

But the control-freak wanted everything back the way it once was or might have been. With determination and perhaps a little foolhardiness, the control-freak enrolled in the final term of her education: student teaching. The control-freak was thrilled and a bit terrified to realize she would spend 90 days in a kindergarten classroom, perhaps the most germ-filled location known to planet earth.

"Aha!" the control-freak proclaimed as she obsessively planned wardrobes, cooked meals, delineated sterilization procedures, and gathered medications for the first week of school. "I have discovered the recipe for finally conquering the fatigue that comes alongside chronic kidney disease---Planning!"

Unfortunately, the control-freak did not take into account the fickle nature of a body that has been through, well, a lot. Her body declared, one sweltering September morning "Uh uh. No more. You want me to go-go-go 12 hours a day when a few months ago you were only requiring 2 hours of activity? Not a chance." And, without any other options, the control-freak rested.
And rested.
And rested.

And then she woke up, two days before student teaching began, tentative about going back to work full time, but trusting that somehow she could be an energetic teacher, hoping that everyone would understand how exhausting her days would be and forgive her for disappearing into work for awhile, and believing that whatever happened with her kidneys, good things would soon come.

If nothing else, she figured she'd have a pretty fascinating story to tell.

Good Friday

    I recognize that my blog has most likely made it's way into the blogger's graveyard.  Not updating for two  and a half months wasn't necessarily planned, but looking back, I think I needed it.  In January I relapsed again, complete with the thrilling initial side effects of surreal amounts of obsessive energy, coupled with an inability to adequately discern what people meant when they spoke to me and overactive guilt over what I said to others.  Call it extreme paranoia, if you will, but I lovingly refer to it as "the crazies."  Also in the last two and a half months, I successfully completed a rather rapid and unpleasant taper from 60 down to 5 mg of prednisone, at which I have semi-comfortably adapted to "the crazies" and the other various side effects of which I, and a million other people on the inter-web have spoken often.   Oh yeah.... I also completed my last two real courses for my Master's degree, leaving only student teaching and related classwork for the fall.  Oh, and I continued to tutor and started a job researching as a Graduate Assistant for a professor on campus.   

     So I have been busy.  Or at least busy compared to Spring of 2008, during which I slept or watched television  in bed for 95% of the day, compared to the rather modest 60% I  now complete.  If we compare it to my first 22 years or most other 24 year olds I'm in contact with, I'm not busy at all.  

    But today is Good Friday.   For the first time in a long time I've felt like writing, like sharing what's going on.  Life is hard.  As I watched the Passion of the Christ today, I was hit again by the hardness of life, by the cruelty of human beings, by the pervasiveness of sin.  On this day, of all days, I am well aware of my sin, of the cost necessary to pay my debts, because I do not love my neighbor as I love myself, I do not love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength.   Even in weakness, I lean more toward entertainment or physical things that make me feel better for brief moments instead of the terrible beauty of the Cross.  

   I don't have anything profound to say, no moral or encouraging thing to wrap this post up all-tidy-like.  The last few months have been filled with wonderful things, hard things, new and old things, but today they just seem like things that might be remembered or might not---things I didn't feel needed to be written down---but the itch struck me to write today--and so I did. 

"People on welfare don’t get to live in five star hotels. You can’t use food stamps to eat out at expensive restaurants. Not every accused criminal has a right to representation by Johnnie Cochran or his progeny.
Access to health care shouldn’t be any different, but right now it is the only industry in which, for the most part, the best practitioners get paid the same amount as the worst practitioners."

