Rules for social media and life in general:
I haven't written in quite a long time, and even while I sit here, I'm not sure how to start exactly. Several things have happened in my life, but this isn't necessarily a blog about 'my life' so much as it is a blog about what I think. Sometimes, that happens to be about me, but very often, it's about the world I see spinning around me. Anyone who knows me would tell you that I am rarely short on opinions and thoughts, so here I go again.
I am an user and even a fan, you could say, of Facebook. I am as guilty of stalking people I went to Junior High with and exes and exes of exes as the next person, and I make no apologies for it. By and large, as long as it doesn't take up a disruptive amount of your time and it doesn't actually lead to any stupid behavior, I think it's basically harmless. I say this to let you all know that I am NOT a Facebook hater. This isn't a tirade against social media. (I also have a twitter, which for the most part, I enjoy). I don't think that it's necessarily a perfect, wonderful thing all the time either, but you get the gist.
However, lately, there have been several things I have seen on Facebook/Twitter/Social media and in my actual life (yes, I differentiate between Facebook and real life) that have basically made me want to scream at people. If I have a complaint about the whole process of 'posts' it is this- seemingly intelligent, kind, and responsible people post the most asinine CRAP with an apparent total disregard for how it makes other people view them. The other trend I have noticed is people who are simply in denial about their lifestyle and choices and choose to post Mumford and Sons lyrics and passive aggressive, not so-subtle comments about how their love live/job/ general happiness level just isn't meeting their expectations.
While I can understand how many people might think that a blog post like this is just as passive aggressive as anything on Facebook, I prefer to think of it as doling out the common sense I want to dispense while allowing the people I love but want to punch sometimes to remain anonymous. That being said- I intend to respond to some of the things I've been witnessing. Keep in mind that this really is for your own good.
I tend to think better in bullet points sometimes, so here goes:
1. First, to the vegans, the weight loss successes and failures, and all those people who are apparently consumed with what they consume: NO ONE CARES. I don't care if you ran two miles on your weirdo app that tracks you better than J. Edgar Hoover (which, quite frankly, I find creepy and a little dangerous). I also don't care that you think broccoli juice is just the best! Or that your new pineapple diet is working so well- and honestly, neither does anyone else. There are fitness blogs and forums where those like you gather to talk and tip and congratulate and encourage each other. I am so glad we have these places on the internet, but Facebook really isn't one of them...
2. To the home improvers (some of you are also in group 1)- if you totally redo your kitchen and want to post before and after photos of it and celebrate- awesome! That's great. That's the kind of stuff people love on Facebook. Well, at least, that's the kind of stuff I like to keep up on. Posting a picture of every stage of your kitchen renovation and 800 status updates about how your contractor never gives discounts but you just know he'll give in to you, however, is freaking obnoxious, and it's hogging up my feed. Short, to the point, and important. These are all things to keep in mind when posting on social media (except for those wonderful subject specific forums I mentioned for group one. There are lots of blogs for home improvement, too! And you could even write your own!). Also, rearranging a desk drawer or a night stand or the bottom of your closet isn't a 'renovation project' and chances are, you post too many pictures about these things and no one cares about them, either.
3. To the 'nice guys' bitching about how girls only like assholes, you're such a supportive wonderful catch, blah blah blah blah! First of all, I'd rather give myself a lobotomy with a rusty spoon than have to read one more line about how girls only like assholes. It's just not true. Admittedly, there are a lot of girls, myself included, who have dated and been enthralled for a time by a walking sphincter. We're not perfect, and we make mistakes. Whoop-de-freaking-doo! So do you, 'NICE GUY'. Dating an asshole doesn't mean you like assholes, it means you liked something about that particular one. Let's grow up and see things in the shades of grey they really are, ok?? Sometimes, yes, we're shallow and we just think they're cute. But breast implants. Enough said. Most women do not, in fact, STAY with assholes if they really are that bad. We might date them for a time, but we usually figure it out and move on. Also, just because YOU think he's an asshole doesn't mean he IS, in fact, an asshole. We don't like everyone we meet, and just because this girl at work wears pencil skirts and you get wood doesn't mean her boyfriend is a jerk. It could, however, mean you ARE! I have news for all the so-called 'nice guys' out there who think that women are all heartless bitches. Being nice to a girl does NOT obligate her to be sexually attracted to you. And even if people are wonderful and self-less, we deserve to be with a partner we are attracted to! Everyone does! And if you are only being nice on the pretense that a girl will date you, you're NOT actually nice. You're actually a way bigger sleaze-ball than your average tap-out shirt wearing meat head at the club who asks a girl if she'd be into a threesome. At least THAT guy is up front about what he's looking for. Also, if you started dressing/grooming like a god-damned adult instead of a pre-pubescent dungeons and dragons wizard (or whatever you guys call yourself) and started taking care of yourself and got a credit rating, things would change. But no, it must be all those cold-hearted bitches out there who don't appreciate the finer points of patchy neck stubble and halo...
4. On the other side of same token: I deal with self-esteem issues like everyone else, and I have good days and bad days. But I have been blessed with the knowledge that quite frankly, I'm funny, smart, motivated, caring, emotionally engaged in my life, and have a pretty rockin' bod. Sometimes that last one is harder to believe than other times, but at the end of the day, things could be MUCH worse. And the longer I'm with my boyfriend who LOVES me and genuinely thinks my body is beautiful and amazing, the more I realize that all those guys who came before are freaking missing out! There are a million reasons why relationships don't work out, and sometimes I have been the one to call it off. I have also made what I would consider serious mistakes in relationships. But at the end of the day, when I look back on it all, I realize that nothing happens in a vacuum, and those relationships ended because for one reason or another, I wasn't made to feel important or valued by the people I was with. The point of all of this is to say that there are a couple of you out there who show up on my feed who had a legitimate shot with me. Some of you I've even slept with. I know this isn't maybe a popular thing to admit to, but I want the gravity of this to really sink in. You had someone who will work harder than most people I know to make you happy literally in your grasp with the added bonus of sir mix a lot booty, and you let it slip away. You know who you are. So, I'm sorry I'm not sorry for you and your life now because some other girl who you probably ALSO didn't appreciate didn't work out, but honestly, STFU.
5. Okay, so maybe it's a three sided coin- don't judge me and my faulty geometry. One more note about the men on Facebook. When I know from PERSONAL EXPERIENCE (see #3 and #4) that you like to think you're a good guy and whatever, and how you're OH SO honest about what you want, well, news flash: You're kind of a dick. If you say one thing and then act another way, it's going to be confusing. If you think 'very clear' about not wanting a relationship, but the girl is posting a million pictures of the two of you on Facebook in matching outfits and cute little outings, she's CLEARLY head over heels in love with you. I haven't even met the poor thing and I can tell. And if I can tell, so can everyone else. All of you, you know who you are, too! Lie to yourself all you want, but bitch has crazy eyes. I may have wanted to show up at your apartment screaming and drunk at 3 am, but I managed to control myself. This girl, however? Wouldn't bet on it. Crazy eyes, man. Crazy eyes.
6. Passive aggressive comments about your family/in-laws/neighbors/roommates/ whatever. We all know who you're talking about, and so does anyone else searching your Facebook. Like a current or prospective employer. Or, you know, a custody-hearing judge (Yeah, yeah, yeah. Should've seen the giant red flags. I GET IT already). Just sayin...
All this is to say, let's be careful about the things that we post online. Your mom may not know how 'the google' works exactly, but she was right when she told you that once this stuff gets posted, it's not coming down. You can't ever REALLY get it back. I say these things know that I can't ever run for public office... Take it from someone who knows what they are talking about. And really, Facebook is a place for keeping up with what's in people's lives GENERALLY and sharing a little bit about yours. But posting so many pictures of your new apartment that any one could draw a complete and accurate layout is probably not only ANNOYING, but DANGEROUS. People be crazy, and no one ever thinks that the psycho stalker killer is going to like them, but they always pick someone, don't they? Guard your lives a little better, and quit pissing of the people who ALREADY know and like you enough to add you on Facebook.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Monday, November 12, 2012
And what have we learned today?
Well, maybe not today, but in the last several months.
I have had some upheavels and some big changes and learned things about myself that I am really happy about, and some that I am not so happy about.
Since I believe in fair warning, and I am also trying to learn to benefit from other's mistakes instead of insisting on making them myself, here are some things that I have learned.
1. Stevie Wonder radio on pandora is ALWAYS a good choice. ALWAYS.
2. Moving on is not about forgetting something so much as it is about allowing it to become a part of you in a way that allows you to continue going forward.
3. The idea of 'no regrets' is short sighted and naive. Learning something does not mean that you should have done what you did. You probably could've learned it another way, or better yet, you probably already knew it and you just ignored that.
4. There may in fact only be one person for everyone out there. I haven't completely switched camps on this, but I have decided enough people were not for me to begin to believe that the pool is perhaps smaller than I previously believed.
5. Your family will drive you crazier than anyone else, but they are still your family at the end of the day. Cherish the days when things are going well, be angry on the days that they aren't, but never stop loving.
6. You don't have to have an abusive/neglectful father as a girl to have a father who totally screwed you up. As a matter of fact, you can have a GREAT father and still have major daddy issues that you need to work through.
7. Prefessional therapists are perhaps some of the most valuable members of society today. At least mine is.
8. Seeking professional help does not make you crazy. It makes you smart and humble enough to know you need help sometimes.
9. People are more important than money, but your view of money will define your view of people.
10. Online dating is weird. It's funny and interesting and entertaining, but mostly it's weird. I like to talk to people in person. Also, I have no interest in the 42 yr old construction worker from Boston who sent this to me, but if this sort of thing appeals to you, you can find him on ChristianMingle.com ;)
I have also learned that God has far more grace for me than I usually allow myself. Actually, that's not true. God ALWAYS has more grace for me than I allow myself. And he shows it in a million different ways, usually through other people. From my therapist (who won't take my crap, but also thinks I'm awesome), to the wonderful, romantic, Jesus following man I've been seeing who knows some of my more severe shortcomings and still told me that I get to wear white. For us girls, this is a powerful image. I don't care if women wore blue before Queen Victoria- white is pure, clean, and blameless. White is the color of virgins, of girls who don't drink too much and don't smoke and swear and girls who never hooked up with an ex in a cheating, cross faded haze. I have pondered this fact more than most, and I know that this young man's words were not really his, but were Jesus, wrapping me up in a warm fuzzy daddy/big brother style hug that I need so desperately, reminding me that I am clean and without blemish because he says so, and HE is king, not my mistakes.
On the same token, I have seen myself (usually after the fact) being used as a vessel of grace and forgiveness for other people. I have been able to look at the mistakes of those around me with a much greater amount of mercy than I would have been previously capable of. I no longer draw some of the now seemingly arbitrary moral lines that others do- because I have to believe that people are redeemable and can change if they are convicted and transformed by Christ. If this isn't true, then I am screwed...
I still hold convictions about things being right or being wrong, but I have begun to see the world in a softer shade of grey, as it were, where people are concerned. While people are still selfish and are still, at thei base, not good creatures apart from God, I see now that more often than not, people really are just trying to do the best that they know how to. And I can take some respite in this idea.
As I continue in life, as I grow and change and (hopefully) mature, I know that I can count on the people I love, and some people that I haven't met yet, to challenge me and my ideas, heart, and convictions so that I slowly become more and more like the person that Christ made me to be. And that fills me with hope.
I have had some upheavels and some big changes and learned things about myself that I am really happy about, and some that I am not so happy about.
Since I believe in fair warning, and I am also trying to learn to benefit from other's mistakes instead of insisting on making them myself, here are some things that I have learned.
1. Stevie Wonder radio on pandora is ALWAYS a good choice. ALWAYS.
2. Moving on is not about forgetting something so much as it is about allowing it to become a part of you in a way that allows you to continue going forward.
3. The idea of 'no regrets' is short sighted and naive. Learning something does not mean that you should have done what you did. You probably could've learned it another way, or better yet, you probably already knew it and you just ignored that.
4. There may in fact only be one person for everyone out there. I haven't completely switched camps on this, but I have decided enough people were not for me to begin to believe that the pool is perhaps smaller than I previously believed.
5. Your family will drive you crazier than anyone else, but they are still your family at the end of the day. Cherish the days when things are going well, be angry on the days that they aren't, but never stop loving.
6. You don't have to have an abusive/neglectful father as a girl to have a father who totally screwed you up. As a matter of fact, you can have a GREAT father and still have major daddy issues that you need to work through.
7. Prefessional therapists are perhaps some of the most valuable members of society today. At least mine is.
8. Seeking professional help does not make you crazy. It makes you smart and humble enough to know you need help sometimes.
9. People are more important than money, but your view of money will define your view of people.
10. Online dating is weird. It's funny and interesting and entertaining, but mostly it's weird. I like to talk to people in person. Also, I have no interest in the 42 yr old construction worker from Boston who sent this to me, but if this sort of thing appeals to you, you can find him on ChristianMingle.com ;)
I have also learned that God has far more grace for me than I usually allow myself. Actually, that's not true. God ALWAYS has more grace for me than I allow myself. And he shows it in a million different ways, usually through other people. From my therapist (who won't take my crap, but also thinks I'm awesome), to the wonderful, romantic, Jesus following man I've been seeing who knows some of my more severe shortcomings and still told me that I get to wear white. For us girls, this is a powerful image. I don't care if women wore blue before Queen Victoria- white is pure, clean, and blameless. White is the color of virgins, of girls who don't drink too much and don't smoke and swear and girls who never hooked up with an ex in a cheating, cross faded haze. I have pondered this fact more than most, and I know that this young man's words were not really his, but were Jesus, wrapping me up in a warm fuzzy daddy/big brother style hug that I need so desperately, reminding me that I am clean and without blemish because he says so, and HE is king, not my mistakes.
On the same token, I have seen myself (usually after the fact) being used as a vessel of grace and forgiveness for other people. I have been able to look at the mistakes of those around me with a much greater amount of mercy than I would have been previously capable of. I no longer draw some of the now seemingly arbitrary moral lines that others do- because I have to believe that people are redeemable and can change if they are convicted and transformed by Christ. If this isn't true, then I am screwed...
I still hold convictions about things being right or being wrong, but I have begun to see the world in a softer shade of grey, as it were, where people are concerned. While people are still selfish and are still, at thei base, not good creatures apart from God, I see now that more often than not, people really are just trying to do the best that they know how to. And I can take some respite in this idea.
As I continue in life, as I grow and change and (hopefully) mature, I know that I can count on the people I love, and some people that I haven't met yet, to challenge me and my ideas, heart, and convictions so that I slowly become more and more like the person that Christ made me to be. And that fills me with hope.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
They do not love that do not show their love
I am thinking today about the nature of love. What does it really look like? Can it be quantified? Can it be measured? Is it like aliens- never proven or disproven, but you can maybe picture what it might look like if you just use your imagination? Or, like aliens because movies have told us what it looks like?