~

http://www.epmonthly.com/whitecoat/2009/01/radical-ideas-to-improve-the-house-of-medicine-1/

I deal with the idea of social justice differently now.  Before I started grad school, before I got sick, before everything changed, I believed that there was something we could do--as individuals, as Christians, as a society--to make life better for everyone. Or, if not everyone, then enough 'someones' that the world would continue to improve.  My education courses  tell me that by teaching children, we're making the world better.  My history courses used the cop out that "history will judge" if each generation made the world better. (It helps when you don't actually have to make relevant judgment calls)

But reading medblogs makes me feel like there's nothing we can do. Doctors can prolong life and they can perform medical procedures that improve the quality of life, but their system is broken, just like education and academia.  These broken systems can't help everyone.  It doesn't matter how good of a teacher I am, there will be students I don't help.  It doesn't matter how brilliant Obama's new nationalized healthcare program seems, people will still be screwed by the system.  

I don't know why I had such faith in the progressive nature of society as a whole.  Maybe all of those eugenicist writers I spent so much time fawning over seeped into my subconscious. I wonder why I didn't let a little more theology seep in as well.  Since I believe in that unpopular notion of "total depravity," in the individual sinner, I don't know why I hoped that there could be systems that would be free from the same depravity.  Our systems are broken; our world is broken. 

I tutor rich kids.  Because their parents have wealth, they can afford to pay my fees.  If they want a highschool kid, they can pay them $40 less.  There's still a part of me that says I'm not helping the brokenness by taking part in a broken system, but by charging the same as a less-qualified tutor, I'm not helping either.  

I can help one kid at a time.  I'm still struggling with how to fight for justice without declaring war on society, but for now, I can help one kid at a time.

Blogs

I read a lot of blogs.  And webcomics.  But that's not what I'm talking about.

I discovered medblogs.  I'm officially fascinated by the behind-the-scenes stuff of Doctors and Nurses in hospitals and primary care. I love reading what doctors think about national health care programs.....I love to read their opinions on new laws and new drugs.  If you want to hear about No Child Left Behind, ask a teacher.  If you want to know about the failing healthcare industry, ask a nurse or a doctor.

This blog said everything my gut has been telling me about healthcare, but she, well, has almost 30 years working in the industry....

January Gardening

It's January.  January is a difficult month for gardeners, or so I've read on various blogs around the interwebs.  The bulbs are planted, and for those in snow-covered areas, are mostly forgotten as they wend their way toward the sunlight underneath mounds of snow. Those gardeners spend January leafing through seed catalogs and mentally preparing themselves for starting seeds in musty basements or cold windowsills.   I'm starting to believe that gardeners in California run into a far more difficult and less predictable quandary these weeks after the holidays.

It feels like spring. 

It looks like spring. 

I desperately want it to be spring.  Weeds are making the hillsides a delicious shade of green due to our recent rains and the daffodils I didn't dig up and replant are reaching respectable heights while the new bulbs are still sleeping under the soil.  Several rose bushes are blooming and  the soil seems to call to me to plant. Should I weed the area around my irises and plant a wildflower mix from 1999 I recently discovered?  Should I break down and walk down the aisles of Lowe's or the local garden center and buy whatever catches my fancy?  Should I start seeds inside to make sure they come up and can be transplanted safely?  Should I sow wild and think and hope that a good portion come up or carefully plan?  

The prednisone makes my brain go a bit nutty---I can think of a million things I ought to be doing right now---an hour practicing Spanish with Rosetta stone, cleaning my room, doing my reading for my grad school class tomorrow....but all I *want* to do is think about my garden, to plan and dream of a lovely spring and summer.

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

Life back to normal?

And how.   I have a cold.  The first cold I've had since, oh, 8 months ago, right about the time I was diagnosed with a rather odd kidney disease. 

And why is that normal, you may ask?  Well, see, I've had colds or bronchitis just about every year since I ventured into the world, and I know how to deal with them.  I have a very specific list of things that make me feel good when I have a cold, and I'm finding that my kidneys play a very small part in my cold.  It's great to get to think about something else other than Glomular Filtration Rates or Albumin ratios.

My list of how to get through a cold.