I think it's pretty clear that the greeks had it right- there are about a million different kinds of love. I could write a sonnet about red pepper and roasted garlic hummus, and I have no problem telling anyone who will listen how much I love it and how delicious it is. I love "10 things I hate about you", which, in case you were wondering, is the pinnacle of movie making in the 90's and the SECOND best performance given by the late brilliant actor, Heath Ledger, who I am a little in love with (still). I have a few friends that I have known for almost the entirety of my recallable memory, and I love them dearly. I would give them the vital organs that I still have and would not even have to think about it. I would drive hours and spend copious amounts of money to help them out or get them out of jail. No question. I have a large family including a nephew (by osmosis via my best friend's little sister) who I would actually sacrifice my life for without hesitation. But what about the kind of love that you develop for completely arbitrary people? The love that inspires romance? We spend money and drive ourselves crazy and lose sleep and sacrifice our bodies and our minds for the particular type of relationship that cannot be found or fostered in any other context. What does that really look like in the long run, and is it really all it's chocked up to be??
Honestly, I have no idea anymore. I used to be a die-hard romantic, and in many ways, I suppose that is true. I still believe that people find love, so I guess that means that I "believe in" love, whatever that really means. I believe that ultimately, love is worth fighting for and worth trying to cultivate. But I am truly not sure that I am cut out for it, not sure that I am meant to love, or be loved. I am not a hopeless romantic anymore. Sure, I still get weepy over The Notebook, and babies being born is still the most beautiful manifestation of love and humanity that I can possibly think of. But I really don't know if I am made to give the kind of self-sacrificing, gut wrenching love that is required to really make a relationship work in the long run. My heart is just too fragile. This may sound like a bitter retreat from the world of romance, and maybe it is. And maybe it's just a manifestation of my raising, surrounded by couples who were committed, but largely not joyful in regards to their spouses. In any case, these are my current, though probably jumbled thoughts on why this is weighing so heavily on me.
The adult relationships that I've had have been mostly unremarkable. Occasionally tumultuous and upsetting and even heartbreaking, but mostly happy and engaging and very normal, even ending in not very exciting ways, though at the time I'm sure most of my friends could hardly stand me for all of my melodrama about the whole thing. But even that is very normal, I think. I have been wounded and hurt by failed attempts at love and even more, building a life together, and I have been changed by these experiences. And while I carry scars, I really think that most of the changes to my perspective have been made simply by the passage of time and the garnering of experience and maturity. I do not blame anyone else for anything in my romantic philosophy. But the older I get and the more often I look back and examine the experiences, the more I realize that my expectations were probably too high, and my demands too unrealistic. I am a brat, and probably a little spoiled. I want the kind of return from relationships that I would be willing to put into them, and I have a very hard time dealing with people who have personality types that are too far different from mine. This is pretty much a recipe for disaster, I have found. Not to be more dramatic, of course.
I know that I still want to try. I am not giving up on love by any means. I think that if I could find someone perfect (you may commence laughing) for me that I could in fact be a really good wife and partner. I know that regardless of my relationship status, I am destined to be a mother. If that means that I end up adopting ala sharon stone/halle barry/ sandy b, then so be it. I am working through school and I think by the time I'm done, I'll have the kind of skills and degree that I will be financially well off, and certainly enough to support a child in relative comfort. This is not to say that I want to be a single mother as my first choice, but I have a back-up plan, so to speak.
I also want it to be clear that this is not a comment WHATSOEVER on the success or lack thereof of sex as it relates to relationships. There have been highs and lows, and I have been incredibly lucky and encountered people who were mostly tender and supportive and patient and wonderful. But sex is only one facet of a really big rock, as it were. It is only one part of real romance, and a slightly smaller part of the greater picture of romantic relationships.
In addition, I am not saying that I'm not in love or capable of being in love. This is an out loud(ish) expression of the doubts and feelings I have about love as a topic and about the eventual success of failure of romantic love in my life. Sometimes I am a bit hyperbolus, and if this has been too much for you, I would apologize, but reading my blog is the farthest thing from mandatory that I can think of, so pppppplllllbbbbbbbbbbttt! :P But if you read these, no matter what you think, thanks for reading. Keep coming back!
I think it's pretty clear that the greeks had it right- there are about a million different kinds of love. I could write a sonnet about red pepper and roasted garlic hummus, and I have no problem telling anyone who will listen how much I love it and how delicious it is. I love "10 things I hate about you", which, in case you were wondering, is the pinnacle of movie making in the 90's and the SECOND best performance given by the late brilliant actor, Heath Ledger, who I am a little in love with (still). I have a few friends that I have known for almost the entirety of my recallable memory, and I love them dearly. I would give them the vital organs that I still have and would not even have to think about it. I would drive hours and spend copious amounts of money to help them out or get them out of jail. No question. I have a large family including a nephew (by osmosis via my best friend's little sister) who I would actually sacrifice my life for without hesitation. But what about the kind of love that you develop for completely arbitrary people? The love that inspires romance? We spend money and drive ourselves crazy and lose sleep and sacrifice our bodies and our minds for the particular type of relationship that cannot be found or fostered in any other context. What does that really look like in the long run, and is it really all it's chocked up to be??
Honestly, I have no idea anymore. I used to be a die-hard romantic, and in many ways, I suppose that is true. I still believe that people find love, so I guess that means that I "believe in" love, whatever that really means. I believe that ultimately, love is worth fighting for and worth trying to cultivate. But I am truly not sure that I am cut out for it, not sure that I am meant to love, or be loved. I am not a hopeless romantic anymore. Sure, I still get weepy over The Notebook, and babies being born is still the most beautiful manifestation of love and humanity that I can possibly think of. But I really don't know if I am made to give the kind of self-sacrificing, gut wrenching love that is required to really make a relationship work in the long run. My heart is just too fragile. This may sound like a bitter retreat from the world of romance, and maybe it is. And maybe it's just a manifestation of my raising, surrounded by couples who were committed, but largely not joyful in regards to their spouses. In any case, these are my current, though probably jumbled thoughts on why this is weighing so heavily on me.
The adult relationships that I've had have been mostly unremarkable. Occasionally tumultuous and upsetting and even heartbreaking, but mostly happy and engaging and very normal, even ending in not very exciting ways, though at the time I'm sure most of my friends could hardly stand me for all of my melodrama about the whole thing. But even that is very normal, I think. I have been wounded and hurt by failed attempts at love and even more, building a life together, and I have been changed by these experiences. And while I carry scars, I really think that most of the changes to my perspective have been made simply by the passage of time and the garnering of experience and maturity. I do not blame anyone else for anything in my romantic philosophy. But the older I get and the more often I look back and examine the experiences, the more I realize that my expectations were probably too high, and my demands too unrealistic. I am a brat, and probably a little spoiled. I want the kind of return from relationships that I would be willing to put into them, and I have a very hard time dealing with people who have personality types that are too far different from mine. This is pretty much a recipe for disaster, I have found. Not to be more dramatic, of course.
I know that I still want to try. I am not giving up on love by any means. I think that if I could find someone perfect (you may commence laughing) for me that I could in fact be a really good wife and partner. I know that regardless of my relationship status, I am destined to be a mother. If that means that I end up adopting ala sharon stone/halle barry/ sandy b, then so be it. I am working through school and I think by the time I'm done, I'll have the kind of skills and degree that I will be financially well off, and certainly enough to support a child in relative comfort. This is not to say that I want to be a single mother as my first choice, but I have a back-up plan, so to speak.
I also want it to be clear that this is not a comment WHATSOEVER on the success or lack thereof of sex as it relates to relationships. There have been highs and lows, and I have been incredibly lucky and encountered people who were mostly tender and supportive and patient and wonderful. But sex is only one facet of a really big rock, as it were. It is only one part of real romance, and a slightly smaller part of the greater picture of romantic relationships.
In addition, I am not saying that I'm not in love or capable of being in love. This is an out loud(ish) expression of the doubts and feelings I have about love as a topic and about the eventual success of failure of romantic love in my life. Sometimes I am a bit hyperbolus, and if this has been too much for you, I would apologize, but reading my blog is the farthest thing from mandatory that I can think of, so pppppplllllbbbbbbbbbbttt! :P But if you read these, no matter what you think, thanks for reading. Keep coming back!
Monday, July 30, 2012
Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year
It's been over a year (almost) since my last blog. As I sit here, munching on a semi-successful batch of Nutella cookies (thank you pinterest) and vaguely listening to "A Baby Story" on TLC in the background, I am trying to decide why, exactly, it's been so long. I thought for a brief moment that I simply lacked inspiration, but immediately tossed that idea as one of the sillier thoughts to have crossed my mind recently. I've had MORE than enough inspriation. Loads. Craptons (a very scientific unit of measurement, I know).
I would like to think, though, now that I ponder it all, that I have delayed sharing the last year with the world because I know myself well enough to know that I needed to really process and come to terms with everything that has occured. It could possibly be that I'm a big chicken and I didn't want to admit my shortcomings, however. Just maybe.
For those of you who know me, You know that I can be, well, to put it politely, long winded. So, in the interest of transperancy AND brevity, here is a reader's digest update on the last year of my life.
- I moved to Glendora and promplty began and then proceeded to end and begin and end and begin and pretend to move on from and then relapse and then actually come to a state of calm about the single most unhealthy relationship that I have EVER had in my entire life. EVER EVER EVER. I was told by a professional, Christian therapist that smoking pot was a healthier behavior than continuing to try and see this person. While there is a book I could write on the possible (probable) personality disorder issues that this person is or isn't dealing with, I'll just leave it (him) at that (for now. possible future blog to come). Through this process, I managed to experience the highest peaks of joy and intimacy and laughter coupled with the lowest trenches of rejection and loss and depression, all in about 5 months or so. It took professional therapy and the love and support of many people near and far with immense amounts of patience for me and my insanity to finally be able to move on and deal with all of the emotions involved.
- I spent hopefully my last full year at school as an undergrad, and met some amazing professors and had some really great experiences and my current school plan is to go to grad school somewhere in the central valley and be a professional family therapist.
- I had some amazing roomates who taught me lots of things, including but not limited to: shake out your bath towels before you dry off because you never know when a pregnant spider is lurking in it, making tents in the living room with bedsheets in harder but more epic in your 20's, passive aggression is so NEVER okay with me, and I can be kind of OCD about cleaning. So sue me.(had to include Baker in her own photo because she wasn't at drama awards last year)
- I was involved in a show that required some major review and buttressing of my ASL skills, and I am now reasonably fluent in my signing, and I couldn't be prouder. Also, I met one of the most amazing girls I've ever encountered who is a big help and a guide to the deaf community, not to mention sassy and smart and killer beautiful and funny and everything awesome.
- I tried eHarmony. I actually kind of liked the experience, and I appreciated the prompt customer service that I got when I was having any kind of (always self-induced) tech issues. I met one person and went on a few dates with him, and he was sweet and kind and a great guy, but ultimately not for me. I am glad I had the experience, though, and would recommend it to other people interested in trying online dating.
- My little bro is 18, and it's unbelievable. He's tall and hairy and all man-shaped and still generally a child, but little by little is turning into a pretty cool guy. I'm very proud of him.
- I moved about 80 times this summer, with the end result being I have new roomates in pasadena that I send rent to and will actually be co-habitating with come the border between August and September. They are the real life will and grace and I love them both and can't wait for them to be big movie/theatre stars and be able to say that I knew them way back when.
- I'm moved back from LA for the summer and taking a math class from a young, reasonably good looking man who is mormon and boring (exclusive traits, I assure you) and kinda sort of tried to hit on me until he figured out I had a boyfriend. So mormon and boring, but also honorable.
Other than that, it's been a normal series of comedies and errors. There will be more to come, and opinions to share, but I won't take a year to post again. PROMISE :D
I would like to think, though, now that I ponder it all, that I have delayed sharing the last year with the world because I know myself well enough to know that I needed to really process and come to terms with everything that has occured. It could possibly be that I'm a big chicken and I didn't want to admit my shortcomings, however. Just maybe.
For those of you who know me, You know that I can be, well, to put it politely, long winded. So, in the interest of transperancy AND brevity, here is a reader's digest update on the last year of my life.
- I moved to Glendora and promplty began and then proceeded to end and begin and end and begin and pretend to move on from and then relapse and then actually come to a state of calm about the single most unhealthy relationship that I have EVER had in my entire life. EVER EVER EVER. I was told by a professional, Christian therapist that smoking pot was a healthier behavior than continuing to try and see this person. While there is a book I could write on the possible (probable) personality disorder issues that this person is or isn't dealing with, I'll just leave it (him) at that (for now. possible future blog to come). Through this process, I managed to experience the highest peaks of joy and intimacy and laughter coupled with the lowest trenches of rejection and loss and depression, all in about 5 months or so. It took professional therapy and the love and support of many people near and far with immense amounts of patience for me and my insanity to finally be able to move on and deal with all of the emotions involved.
- I spent hopefully my last full year at school as an undergrad, and met some amazing professors and had some really great experiences and my current school plan is to go to grad school somewhere in the central valley and be a professional family therapist.
- I had some amazing roomates who taught me lots of things, including but not limited to: shake out your bath towels before you dry off because you never know when a pregnant spider is lurking in it, making tents in the living room with bedsheets in harder but more epic in your 20's, passive aggression is so NEVER okay with me, and I can be kind of OCD about cleaning. So sue me.(had to include Baker in her own photo because she wasn't at drama awards last year)
- I was involved in a show that required some major review and buttressing of my ASL skills, and I am now reasonably fluent in my signing, and I couldn't be prouder. Also, I met one of the most amazing girls I've ever encountered who is a big help and a guide to the deaf community, not to mention sassy and smart and killer beautiful and funny and everything awesome.
- My little bro is 18, and it's unbelievable. He's tall and hairy and all man-shaped and still generally a child, but little by little is turning into a pretty cool guy. I'm very proud of him.
- I moved about 80 times this summer, with the end result being I have new roomates in pasadena that I send rent to and will actually be co-habitating with come the border between August and September. They are the real life will and grace and I love them both and can't wait for them to be big movie/theatre stars and be able to say that I knew them way back when.
- I'm moved back from LA for the summer and taking a math class from a young, reasonably good looking man who is mormon and boring (exclusive traits, I assure you) and kinda sort of tried to hit on me until he figured out I had a boyfriend. So mormon and boring, but also honorable.
Other than that, it's been a normal series of comedies and errors. There will be more to come, and opinions to share, but I won't take a year to post again. PROMISE :D
Friday, July 1, 2011
A Terrible Beauty
I am writing this in response to my thoughts on my summer job.
Most summer jobs involve long, hot hours in a food stand, or longer, dull hours in a retail store stocking shelves with cans of tomatoes, or folding jeans and hanging t-shirts. Sometimes, if you're lucky, it involves late, hectic hours serving ungrateful people and their obnoxious children and earning just a little more in tips than your unfortunate retail-bound friends. Even more seldom, once in a great while, you land an internship in a field of your choosing, and get a taste of what your life could be like in a "real" job. This was NOT my summer.
Less than 24 hours after returning from school in my boyfriends tiny blue Saturn (which was packed to the HILT, poor thing) at an ungodly hour and sleeping on the worst futon in recorded history, I found myself alone with a woman who I didn't really know. She was naked, and I was soaked.
Now, this might sound like the juicy pages of some strange brand of novel erotica, but let me assure you, it was the FARTHEST thing from sexy in any context.