1) Sleeping:  Sleeping is something I never seemed to have time for.  In junior high and high school, when I felt a cold coming on, I'd sleep from 4 pm on Friday to around noon on Saturday.  In college and especially, in grad school, I never seemed to have enough time for sleep. One of the perks of spending another semester recovering is my access to sleep. 

2) Water/Juice:  My kidneys have shown me how important hydration is in the grand scheme of things,  but having a cold reminds me of water's joys all over again.  If it wasn't 90 degrees outside, I might indulge in tea or broth, but I'm sticking with cold drinks for now.

3) Sandwiches. I know everyone says to have soup when you're sick, but sometimes it seems like way too much work to lift a spoon.  I get shaky hands sometimes, so that makes spoons a bad idea.  A sandwich, however, is easily accessible, and, if the sickie is tired can be saved for a later date.

4) Steam:  Humidifiers are great, but a few minutes in a steamy bathroom usually makes my head and chest feel less...well...awful

5) Mindless Projects:  I don't know about anyone else, but I always feel worse if I spent an entire day without accomplishing anything.  Today I hung pictures, sometimes I crochet or read, once in college I alphabetized our DVD collection.

I realize that everyone has their own sick traditions.  I like to be left alone when I feel really bad, but there are moments I feel great and want to be out in the world, spreading my germs.  

Hooray for normal!

Tutoring Again

Today I made ninety dollars.  I tutored a college student for 2 hours and a 7th grader for an hour.  I'm getting my groove back.  Sure, I've discovered that I have to drink 3 liters a day or my kidneys decide to hate me, but I've regained a semblance of my former life.  I don't ever want to go back to filling 18 hours of the day with back to back activities, but I do like doing stuff again. 

Stuff is good.

Hospital Silliness

I thought this was worth posting. I wrote this on Day 2 of Hospital stay #1

My beloved teachers and professors,(the not so beloved will get a different email)
Contrary to rumors I'm not dying of kidney failure or even experiencing "failure" @ all. I will be in the hospital until they can figure out what is wrong, but I'm praying that's only a few more hours because the infomercials on tv are starting to make sense. The nurses call me the funny young one (I'm right next to leisure world, the place old people go to drive) and despite all the complications I have a good attitude and trust the doctors and surgeons.

If you haven't heard any tidbits about me languishing away in a southern Cali hospital, consider this a quick update on my life. If you have heard silly rumors you get to be the one to nip it in the bud.
Audience of one,
Katrina

The funniest thing to me is not the fact that my kidneys actually were failing that day, the "few hours" was actually a few days, and I said Leisure world is where old people go to drive. If you don't live near Leisure World this isn't funny--but the common phrase around here is that LW is where old people go to die. They do drive there, albeit poorly.

I was on very, very strong painkillers at the time, and in my defense, it took a good month or two for me to recognize the severity of the situation. It also took me several months to realize how incredibly loopy I was in the hospital and how much nicer that shot of happiness was than the months of pain killers and muscle relaxants...

Hymns

I took a class my final semester of undergrad called “History of Christian Worship.” We learned about various liturgies, creeds, and movements in the church, but what I wanted to learn was hymnology.

I want to know why I hummed “How Great Thou Art” as I was curled up with a rather large needle in my back to get a kidney biopsy and MRI. I want to know what it is about “Amazing Grace” that makes lots of people cry at funerals, but stand a little taller at baptisms. I want to know why my high school youth leader felt it was of the utmost importance for us to learn all the words of “Come thou fount” and why we don’t sing the “battleshield” verse in “Be Thou My Vision.”

I know that I come from an unusual church background. I feel very blessed that I grew up reciting the Apostle’s Creed every week, and that my first response to “What do you believe?” is “I believe in God the Father, Maker of Heaven and Earth and in Jesus Christ…” We sang hymns and there were times in my childhood that we rocked out to 80’s and early 90’s praise choruses. I learned the gamut of children’s praise and bible verse songs and, due to my tenure at rather hip churches and a school that desired to prepare us for worship in the real world, I’ve learned the latest praise songs.