The woman, who will only be known as K, has stage 4 breast cancer, which has spread into her spine and down her back into her hips and legs, and now up into her brain. The cancer will kill her, and by the current estimates based on her condition, it will kill her soon.
My job this summer has been to help take care of her while her family gets rest and some time away. For anyone who has taken care of another adult in any capacity, much less someone very ill, you will understand that it is incredibly tiring work, and that breaks are needed frequently, but usually comes more seldom than that.
The impression that I got was that this would just be for a weekend or so, and maybe a few days here and there, but not for very long. I was happy to be able to provide relief for these poor, haggard looking people who so obviously needed a little R&R. Also, I figured out that I would be paid for these few days, and I was pretty stoked. Then I learned that I was getting paid double anything I'd ever been paid for a job, and I was even more excited. I thought- "A few days on a bed besides the futon, some major spending money, and I get to hang out with a lady who I remember being pretty nice. Awesome!"
As it usually does in my life, when it rains, it pours. Turns out, this has been MUCH more significant than a week's commitment. And the work, while on paper, does not appear terribly taxing ("medication management, dressing, toileting, bathing"), it has without a doubt been one of the most exhausting experiences I have ever had.
At the risk of stealing someone else's pun, and someone much funnier than me- We're going to Tarantino it. We're going to come back from that break to the part where K is naked and freezing and I'm all wet. It had already been an exhausting morning. After a night of waking up every 2 hours to administer pain medication, and sleeping only about 45 minutes in between each dose, K had been awakened with explosive diarrhea. And since the poor woman can barely help someone ELSE dress her, she is in no position to clean herself up during an event like this. We had spent the better part of the last 4 hours (starting at 5 am, mind you) battling said affliction, up and down in the bathroom, trying to keep K clean and dry, and trying to figure out exactly WHAT I was going to do with pajama pants and a floor mat with feces on them. Gag reflex stifled, and soiled laundry removed to the other bathroom tub to be rinsed at the earliest convenience- K's gut seemed to finally calm down. I knew that we had to get her into the tub to really get her cleaned up, since trying to use baby wipes was really only a band aid on an amputation. I was able to get her undressed and into the shower, and had a reasonable amount of success cleaning her up. But to understand how we got to the darkly comedic tableau that was our opener, you need to know about K's overall condition.
The poor woman cannot weigh more than about 95 pounds, and before the discovery of her cancer, she already had a significant curvature in her spine due to osteoporosis. This "hump" was made much more severe by her inability to sit up straight because of lack of strength and fatigue. She had undergone a mastectomy early in her cancer treatment to try and stop it's spread. This operation had not only disfigured her, it had failed. She also has a port of types under the skin on her chest which was installed to deliver her chemotherapy, and is still used as the site where she receives other injectable medicines. It kind of looks like the plug on the end of any power chord, only with short numbs instead of prongs. And it's under her skin, which is not only disconcerting, but pretty unattractive to look at. K's belly was terribly distended due to a constant battle between constipation and diarrhea, and a lack of eating or drinking. She is not a large framed person, and she was devoid of nearly all of her hair as a result of radiation.
In short- she sort of resembles a baby bird, only slightly more pathetic. So now I have K in the shower on her shower chair (she is not steady enough to stand up for long periods of time without a walker, especially slippery wet ones), and I'm getting her cleaned up, and the poor thing is FREEZING. She is devoid of all body mass practically, and because she's not standing in the warm flow of water, all the water drops are evaporating off of her as I'm trying to get her clean. She is shaking like a leaf in the wind, and I'm trying to go fast, so I can get her dry and dressed again soon, and in the process, I drop the sprayer, which promplty hits the floor of the shower, facing up, spraying me up my front as it falls, from the crotch to the face. At this point, K is not only exhausted from our battle against incontinence and the shower, but her usually preternaturally good attitude is rapidly drainig because she got sprayed in the face, too.
This is where you came in. I was able to recover the sprayer without much more fuss and get K dressed and back in bed reasonably quickly, and though it was May, and a warm day at that, she very much reminded me of getting into flannel jammies and sheets after a shower in the dead of December. That thawing feeling that you get that is so blissful after you've been chilled- you know the one. Also, I was able to rinse out the pajama pants and floor mat and wash them, and they recovered beautifully.
I choose this story to tell instead of others that I could for one main reason. As I was drying her off, her poor body shivering with cold, I was struck by a phrase that my CLFM teacher had used when describing God as He appeared to Moses on the mountain after the exodus from Egypt. Moses asks to see God's face, to which God replies:
Most summer jobs involve long, hot hours in a food stand, or longer, dull hours in a retail store stocking shelves with cans of tomatoes, or folding jeans and hanging t-shirts. Sometimes, if you're lucky, it involves late, hectic hours serving ungrateful people and their obnoxious children and earning just a little more in tips than your unfortunate retail-bound friends. Even more seldom, once in a great while, you land an internship in a field of your choosing, and get a taste of what your life could be like in a "real" job. This was NOT my summer.
Less than 24 hours after returning from school in my boyfriends tiny blue Saturn (which was packed to the HILT, poor thing) at an ungodly hour and sleeping on the worst futon in recorded history, I found myself alone with a woman who I didn't really know. She was naked, and I was soaked.
Now, this might sound like the juicy pages of some strange brand of novel erotica, but let me assure you, it was the FARTHEST thing from sexy in any context.
The woman, who will only be known as K, has stage 4 breast cancer, which has spread into her spine and down her back into her hips and legs, and now up into her brain. The cancer will kill her, and by the current estimates based on her condition, it will kill her soon.
My job this summer has been to help take care of her while her family gets rest and some time away. For anyone who has taken care of another adult in any capacity, much less someone very ill, you will understand that it is incredibly tiring work, and that breaks are needed frequently, but usually comes more seldom than that.
The impression that I got was that this would just be for a weekend or so, and maybe a few days here and there, but not for very long. I was happy to be able to provide relief for these poor, haggard looking people who so obviously needed a little R&R. Also, I figured out that I would be paid for these few days, and I was pretty stoked. Then I learned that I was getting paid double anything I'd ever been paid for a job, and I was even more excited. I thought- "A few days on a bed besides the futon, some major spending money, and I get to hang out with a lady who I remember being pretty nice. Awesome!"
As it usually does in my life, when it rains, it pours. Turns out, this has been MUCH more significant than a week's commitment. And the work, while on paper, does not appear terribly taxing ("medication management, dressing, toileting, bathing"), it has without a doubt been one of the most exhausting experiences I have ever had.
At the risk of stealing someone else's pun, and someone much funnier than me- We're going to Tarantino it. We're going to come back from that break to the part where K is naked and freezing and I'm all wet. It had already been an exhausting morning. After a night of waking up every 2 hours to administer pain medication, and sleeping only about 45 minutes in between each dose, K had been awakened with explosive diarrhea. And since the poor woman can barely help someone ELSE dress her, she is in no position to clean herself up during an event like this. We had spent the better part of the last 4 hours (starting at 5 am, mind you) battling said affliction, up and down in the bathroom, trying to keep K clean and dry, and trying to figure out exactly WHAT I was going to do with pajama pants and a floor mat with feces on them. Gag reflex stifled, and soiled laundry removed to the other bathroom tub to be rinsed at the earliest convenience- K's gut seemed to finally calm down. I knew that we had to get her into the tub to really get her cleaned up, since trying to use baby wipes was really only a band aid on an amputation. I was able to get her undressed and into the shower, and had a reasonable amount of success cleaning her up. But to understand how we got to the darkly comedic tableau that was our opener, you need to know about K's overall condition.
The poor woman cannot weigh more than about 95 pounds, and before the discovery of her cancer, she already had a significant curvature in her spine due to osteoporosis. This "hump" was made much more severe by her inability to sit up straight because of lack of strength and fatigue. She had undergone a mastectomy early in her cancer treatment to try and stop it's spread. This operation had not only disfigured her, it had failed. She also has a port of types under the skin on her chest which was installed to deliver her chemotherapy, and is still used as the site where she receives other injectable medicines. It kind of looks like the plug on the end of any power chord, only with short numbs instead of prongs. And it's under her skin, which is not only disconcerting, but pretty unattractive to look at. K's belly was terribly distended due to a constant battle between constipation and diarrhea, and a lack of eating or drinking. She is not a large framed person, and she was devoid of nearly all of her hair as a result of radiation.
In short- she sort of resembles a baby bird, only slightly more pathetic. So now I have K in the shower on her shower chair (she is not steady enough to stand up for long periods of time without a walker, especially slippery wet ones), and I'm getting her cleaned up, and the poor thing is FREEZING. She is devoid of all body mass practically, and because she's not standing in the warm flow of water, all the water drops are evaporating off of her as I'm trying to get her clean. She is shaking like a leaf in the wind, and I'm trying to go fast, so I can get her dry and dressed again soon, and in the process, I drop the sprayer, which promplty hits the floor of the shower, facing up, spraying me up my front as it falls, from the crotch to the face. At this point, K is not only exhausted from our battle against incontinence and the shower, but her usually preternaturally good attitude is rapidly drainig because she got sprayed in the face, too.
This is where you came in. I was able to recover the sprayer without much more fuss and get K dressed and back in bed reasonably quickly, and though it was May, and a warm day at that, she very much reminded me of getting into flannel jammies and sheets after a shower in the dead of December. That thawing feeling that you get that is so blissful after you've been chilled- you know the one. Also, I was able to rinse out the pajama pants and floor mat and wash them, and they recovered beautifully.
I choose this story to tell instead of others that I could for one main reason. As I was drying her off, her poor body shivering with cold, I was struck by a phrase that my CLFM teacher had used when describing God as He appeared to Moses on the mountain after the exodus from Egypt. Moses asks to see God's face, to which God replies:
"I will make all my goodness pass before your face, and I will proclaim the Lord by name before you; I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, I will show mercy to whom I will show mercy.” But he added, “You cannot see my face, for no one can see me and live.” The Lord said, “Here is a place by me; you will station yourself on a rock. When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and will cover you with my hand while I pass by. Then I will take away my hand, and you will see my back, but my face must not be seen.”
Our teacher talked about God having a "great and terrible beauty". God's face is the face of love in the fullest and truest sense, but it is also so mighty and so completely pure that to just look at it would kill a human. The same concept can be used to describe a deadly animal with a beautiful coat or set of feathers- but this phrase flashed in my head while helping K get dressed. Why? Well, two reasons.
K used to be a dancer, and we often talk shop, since I used to dance as well. She talks about her time with great joy, as we all do when we remember something we loved so much. As I was helping her get into her adult diapers and put pajamas on, I was granted the opportunity to be very up close and personal with the body I was dressing. Even more than a year after discovering cancer and starting treatment, even in the horribly depreciated state that she's in, K's old dance muscles are still visible as she flexes her feet to bend into her pants. Her long and slender biceps are still hard as a rock as she lifts herself into a comfortable position in bed. Her bones are riddled with cancer, so much so that even run of the mill tests are considered too dangerous to run on her bones, for fear that they would simply shatter. But she bends, she stretches, and she moves. Her hands and feet still possess the kind of quiet grace that someone of an acient soul and strong heart have. She is unattractive to look at by any standards, grostesquely so, but there is so much REAL beauty there. The human body is capable of prodigous strength and ability, and that vast capability is beautiful and terrible.
The other reason I was struck was by K's mind. Through HEAVY doses of narcotics to try and deal with pain, and constant fatigue and the natural mal-nourishment that accompanies dying this way, she was still what I would consider extremely lucid. She asked and answered questions, had things she wanted to say and do, and still had enough energy to get a little bossy about how her house was being cared for. She has spunk and verve and is really an incredibly sweet woman. K managed, with cancer and morphine competing for her brain cells, to fight senility long enough to get her house painted after external repairs, and make decisions about her end-of-life medical care by herself, as well as help get schedules squared away to get her son moved in with her. She is terribly beautiful, inside and out.
I regret to have to report that in the last few weeks, she has declined much more rapidly than before, and is no longer nearly so lucid, and is sleeping between 20-22 hours a day, leaning towards the latter more often than not. I have been here since 6 am today, and it's now nearly 2:30, and I woke her up long enough to go to the bathroom and take her pills, and the hospice home health aid came and gave her a quick sponge bath. My guess is that totaled with a very brief visit from a close friend, she has been awake less than an hour today so far.
In all likelihood, K will not live out the month. And I have grown to quickly love and care very deeply for this woman, and though they have been long and tiring and excruciating at times, I will miss my hours with her dearly. I already do.
If there was a "point" to this posting, it was to share with my friends how I have been spending my summer, and because the thought struck me as relating back to the title of my blog- of course He's not safe, but He's good. I think that this idea and the idea of terrible beauty go together. The longer you think about one, the more you can't let go of the other.
We often wait for God to speak to us as believers, to move in some obvious and clear way, and though in my experience, He's a little more subtle than that, sometimes He goes for the show. I have learned, and am continuing to experience, though, that even when He puts it right under our noses, God's method is usually so profound, that it ends up playing less mariachi band and more Amos Lee.
Even typing this blog, I look down at my hands and I realize how much the great and terribly beautiful God of forever loves me to have made me with fingers that work so well with so many intricate parts. Even the cramp in my wrist is a result of the kind of crafstmanship and artistry only made possible by complete and utter love and power. And it is terribly beautiful.
http://www.nationalbreastcancer.org/
Thursday, March 10, 2011
I'm pretty convinced that I'm going to die
This is both a theoretical, philosophical statement who's profoundness I like to think is equal to that of the cogito, like "i will die, therefore i am alive", as well as an INTENSE inner fear going on with my heart and mind right now.
A little explanation, you say? Well, you asked for it...
As you may or may not know, I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis in the summer of 2004. Since that time, I have had a lifetime and then some's worth of ups and downs related to my health and overall well-being. I was on LITERALLY every medication available for my condition save those that I was allergic to, to no avail. I finally had surgery to remove my large intestine in the fall of 2009. Whatever God's plan was, he kept me safe and got me through recovery, and I'm living an essentially happy and healthy existence at this point.
So why the imminant doom of impending death? Well, it may be a bit of an overstatement, but then, I am occasionally prone to hyperbole. This last week, I had a TB test performed to get clearance to continue to work in kindergarten classroom through APU's TAP program. (redundancy occasionally helps clarify for you grammar police). The process goes something like this: they give you a shot of a small amount of serum containing chemicals that are indicators for TB exposure into a little ball underneath the skin of your forearm. Two days later, those chemicals have had time to work, and if there is no redness/swelling, you have not been exposed to TB. If however, you develop what's called an induration (read: fancy word for a bump, not unlike a mosquito bite in texture and appearance), then depending on how large it is, you could have been exposed to TB at some point. It looks something like this:
Now, this isn't a positive test for actually HAVING TB, but it is positive for exposure, meaning that your body's immune system has encountered it at one point. If you test positive for TB exposure, the next step is to get a chest x-ray to make sure that there is not active TB in your lungs. I am asymptomatic, so I don't think I have anything to worry about necessarily, HOWEVER......