But what is it about the hymnists? I want to meet Fanny Crosby someday (not just because Adventures in Odyssey made her sound awesome) and I’d like to spend an afternoon or seven with the Wesleys. I want to thank Martin Luther for all of his contributions to theology, but mostly for “Almighty Fortress is our God.”

Why I have this Blog

I recently read about a contest to win a $10,000 scholarship for university students with blogs. My immediate response was "How do I get me some of that?" I promptly realized that I not only think in bad grammar, but I don't update my blog enough to win an award.

And then I wondered why I don't update this blog very often. I have a Word document with over 600 pages of content copied from the LiveJournal that I updated several times a week through undergrad, but I'm doing well if I update this once a month.

What's sad about that is that I have a folder of documents called "Blog Thoughts." I write out full length blog entries and then decide not to post them. Usually because they reek of the angst that marks my old LiveJournal...but still. I was really, really sick this year. I'm still not doing great. I think maybe it's time that I allow the friends and family that started to read this blog to find out what was and is going on into my head a little bit.

I named this blog Thistle Theology because, back in undergrad, I grew very frustrated with the acronym 'TULIP" used to describe the main tenets of Calvinism. Mostly, I was frustrated that the semantics of the phrases were debated until they meant nothing, but then I spent some time (that I ought to have been writing a paper or working or some other such nonsense) thinking about how fragile Tulips are, and how very short their life is in the grand scheme of things.

So I decided I liked thistles better. I wrote out a very well-thought out acronym that could probably make me millions if I could publish it, but I happened to write it on the back of a page of theology notes. And as much as I'd like to share my brilliance with the rest of the world, I'm not willing to spend a week sorting through old boxes of notes.

But think about it--thistles are hardy, often difficult to get to, and beautiful in their own unique way. Ironically, I came to the conclusion that I'd rather be more like a thistle than a tulip long before I got sick. My illness has made me more like a thistle. I'm stronger than I was, because, well, I've had to learn to be. I'm wary of sharing my feelings and opinions, because my meds reduced my inhibitions just enough for me to say cruel things to my friends. And I really do think I've come into my own kind of beauty--it's just different than what I had planned.

I'm going to try and post something---whether it's backdated or new, every day until the contest. If I get the courage, I'll submit an entry, but if not, at least I spent a little more time letting people in.

Jealousy

I hung out with the other Young Life leaders last night. Talking to a friend today, I admitted that I’m jealous of everyone who has gotten to do fun things or, well, anything the last 7 months. Jealousy is a new emotion for me. I’m really, really good at talking myself out of feelings. In the past, when I felt a twinge of envy over someone else’s relationship, stuff, experience, looks etc., I was always able to convince myself that I was okay because I had x, y, or z going for me. Those excuses don’t fly anymore. I find it almost impossible to tell an amusing story from the last 7 months because, well, unless you like medical stories, you won’t be amused. You might be interested, fascinated, even, but it’s not amusing. I’m the example of what everyone in their 20’s wants to avoid.

Sure, friends can get in motorcycle or skateboarding accidents and spend some time with medical personnel, but a weird, rare, difficult to explain yet debilitating illness is just scary. I’m sure I can be used as a reason why 20-somethings who don’t do extreme sports should have health insurance. But my friends don’t want to be reminded of that every time they see me. They have good, funny stories about houseboating, camp, dating, church and just, life. I have a scary knowledge of my favorite tv shows and the healthcare system.

I’d like to be pretty again
And self confident
I just want to be a different person than I am right now. 30 lbs lighter. 10x happier, twice as energetic, in 1/10th the pain. I’m just not I a place where I can figure anything out. I know it’s the right call to not be an active YL leader, but it’s hard. I feel purposeless. I’m having a hard time getting up in the morning because I can’t remember what I should be doing. I’m down, I’m tired, and I’m confused