Even if you are cleared based on the x-ray, you can be put on a course of antibiotics that lasts for 6-9 months. Which I have no interest in doing, especially since said antibiotics are hard on the liver, and I have already had to deal with liver toxicity issues thanks to earlier courses of drugs for my colitis.
My test, according to the lady in the "health center" (read: glorified school nurses office where you may or may not get seen by an actual nurse) was negative, though I did develop an induration of 10mm in diameter. This, according to my mother, who is ACTUALLY a nurse, is considered a positive, and the lady in the health center doesn't know what she's talking about. Sometimes, I really love my mom and her ability at once to reassure me and scare the living hell out of me. She of course followed this up with a "Don't worry about it, we'll just retest you over break and if you're positive, you get an x-ray. NBD. I don't want you stressing about it."
Yeah, thanks.
So while I sit and wait for that lovely test to happen again, in all likelihood followed by a chest x-ray, I have ONE MORE thing to worry about.
For a while during my colitis treatment, I was on a medication called remicaid. At the same time, I developed massive swelling and completely random and unnecessary bruising on my feet and fingers. That looked like this:
This is the middle knuckle on my right hand, swollen up about 3/4 of an inch. It went from fine to swollen in less than 20 minutes. Don't believe me? Ask my ex-boyfriend, Ryan. He was driving me from my house to the movies when it happened.
Example: completely random and not caused by injury bruising
This is a picture of my middle finger on my left hand. The middle knuckle is CLEARLY swollen.
You get the picture. It sucked, would happen at random times, and made it so that I had to walk with a cane for several weeks because of the pain in my feet. I was told that the medication that I was taking was causing "medication induced lupus, which in turn was causing lupus induced rheumatoid arthritis". I was also told that if I stopped the meds, the swelling would stop. It was true! : D The swelling indeed stopped once the medication did.
This would be the happy end of an obnoxious, but now over story, EXCEPT:
Now, more than a year and half after surgery, I am still testing positive for ANA, which is a rheumatoid arthritis factor in the blood. Why, you ask? I HAVE NO EFFING IDEA.
The reason that I know this is because I had a blood test to check for it, thanks to pain in my tailbone for no apparent reason.
This was initially thought by me and my family to be a recurrence of what is called a pilonidal cyst, also called "Jeep's disease" due to the prevalence of these cysts on WWI and WWII soldiers from riding on the bumpy roads in jeeps who developed these cysts. THIS particular beauty happened the first time about 2 years ago now, and let me assure you, I would not wish it on my worst enemy. It is not only embarassing (lots of strangers with nametags ask you to take off your pants and bend over), but incredibly painful and tedious to treat. There is alot of gauze involved. (no pictures for this one, you can google it if you're really that curious)
So when this pain first showed up again this past Christmas, I was worried that it was a reoccurence of the cyst, which can happen.
I went to the doctor, and they ordered blood work and an x-ray, and decided that it was not a cyst, and because I had not injured myself to cause this pain, they ordered the test for ANA. It was positive.
As a quick wrap-up: Even though I had a horrible disease that ended up causing incredible pain, weight-loss, weight-gain, emotinal trauma, and finally took major, life-altering surgery to cure, I could still have rheumatoid arthritis and tuberculosis.
fml.
And then I read this:
"And he said to them, 'Why are you fearful, O you of little faith?' Then he arose, and rebuked the winds and the sea; and there was a great calm." - Matthew 8:26
I really can't explain my fear when I remember that my God is the same God who created me and everything else. "Mighty fortress" is quite possibly my favorite hymn of all time thanks to the Promise Keeper's conference in the 90's at the Oakland Colusseum. (If you've never heard a recording of thousands of men singing mighty fortress together, find one. it will change your life and your whole view of worship music).
A mighty fortress is my God. He never fails, never quits, never takes a day off, and more importantly, he LOVES me in a way that I cannot even imagine. So why am I afraid? I guess my answer would have to be that I am a very fragile, scared, lonely human being who is so held ransom by sin and fear that I cannot allow my Savior to do what he does best- save. I'm working on it, though, and I am using this season of Lent to really try and allow God to help my fear.
"I believe, help my unbelief!" -Mark 9:24
I am choosing to end with the lyrics to mighty fortress and a youtube recording of the last half of the song. It's amazing. Let yourself see God as your fortress this week, as I try to see him the same way.
"A mighty fortress is our God,
a bulwark never failing;
our helper he amid the flood
of mortal ills prevaling.
For still our ancient foe
doth seek to work us woe;
his craft and power are great,
and armed with cruel hate,
on earth is not his equal.
Did we in our own strength confide,
our striving would be losing,
were not the right man on our side,
the man of God's own choosing.
Dost ask who that may be?
Christ Jesus, it is he;
Lord Sabaoth, his name,
from age to age the same,
and he must win the battle.
And though this world, with devils filled,
should threaten to undo us,
we will not fear, for God hath willed
his truth to triumph through us.
The Prince of Darkness grim,
we tremble not for him;
his rage we can endure,
for lo, his doom is sure;
one little word shall fell him.
That word above all earthly powers,
no thanks to them, abideth;
the Spirit and the gifts are ours,
thru him who with us sideth.
Let goods and kindred go,
this mortal life also;
the body they may kill;
God's truth abideth still;
his kingdom is forever."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AhlnProP8o0
A little explanation, you say? Well, you asked for it...
As you may or may not know, I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis in the summer of 2004. Since that time, I have had a lifetime and then some's worth of ups and downs related to my health and overall well-being. I was on LITERALLY every medication available for my condition save those that I was allergic to, to no avail. I finally had surgery to remove my large intestine in the fall of 2009. Whatever God's plan was, he kept me safe and got me through recovery, and I'm living an essentially happy and healthy existence at this point.
So why the imminant doom of impending death? Well, it may be a bit of an overstatement, but then, I am occasionally prone to hyperbole. This last week, I had a TB test performed to get clearance to continue to work in kindergarten classroom through APU's TAP program. (redundancy occasionally helps clarify for you grammar police). The process goes something like this: they give you a shot of a small amount of serum containing chemicals that are indicators for TB exposure into a little ball underneath the skin of your forearm. Two days later, those chemicals have had time to work, and if there is no redness/swelling, you have not been exposed to TB. If however, you develop what's called an induration (read: fancy word for a bump, not unlike a mosquito bite in texture and appearance), then depending on how large it is, you could have been exposed to TB at some point. It looks something like this:
Now, this isn't a positive test for actually HAVING TB, but it is positive for exposure, meaning that your body's immune system has encountered it at one point. If you test positive for TB exposure, the next step is to get a chest x-ray to make sure that there is not active TB in your lungs. I am asymptomatic, so I don't think I have anything to worry about necessarily, HOWEVER......
Even if you are cleared based on the x-ray, you can be put on a course of antibiotics that lasts for 6-9 months. Which I have no interest in doing, especially since said antibiotics are hard on the liver, and I have already had to deal with liver toxicity issues thanks to earlier courses of drugs for my colitis.
My test, according to the lady in the "health center" (read: glorified school nurses office where you may or may not get seen by an actual nurse) was negative, though I did develop an induration of 10mm in diameter. This, according to my mother, who is ACTUALLY a nurse, is considered a positive, and the lady in the health center doesn't know what she's talking about. Sometimes, I really love my mom and her ability at once to reassure me and scare the living hell out of me. She of course followed this up with a "Don't worry about it, we'll just retest you over break and if you're positive, you get an x-ray. NBD. I don't want you stressing about it."
Yeah, thanks.
So while I sit and wait for that lovely test to happen again, in all likelihood followed by a chest x-ray, I have ONE MORE thing to worry about.
For a while during my colitis treatment, I was on a medication called remicaid. At the same time, I developed massive swelling and completely random and unnecessary bruising on my feet and fingers. That looked like this:
You get the picture. It sucked, would happen at random times, and made it so that I had to walk with a cane for several weeks because of the pain in my feet. I was told that the medication that I was taking was causing "medication induced lupus, which in turn was causing lupus induced rheumatoid arthritis". I was also told that if I stopped the meds, the swelling would stop. It was true! : D The swelling indeed stopped once the medication did.
This would be the happy end of an obnoxious, but now over story, EXCEPT:
Now, more than a year and half after surgery, I am still testing positive for ANA, which is a rheumatoid arthritis factor in the blood. Why, you ask? I HAVE NO EFFING IDEA.
The reason that I know this is because I had a blood test to check for it, thanks to pain in my tailbone for no apparent reason.
This was initially thought by me and my family to be a recurrence of what is called a pilonidal cyst, also called "Jeep's disease" due to the prevalence of these cysts on WWI and WWII soldiers from riding on the bumpy roads in jeeps who developed these cysts. THIS particular beauty happened the first time about 2 years ago now, and let me assure you, I would not wish it on my worst enemy. It is not only embarassing (lots of strangers with nametags ask you to take off your pants and bend over), but incredibly painful and tedious to treat. There is alot of gauze involved. (no pictures for this one, you can google it if you're really that curious)
So when this pain first showed up again this past Christmas, I was worried that it was a reoccurence of the cyst, which can happen.
I went to the doctor, and they ordered blood work and an x-ray, and decided that it was not a cyst, and because I had not injured myself to cause this pain, they ordered the test for ANA. It was positive.
As a quick wrap-up: Even though I had a horrible disease that ended up causing incredible pain, weight-loss, weight-gain, emotinal trauma, and finally took major, life-altering surgery to cure, I could still have rheumatoid arthritis and tuberculosis.
fml.
And then I read this:
"And he said to them, 'Why are you fearful, O you of little faith?' Then he arose, and rebuked the winds and the sea; and there was a great calm." - Matthew 8:26
I really can't explain my fear when I remember that my God is the same God who created me and everything else. "Mighty fortress" is quite possibly my favorite hymn of all time thanks to the Promise Keeper's conference in the 90's at the Oakland Colusseum. (If you've never heard a recording of thousands of men singing mighty fortress together, find one. it will change your life and your whole view of worship music).
A mighty fortress is my God. He never fails, never quits, never takes a day off, and more importantly, he LOVES me in a way that I cannot even imagine. So why am I afraid? I guess my answer would have to be that I am a very fragile, scared, lonely human being who is so held ransom by sin and fear that I cannot allow my Savior to do what he does best- save. I'm working on it, though, and I am using this season of Lent to really try and allow God to help my fear.
"I believe, help my unbelief!" -Mark 9:24
I am choosing to end with the lyrics to mighty fortress and a youtube recording of the last half of the song. It's amazing. Let yourself see God as your fortress this week, as I try to see him the same way.
"A mighty fortress is our God,
a bulwark never failing;
our helper he amid the flood
of mortal ills prevaling.
For still our ancient foe
doth seek to work us woe;
his craft and power are great,
and armed with cruel hate,
on earth is not his equal.
Did we in our own strength confide,
our striving would be losing,
were not the right man on our side,
the man of God's own choosing.
Dost ask who that may be?
Christ Jesus, it is he;
Lord Sabaoth, his name,
from age to age the same,
and he must win the battle.
And though this world, with devils filled,
should threaten to undo us,
we will not fear, for God hath willed
his truth to triumph through us.
The Prince of Darkness grim,
we tremble not for him;
his rage we can endure,
for lo, his doom is sure;
one little word shall fell him.
That word above all earthly powers,
no thanks to them, abideth;
the Spirit and the gifts are ours,
thru him who with us sideth.
Let goods and kindred go,
this mortal life also;
the body they may kill;
God's truth abideth still;
his kingdom is forever."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AhlnProP8o0
Saturday, March 5, 2011
It's been a long time since I smelled beautiful
first- name that movie.
Second- I would apologize for taking so long to post again, but I don't have that many followers. AND i've been insanely busy.
First, I am pretty sure that all of my teachers had a super secret meeting and decided that they would all assign group projects. Which, of course, I HATE with the fire of a thousand suns.
THEN, they clearly decided on this too quickly and needed somthing else to talk about, and decided that they would all have something ridiculously large related to the percentage of my grade due on the same day. That day was thursday.
WORST DAY EVER.
And then one teacher, on the way out of the super secret evil villain teacher meeting said "hey, if we made her really sick, it'd be funny."
so they did.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
.........
*silent*scream*
As a result of thursday, there is now a history test that I know I failed, a teacher who may respect me a little less for skipping his class, and a class of 3rd graders at Murray elementary who think i'm the most boring PE teacher ever. And the saddest thing is, they may be right.
It's a good thing I got paid, or this week would have been a total wash.
Thank the lord that it's over.
As it so happens- things like this just make me miss my friends even more. I haven't seen some in over a week that are here in LA, and others I can't see because they're literally on the other side of the planet. And I kinda miss my mom and her penchant for making the food that I like best when I'm upset.
And just in case I needed something else to feel heavy about, a really good family friend died this week from a massive stroke. He was in his 70's and not in the greatest health, so it's not SUPER surprising, but his wife and his 4 daughters will miss him terribly. And I was quite fond of him.
All of these things are hard to process when one is sick like me. IE- green nastiness in the sinuses and lungs, random and short-but-intense sinus headaches, and a hinky stomach for the first few days of this madness.
And now that this is all over, what is left is slight boredom (nothing on hulu and a lull in studies) and anxiety. I find out if I am an R.A. on monday. Which would be both a little disappointing (because it would mean that I cannot, in fact, go abroad in the fall) and incredibly amazing since they pay for your room and board if you do get a position.
All this is to say- Pray for me. please. and thank you.
Second- I would apologize for taking so long to post again, but I don't have that many followers. AND i've been insanely busy.
First, I am pretty sure that all of my teachers had a super secret meeting and decided that they would all assign group projects. Which, of course, I HATE with the fire of a thousand suns.
THEN, they clearly decided on this too quickly and needed somthing else to talk about, and decided that they would all have something ridiculously large related to the percentage of my grade due on the same day. That day was thursday.
WORST DAY EVER.
And then one teacher, on the way out of the super secret evil villain teacher meeting said "hey, if we made her really sick, it'd be funny."
so they did.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
.........
*silent*scream*
As a result of thursday, there is now a history test that I know I failed, a teacher who may respect me a little less for skipping his class, and a class of 3rd graders at Murray elementary who think i'm the most boring PE teacher ever. And the saddest thing is, they may be right.
It's a good thing I got paid, or this week would have been a total wash.
Thank the lord that it's over.
As it so happens- things like this just make me miss my friends even more. I haven't seen some in over a week that are here in LA, and others I can't see because they're literally on the other side of the planet. And I kinda miss my mom and her penchant for making the food that I like best when I'm upset.
And just in case I needed something else to feel heavy about, a really good family friend died this week from a massive stroke. He was in his 70's and not in the greatest health, so it's not SUPER surprising, but his wife and his 4 daughters will miss him terribly. And I was quite fond of him.
All of these things are hard to process when one is sick like me. IE- green nastiness in the sinuses and lungs, random and short-but-intense sinus headaches, and a hinky stomach for the first few days of this madness.
And now that this is all over, what is left is slight boredom (nothing on hulu and a lull in studies) and anxiety. I find out if I am an R.A. on monday. Which would be both a little disappointing (because it would mean that I cannot, in fact, go abroad in the fall) and incredibly amazing since they pay for your room and board if you do get a position.
All this is to say- Pray for me. please. and thank you.
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